Fighting For A Chance

The morning of September 7th wasn't supposed to be anything special. I woke up groggy after a restless night of sleep. Perhaps, it was my momma-senses that were tingling, having kept me awake that night, or maybe it was God trying to give me a heads up that something about that day would not go right.

Somehow, some way, something was off.

As I opened my eyes, mentally preparing to start the day, I noticed that I heard something knock against the wall. It was still dark in the room, so I switched on the light. There, trailing the 8 x 10 bedroom, was my 6-month old black lab mix. The usually chipper puppy had his tail tucked under him, his eyes glazed over, and his ears down across the sides of his head. His face was also ducked as closely as he could to the floor.

I was so confused. I tried to call him over, to get his attention, but it wouldn't work. Although he briefly snapped out of it when I hurriedly got out of the bed, he went right back to it after giving me a quick kiss on the hand.

I couldn't understand what I was seeing. My dog, who I had just adopted about 2-months before from a local rescue, had gone comatose. It was like he wasn't there. He trailed the same path around the side of the house. I could tell you exactly where he was heading next.

When he got to a corner, he would either turn around and start again, or just stand there--stuck.

All I could think was...what had happened to my baby? He was just fine the night before. Amazing, even. Running around and playing with the other dogs. Chasing the cat. Eating all of his food. There shouldn't be anything wrong with him, but there was.

There was no aim in his eyes. Nothing at all. Bits of red where they sagged heavily could be seen.

I broke down crying as I tried to get him to come to me. I begged him to come to me so I could hold him and tell him everything was okay. Pleaded with him.

He wouldn't. He'd glance over, eyes lost, and then go right back to pacing the walls. At one point, he got to the water bowl in the kitchen. He walked right into it, and just stood in the middle of the container that he had placed himself in.

Once I gathered myself, reminding myself that I was the adult in this situation and I had to do something to save my baby, I put him in the car and rushed us both to the vet clinic.

They got us right in. Placed us in the bigger room so that they could see for themselves what Chance was doing. Since Chance was nowhere near himself, they placed a muzzle on him and took him to the back room so they could get his weight and temperature.

When they came back, his face was covered in vomit. We made quick work to get the muzzle off and try to understand what was happening to my best friend.

We went through the basics. Did he eat anything strange? Did he get into something that he shouldn't have? No, no he didn't. I was certain of this. I didn't let anything enter into my dog's mouth that wasn't safe for him. I had baby-proofed everything I could think of. He didn't stay outside on his own, either.

I would have known. I should have known.

Within a few minutes of checking him over, we realized something. His vet had a hunch. Without placing the muzzle back on, myself and the vet tech held Chance's shaking head and kept him still.

While we did that, the doctor did something that was heart-wrenching. I had never felt my heart truly break until that moment. She knocked her hands towards his face-not at all close enough to hit him, but just enough that it would make a normal dog in his right senses flinch. Jump back. Growl. Something.

Yet, Chance did nothing. He just stayed there. Motionless.

At this moment, I completely broke down into sobs. I held onto Chance and cried as I realized that something was so truly wrong with my boy. I had just adopted him, fostered him for months beforehand as I helped him get out of his awful start, and now this.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. If you only knew all that he had already experienced at the hands of humanity, you'd agree. A broken leg. Near starvation. A twisted back. I hated the cards he had been dealt.

I asked her if he would survive. She explained that they would do everything they could, but that this was an extremely worrisome situation that the pup was in. We would take labs to figure things out, and then go from there. He was already severely dehydrated, so they had already begun pumping him with fluids before I even got out the door.

The clinic kept him hospitalized while they drew labs. They also wanted to continuously monitor his vitals, making sure that he stayed stable. I explained that if anything happened, anything at all, I wanted to be notified. This wasn't because I didn't trust them, but because I wanted to be able to say goodbye to Chance if the time came.

"I don't want him to go alone," I explained, sobs breaking into my voice.

The rest of the day, I was on pins and needles as I waited to hear back from them. When I finally got the phone call, it was about an hour past the clinic's closing time. They had stayed over to work on Chance. He was doing better now, and she explained that he could go home and sleep with us.

With that said, they were already placing him on certain medications. By this point, the vet had already formed a hunch that it had something to do with Chance's liver. He was incredibly skinny for his age, and that was a red-flag on it's own. No sign of worms. Nothing.

