What happened?

I think most people reading this know how Millie died, but I know some don't, so I decided I should write about it.

Anyone who knew Millie knows that she had an insane drive to eat anything and everything she could get in her mouth.  The week before she died, she got into some trash in the bathroom.  This kind of thing had happened before, so I wasn't terribly concerned, and I decided to just monitor her.  After she vomited up some trash after a couple of days, I figured we were out of the woods.  She was slow to get back to her normal self, though, so I took her to the vet on Tuesday morning.  They did an x-ray and found an intestinal blockage.

Millie had a previous intestinal blockage two years ago.  In that case, it was HORRIBLE.  At the time we did not know what, other than food, she had eaten, and the vet could not find any blockage on x-rays or ultrasound.  She just kept vomiting.  She'd been in the hospital for four or five days before they found a piece of a Nyla-bone on a second or maybe even third ultrasound.  I remember being terrified during those days before they found the blockage.  The blockage itself was minor compared to the hell of trying to figure out what the hell was wrong.  It was such a relief to find a cause for the vomiting and, of course, get it out.

This time, when the vet found the blockage, I was sad that Millie would have to go through such major surgery again, but I did not suspect for a minute that we would lose her.  The previous blockage had been so bad, simply because it was so hard to find.  This time it seemed so simple.  The vet even joked that for some dogs, you end up taking something like this out of them every year, and you just wish you could install a zipper.

The vet called Tuesday afternoon after the surgery.  He said that Millie had been an ideal patient; her vitals had remained perfectly strong throughout the surgery, and she was doing very well.  He was very alarmed at how much damage the blockage had done, though.  He'd removed about a foot of perforated intestine.  He just could not believe what a tough girl she was.  When he saw what she was dealing with inside, what kind of pain she must have been in, he just couldn't believe that she had been walking around, wagging her tail, and acting so nearly normal before the surgery.  Primarily, he was simply impressed by her strong little constitution.  At that point, toward the end of the day, she was resting but ready for visitors.

I stopped by the vet on my way home from school.  They walked me back to the recovery room.  She was the only patient, so it was nice and quiet.  They had put a heating lamp next to her kennel, which I knew would make her very happy.  Almost as good as Gramma's fireplace.  She perked up a bit and was in good spirits when she saw me.  I stood at her kennel, stroking her head and body gently for a few minutes but I thought I better make it a short visit.  My presence seemed to just make her think it was time to go home.  I knew she must be feeling horrible, and I wanted her to rest.  The vet said that they would offer her small amounts of food during the following day (Wednesday), and if she was able to keep it down, she would be able to come home that night.  The only concern was that a certain protein level in her blood was a bit low, but it was simply something the vet would be keeping an eye on.  I went home that night feeling relieved that she had come through surgery so well, that the damage had been stopped and repaired, and 75% sure that she would be home the next night.

I spoke to the vet mid-day on Wednesday, and Millie was still doing well.  They had given her some food in the morning.  She had been more than happy to eat it, but she had vomited a little later.  After such intensive surgery, this was not unexpected.  But because of this, and because that protein level was still a little low, they decided to keep her for another night.

I stopped by for a visit again on my way home from school.  I remember my first thought when I saw her was that she looked so old.  Her little face had gone gray prematurely, starting around 5 years old, I think.  She seemed very tired.  They had switched her to a new pain medication because the vet was not convinced that she was getting enough relief.  She, of course, perked up for my visit, wagged her tail a little bit and tried to stand up.  Soon she settled back down and relaxed.  Even though she was obviously happy to see me, she seemed old, tired, and sad.  I assumed that she was doped up, and I was glad actually that she seemed more likely to rest.  So I went home.

I really missed her that night.  I had been pretty hopeful that she would be home by then, so it felt weird that she wasn't.

When I woke up, I had missed a call from the vet.  I called them back, and the woman said, "Ms. Strickland, I have some bad news for you--"  I was sure she was going to say that Millie had thrown up her food again and so they would have to keep her through the day.  But instead, she said "--Millie passed away last night."  I started screaming, and I'm not sure when I stopped.

So what happened?  Everything after that moment is a blur.  But at some point the vet who performed the surgery called from home (it was his day off) and explained that, from what he could tell, the low level of that particular protein had prevented her intestines from healing quickly enough and that her internal sutures must have ruptured overnight.