Sunday afternoon, I happened to notice Foster suddenly lifting his right hind leg trying to lick his paw while he was walking around in the backyard. I started towards him to take a look, but then seeing me coming, he ran right up to me and gave ma a paw with a big smile on his face. So I concluded that he might have stepped on a rock or something and didn’t think much about it.
But by Monday evening, I decided something was definitely wrong with his rear right paw and possibly also the left paw because he kept lifting his paws off the ground, mostly the right one but sometimes the left one as well. I tried to take a look, but he almost ripped my face off when I touched his paw. So without a second set of hands to hold him, all I could see was a little bit of his paw getting a little raw from him licking. I decided to take him to the vet on Wednesday if he didn’t get better.
Yesterday I dropped Foster off at the vet in the morning, and let me not digress and talk about the receptionist again this time cause it will just frustrate the shit out of me even more. Foster’s paws had been getting worse, not being able to play with Georgia and having trouble pooping since he has a hard time getting into the position to push since he keeps trying to lift his rear right paw off the ground. But I wasn’t worried too much because I thought it was some superficial wound like a little cut on his paw pad made worse by him licking.
The vet found out not only his rear paws, but all four of his paws have skin legions or ulcers that look as if he scraped them on a rough concrete surface. The rear left paw was in the worst condition. The vet thinks Foster has Lupus because not only there was no such occasion for Foster to have hurt his paws like that but it’s very uncommon for a dog to hurt ALL of his paws like that. He’s pretty sure it is lupus since he has seen enough cases like this even though the only way to make sure is to do a biopsy.
I am angry. I am tired. I am frustrated. I am afraid I’m about to crack.
For now, I came home with antibiotics and anti-inflammatory for the wounds. If his paws don’t get better after this round of antibiotics and anti-inflammatory, then we’ll go from there and treat it with steroids. In the mean time, I’m looking into natural remedies that would help with canine lupus, but it looks even the most holistically minded people seem to say the steroid is the way to go (from what I’ve found out in a very short period of time). If you have dealt with canine lupus or know anybody who has, please let me know. I would like to hear about the experience.
I was letting Brandy and Foster outside yesterday when Foster suddenly yelped. I yelled my loud customary HEY! and turned to see what’s up. After assessing the situation, I thought Brandy tripped him or stepped on him or something at first. Yes, Foster would totally yelp if stepped on, being the official drama queen in my household. He’s the only dog I know who yelps and cries and asks for comfort-rubs after being bitten by a bug.
A few minutes later, he yelped again and kept on crying for a few seconds with his left front paw lifted. Upon inspection, I found out he broke a nail. It looked like it split at the top. Here we go again, I thought. It was about time Foster and I made our semiannual pilgrimage to the emergency vet clinic, where everybody knows our names and serves us beer and chips while we wait.
Our last visit to the clinic involved a puncture wound on his side, which was made by none other than Foster himself with his own teeth. He obviously was chasing a bug with his mouth, which landed on his side. He cried bloody murder. He cursed and swore. He was beside himself yelping his brains out - Why me? Pourquoi? Pourquoi? Oh the things he had to go through! So on we went to the emergency clinic where they stitched him up, bandaged up his body and sent us home with a large cone because we knew he’s the master of getting to the stitches and taking them out. Nevertheless, the next morning, I was back at the clinic again with Foster, getting him stapled because he still managed to take half the stitches out. Of course. Then they bandaged him up some more to make his midsection look twice as big, put a gigantic cone on him and sent us home where I put a t-shirt on him as well, fastened with a rubber band. Needless to say, both Foster and I had a very long couple of weeks until the stitches and the staples could come out.
So this time around, I have to say I felt a little relieved that it’s just some broken nail, not that I’m happy or anything about having to go to an emergency clinic for a broken fucking nail. Not only there was not a drop of blood, but he was back to his usual pain-in-the-ass self, running around annoying Brandy in no time. When we got to the clinic, they informed us that the wait was about 2 hours, and since it didn’t look anything serious, I might as well take him home and see if he’s bothered by it and be back if that’s the case. So we unceremoniously cut our pilgrimage short and came back home with no bandage or cone to show for. Naturally I’m a little worried if this trip won’t be counted as official by the semiannual-Foster-emergency gods.
Serious Stuff. Seriously
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