Because of this, they sent a couple of different medications home with us, and also instructed pedialyte. He needed 5 mls every hour at least. This was especially true if he started having frequent urination. If he went down hill at all that night, I was to call the emergency number and get him into the nearby ER ASAP.

Thankfully, we didn't have much issues. I had already seen that Chance was improving within a few hours of him being back home with us. While he was droopy from the exciting day, he was starting to act more like himself. His eyes were becoming more receptive, and he was once again taking food.

When the labs returned the following day, we discovered what was going on. Chance had what's called a "liver shunt".

We hadn't known it at the time, but toxins were literally filling his brain in an unimaginable way. His liver was letting everything pass right through without any filtration at all. Every time he ate, especially the protein-rich kibble that I was feeding them, that made it that much worse.

And that day had been the final draw. His body had begun to shut down.

That night, I did nothing but researched liver shunts and what they were. I had never heard of these before, so the prospect alone confused me initially. When a dog is born with a liver shunt, either inside or outside of his liver, the pup's liver basically sends everything right through without actually filtering it. This means the dog ends up being uneasily skinny, and along with that will likely have multiple accidents at no fault to him (or her).

The next day, I went in without Chance to speak to the veterinarian. Immediately, we made a game plan. This was something that we couldn't fix here in our tiny town, and it would take a 4-hour drive and also an intensive surgery in order to get it under control. His liver enzymes were so high that, if we declined the surgery, then Chance's projected life-span was another 6-months at the most. With the surgery, he could expect to live the life of a normal dog.

She directed me to the Oklahoma Veterinary Specialist Hospital, explaining that she could get a referral in right away. I asked what the cost was for even the initial consult, and that was where she got a little quiet. It was two-hundred dollars for the initial consultation. After the surgery, it was expected to be around four-thousand dollars, give or take a few (hundred).

I'm not going to lie, when I heard the cost, the voice in my head screamed in frustration. How was I, a single mom of 3 dogs and one sneaky cat, supposed to come up with that type of money? To give you a bit more perspective, I'm a CNA who is already drowning in student debt. To tackle a big bill like that was terrifying.

Despite the fact that I had no idea how I'd manage it, I nodded my head.

"That's worth it for him. We want to do it."

Along with this, Chance also needed to be put onto a special diet until he could get to the consultation. No more kibble, as those brands and recipes are tailored to dogs without liver shunts. The only type of food you can get for dogs like Chance is the specialized formulas that require a vet's prescription slip. It was up to me to provide the cleanest food possible so that Chance's body didn't have to work so hard. Not only that, but filtered water was a necessity.

When I got home, I went straight to the couch and loved on each of my furbabies. Chance had finally managed to come out of his initial crash, and I was so thankful that I had some more time with him. Beyond that, actually. I felt like God, or the Universe, or whatever everyone believes in, had intervened in a BIG way.

But our fight wasn't over yet.

Within a few weeks, I had a consultation date set. Not only that, but my small town of Poteau rallied together and we did multiple fund-raisers to help save money for Chance's surgery. From a yard-sale that raised over one-thousand dollars to multiple fundraisers floating around Facebook, we made a good dent in the total amount needed.

Not only that, but we had people all around praying for us. I could feel the love from everyone. People even sent us little pick-me up gifts and kind messages. Kids drew photos of Chance as his story flew around Facebook. Phone calls and reminders that we were in their thoughts. While these may not seem like much, at the time they meant everything to me.

When the first (of what would be many) trips to the hospital came, Chance wasn't too enthused. We got up bright and early at four in the morning and made the drive to the city. Chance was not allowed to eat anything before we arrived, so really I wasn't either. This was challenging, especially since I'm a person who enjoys road snacks!

Inside, Chance immediately knew that something was wrong. He didn't want to be there, as he had already had quite the experience with hospitals in the past. As they put us back in a room, little Chance began to shut down. Instead of being happy and cheerful as he had been just moments before, Chance was now hiding beside my chair with his tail tucked around him.

"Your labs are incredible!" The Doctor said as soon as the door opened. I looked over at him, curious as to what he meant by that.

"They're...good?" I asked, looking over to my dog who I already knew had some extreme issues going on.

"No, they're really not." The vet responded with an awkward chuckle. "I mean it's incredible to see such high enzymes in a dog his size. They're usually not that far up, so his shunt must be massive."

