Andi Needs Your Help for Life-Changing Surgery

My name is Adam. I am raising money for our 5-year old cockapoo dog named Andi. Andi came into our lives as a puppy in March 2020, and during COVID lockdown I became her emotional support human. For the last 5 years Andi has been a member of our family.

One of my dearest memories during that time was how Andi provided support and comfort for me and for my elderly parents, who were both recovering from COVID while living in our house. I feel that it was due to Andi's gentle and nurturing spirit that my parents found the strength to ultimately survive COVID. Before my elderly mother's memory began to fade, she would lovingly refer to Andi as a person.

As we were coming out of COVID lockdown, and with the prospect of having to leave Andi at home alone while we were at work, another puppy came into ours (and Andi's) lives, a tiny white cockapoo named Coco. Andi was elated to have a new sister, and instantly they became an inseparable little pack of two. Andi was so patient adjusting to no longer being the complete center of all our attention, and she even learned how to "share" her toys with Coco. It wasn't long before Andi embraced her new role as big sis.

Andi's existence until this week has been to live her life at full speed. What I mean is that from the moment Andi would wake up in the morning until bedtime, Andi invariably would be in full-on, pedal to the metal "go" mode. Boundlessly energetic would be putting it mildly. Andi's favorite game first thing every morning--seriously EVERY day-- would be hide and seek. Here's how it went. She would choose a toy, typically her orange ball or rubber donut and then proceed to hide it and expect for us to find it. We would be searching if she had hid it in the bathroom or in the closet, or behind the bed. If we just couldn't find it, we would say either "Andi, get your toy!" or "You get it!", and Andi would give us a hint with a glance of her eyes and a bark in a particular direction to let us know where to look. Once we eventually found her toy (and it had to be the one she had chosen that morning, not one of the umpteen other toys perpetually littering our home), we would launch Andi's toy in her direction, and she would leap into the air and catch it. She almost never missed the catch. Her reflexes and expert skills were so fast it seemed like she was aided by teleportation, her hind legs propelling her skyward such that her toy rarely hit the floor. Andi's talent in this regard was impressive. I will admit that I would often get frustrated when I was trying to get ready for the day and couldn't find her toy or when Andi just wouldn't pause for a minute to give us a break. You see, we realized that Andi's game of hide and seek was her being in charge of the hiding and expecting us to do the seeking. And, of course, be her tireless ball or donut launcher.

Such was Andi's routine. Every single day. Always. Until...

We woke up Tuesday morning this week, and Andi refused to get up and start her game of hide and seek. We were confused and suspected she was feeling sick. Later that day after work, I noticed she was acting super lethargic, refusing to get up from her bed. I couldn't even get her to chase her favorite orange ball. When Andi heard my partner's car arriving home from work late that night, Andi hobbled over to the door to greet her. Weird. Typical go-mode Andi would be hauling @ss to the door to go greet her. At that moment, we didn't realize that Andi had just squeezed out her last ounce of rear leg strength hobbling to the door.

I carefully scooped up Andi and placed her gently in the car. I cautiously headed towards the emergency vet clinic. On the way, I sobbed as I passed by the care home where my father used to live with my 90-year mother. You see, as I write this, it is a month ago to the day that my father, also 90 years old, passed away. So fresh in my mind, my emotions still so raw.

A couple hours later, a compassionate veterinarian was explaining to me that Andi had been diagnosed with Intervertebral Disk Disorder (IVDD). This is a backbone and spinal cord condition that for Andi meant that she had lost function in her hind legs. The vet advised surgery, and if we couldn't afford it crate rest for 4-6 weeks. Crate rest likely meant a 50/50 chance of recovery for Andi. Surgery would be more like 90% chance of recovery. When the vet paused and uttered that IVDD

surgery for Andi would cost $12,000-15,000

, and since it's an emergency case it would be more like $14,000-19,000, I was in shock. By this time it was around 2:00 AM, and I was struggling to think clearly. I brought Andi home, and we made her as comfortable as we could.

Unable to stand on her own or control her bladder, the last two days have been a new world for Andi. And for us. We are managing Andi's pain with medicine. Seeing Andi unable to run and jump and fetch and catch has been emotionally taxing. For comfort, I spoke to my sister whose dachshund now uses a wheelchair after experiencing IVDD and didn't have the benefit of neurosurgery.

Yesterday I took Andi to our local vet since she hadn't emptied her bladder for 24 hours. It was the sympathetic receptionist in the vet's office who noticed my utter sadness and worry about Andi's prognosis. She simply said to me, "A lot of people try GoFundMe when they find out the cost of neurosurgery for their dog."

So here I am, humbly asking that if you are at all able, please help us help Andi by contributing whatever you are able towards Andi's spinal cord surgery. Our goal is to raise $15,000. Any amount you can afford will help Andi, and we will be forever grateful.

Coco has not left Andi's side, standing (or lying down) watch by her crate, worried about her big sis, ostensibly quite confused why her sister hasn't been scampering about nonstop, barking at passersby, just being her Andi.

Please contribute however much you are able. It will make a huge difference for Andi and for our family.

With heartfelt appreciation,

-Adam (Andi's emotional support human)