Help Dahlia Come Home

Last Tuesday, Dahlia fell ill. She was vomiting and she had water-diarrhea. By Wednesday morning, she was lethargic,  still vomiting, and had difficulty opening her eyes.



We took her to the vet that morning and he diagnosed her with an "upset stomach, nothing to worry about", gave her a shot for nausea and sent us on our way.



By Wednesday night, she couldn't stand on her own or lift her head. She was drooling, her eyes were glazed over. She refused all water and any kind of food, including chicken. Her breathing was labored and she was unresponsive. She LOOKED dead anytime I tried to lift or adjust her. I spent the night on the floor with her because I didn't think she was going to wake up.

She did. 


Back to the vet, first thing Wednesday morning. I got a call at work saying they might've discovered what could be a septic infection. They even suggested Parvo, and upon hearing this, like anyone would, I told them to do whatever it was they needed to do, as long as she got better.


She spent Thursday night at the vet, and Friday morning they called to say she hadn't improved, but hadn't continued to deteroriate, either. They warned us not to be too hopeful. 


By mid-Friday they ruled out infection, reported she was keeping fluids down, and seemed perkier. They said they saw what appeared to be a small foreign body in her intestines, but it wasn't something they could address, and unfortunately, they never persued it.


Continuing on... 

They actually used the words, "She's getting better", so she came home Friday evening. And they were right! She WAS getting better; she was drinking on her own and responding to her name again. She was obviously happy to be home.


Friday evening, Saturday, and into Sunday we fed her through a syringe. Watered down with pedialite, we gave her wet food in tiny, 1/4th cup increments as not to upset her obviously irritated stomach. 


Unfortunately, by Sunday evening, again, she looked sick (I'm sorry, I don't have a better way to describe it). We took her to the ER upon watching her stumble and sway in disorientation like she had before. The ER wanted $880 to admit and care for her for the night.


I'm a bank teller. I can't afford that. And since ERs are unwilling to work out payment plans of any kind, Dahlia simply recieved additional fluids, anti-nausea, and returned home for the night.

She was back at the vet by 7:50am this morning. This time, a different vet. She fell asleep on my lap - all dead, exhausted weight - in the waiting room. The vet examined her, x-rayed her, and drew blood. Dahlia had a fever of 103.


She took me in the back to show me the x-rays and explain what she saw. She wasn't happy. "Her liver is huge, for one," she said. And she was right. I saw it on the x-ray. Her stomach was tiny, and her intestines were full. She went on to explain that she was anemic and her white blood cell count was up. What she suspected could be deemed as autoimmune. She told me that if it were her dog, she'd take her to a diagnostic clinic - "specialists", if you will.


I told her to give me the address and we'd go. She called ahead for us and they gave her a starting estimate of $4,000 up front. 


A punch in the throat would've been more humane.

$4,000.
$4,000.
I'd already spent $1,000 at the previous vet who had done nothing but misdiagnose and shrug at her. That $1,000 was my entire savings account.
I told her I had $2,000 I could give them, and asked if I could break the rest up. She told me that wasn't something they usually do, and then gave me the option to keep Dahlia with her, let her fill her with fluids, and that an ultrasound doctor would be in later to examine her stomach further.


I left that vet spending $767. That was the down payment.


To get this far, we've already received help. 
Help that we are more than grateful for.

Asking for anything on the internet requires either a lot of hubris or a lot of desperation. We're the latter. This little dog is my shadow. Where I go, she goes. She's only a year old. She's a baby and she's afraid and I've gone so far as to get multiple credit cards and attempt to take out loans. But like I said, I'm a 22-year-old bank teller who makes next to nothing.
But this is my best friend, this is my kid, this is my antidepressant and this is my favorite thing in the universe. This tiny dog is my world. She chrips when I come home from work and sleeps above my head at night.

There is nothing she hasn't done that hasn't made my life better.


Seeing her sick and in pain kills me. She wants help - she wants us to help her. She looks at me with tiny eyes that just want to know what's going on.



We can't fail Dahlia.

ANYTHING helps. $.25 helps. $1 helps. Anything. Just please help Dahlia. She's so tiny and so sweet, she deserves it and more.