Oh. Great. I'd read enough on the liver shunts to know now that high enzymes were not good, and that they more indicative of the internal liver shunts...meaning, more lethal.

As we talked to the vet about what we could do for Chance, he mentioned that a cat-scan before the surgery might be the best option. This was especially true since his enzymes were so high. If we didn't do this first, then we risked opening Chance up and seeing that the shunt was internal instead of outside of his liver. If that were the case, then this would mean that Chance and I would have to go to a more specialized hospital to do the surgery.

"Those are really rare," the vet explained, as if he could read the fear on my face. "I really don't believe that this is what we're seeing here."

Knowing that he was right, I talked to my parents and then decided to go with a cat-scan first. I had to leave Chance at the hospital and get a hotel down the street. The waiting was ruff, to say the least.

I just about went stir crazy. I was left to sit in the hotel room alone with my thoughts, just wondering what was going to happen to Chance. I tried my best to think of something to do to keep my mind off of it. I wrote on my novel, ordered some McDonalds to be delivered to my room, and even tried driving around to see the sights.

Yeah. That didn't work. I was back in the room jittering about two hours later.

Around five-thirty that evening, I heard the phone ring. I ran and grabbed it up. It was the vet, and the cat-scan had come back indicative of an internal liver shunt.

Internal.

The surgery would cost around ten-thousand dollars.

Internal.

I'd barely managed to scrape up the money to put him up to get this one.

Internal.

He also had a higher chance of dying on the operating table, of something called portal-hypotension shutting his entire body down just like it was nothing.

Internal.

I'd always said that Chance was a unique dog, one in a million, and he truly was living up to that statement. I hung up the phone and cried. Not for myself, or any of the money that I was having to find, but for Chance. Why did he have to go through this? It just wasn't fair.

After I picked up my best friend, he was beyond enthralled to see that we were going back home. He jumped all over me, giddy as can be, as the vet prescribed him with his special food and got us out of there. He would not be able to have the chicken and rice anymore, as the chicken was too much for his body. They put him on something called Keppra.

No surgery would be taking place today, but that lead to the next question of if we would be able to afford the surgery at all. The closest hospital to do the surgery was in Colorado, and that was three states away.

As much as I hated it, I went home and had a break-down. I felt so hopeless. Helpless. I finally understood what was happening to Chance, but the only way for him to get out of it seemed impossible. Not to mention, a bit more scary than before.

When I returned home, I talked about it to my family and friends, and even to Chance. Is this what the best option is? If it was worth taking, worth risking, then was there any way I could come up with the money?

My parents, bless their souls, had learned to love this dog like their own. My mother, who is a nurse-practitioner, explained that we had to do it. It was a risk, but it was one that needed to be taken. We'd already seen that his levels in his enzymes were skyrocketing. If we let them get much higher, then Chance might not overcome it. She explained that they would front the money.

I was beyond thankful that day. I cried as I hugged my parents both and told them how grateful I was. For the first time in several weeks, I felt like we actually had a chance at this. Like Chance was going to be okay, after all.

The next day, I called the university hospital at Colorado and set up our appointment. It was a week away, and we could expect to have to stay for three or four days. Until then, they recommended that I keep Chance hydrated and watch for any strange signs or symptoms. I was also to make sure that Chance took all of his medications.

That, I'll tell you, was an adventure in it's own!

The day for Colorado finally arrived, and at that point my stomach was a mess. I wasn't sure what was going to happen come the time for the surgery, but I reminded myself that I had to do this. It was the only way for me to keep my dog with me. I had to be brave for him, for us, and make an informed decision.

At this point, even after the surgeon came out and spoke with me about all of the possible outcomes, from portal hypotension to neurological seizures and everything else, I said yes.

Today, three months past the surgery that saved my dog's life, he's so much better. No more pacing; no more blindness. We have seen zero seizures, which is an incredible thing.

My vet has to run labs once every few months, but so far we have seen nothing but improvement. Every one at the clinic calls him the "Miracle Child". Along with this, Chance is acting like a happy and young dog again! I cannot tell you have thankful I am that he is still with me.

This dog, just him being here with me, has taught me so much. Not only that, but he's taught so many of us the power of love and passion. Chance could have given up during his battle with his liver shunt, but he never did. He knew that he had to keep fighting, and that alone is a miracle.

He's my miracle.