Switching to Weekly Updates (Plus, a Funny Little Story)

I meant to mention this in my post yesterday, but since there haven't been any major developments or emergencies with Lexie over the past week (thank GOD!), I probably will not be giving daily updates from this point on, unless something out of the ordinary happens, of course.  Instead, I will probably start posting weekly updates about Lou's recovery and adjustment to her new life as a blind Dobe.  This way, I won't wear you out with boring posts like, "Lexie ate, drank, slept, and used the bathroom a couple times today.  Tune in tomorrow to see what exciting things she does next!" 

I will tell you that the swelling above her right eye is now showing definite signs of improvement, which is quite a relief.  Her left eye must have had a tad bit of swelling, too, which I didn't really notice until yesterday.  It's not that I noticed her left eye was swollen, though, it's more like I've noticed that the swelling must be going away because now her left eye is actually starting to look a little "sunken in."  It's a little weird, I'm not going to lie, but at least her incision in that eye looks really, really good. 

Another weird thing I've noticed is that, even though Lexie no longer has any eyes in her sockets, the muscles around her eyes still move sometimes, as though she's looking around.  In fact, when I first noticed this the other night, it was actually quite a funny moment.  (I'm a little embarrassed to share this, but it's too funny to keep to myself.) 

Now, admittedly, I was a bit tipsy when this happened.  Justin and I were having a nice, relaxing evening at home, and I had probably had two or three glasses of wine by this point.  I decided to use the flashlight app on my iPhone to check Lexie's incisions, and when I held the flashlight up to her face, I noticed her eye muscles move.  Obviously, her eye muscles were probably just reacting to the sensation of something being held close to her face all of a sudden, but in my tipsy state I actually thought that she had reacted to the light.  So, I said to Justin, "Hey, are we sure that Lexie can't see anything?"  (Mind you, her eyeballs have been surgically removed.)  Justin immediately burst into laughter, then quickly regained his composure and said, in a very calm and reassuring manner, "I am absolutely, 100% positive."

Okay, okay, so maybe it wasn't the smartest question I've ever asked, but at least it's given us something to laugh about.  :)

The Morning of Surgery

I just dropped Lexie off at the vet for her bilateral enucleation surgery.  I’m such a bundle of mixed emotions right now.  I’m crying, of course, because my Lou is never going to be able to look at me again.  She’ll never greet me at the door with one of her stuffed animals in her mouth, enticing me to chase her around the living room and dining room ever again.   (My favorite part of that game, by the way, was when I’d be chasing her around through the dining room, kitchen, and living room, but then I’d stop and quietly reverse directions.  She’d sense that I stopped chasing her, so she’d get really quiet and sneaky, too, and try to find me.  Then, it became a game of “who can sneak up on whom first” before resuming the game of chase.)  I’m going to miss watching her look out our living room window and getting that “stranger danger” face if a passer-by happened to linger in front of our house a little too long.  I’m going to miss the way she’d always be the first of my girls to come back inside after being let out, just so she could sit in the doorway with me and watchfully wait for Sam and Jocie to come back inside.  If they took too long, she’d go back out into the yard and bark until they came in.

These are the things I am grieving, which I don’t think people think about when they tell me (repeatedly) that, “She’s going to be fine.  Dogs adjust SO well to being blind.”  While I understand that Lexie is going to be okay and adjust to being blind, there’s a part of her that is now gone forever, and I’m heartbroken over that.  I do appreciate it when people try to cheer me up and help me look on the bright side of this situation, but I need to be allowed to be sad and upset about it for a while, too.  Trust me, I can find the bright side to just about anything because I don’t see the point in wallowing in sadness or self-pity for very long.  However, it takes a good dose of crying and, yes, even a little bit of the aforementioned wallowing for me to get it all out of my system and get to that place where I simply don’t WANT to be sad anymore.  I’m not there yet, but I'm getting there.

I took a couple photos of Lou this morning to always remind me that I made the right decision in regard to her bilateral enucleation.  Just look at the side-by-side comparison above.   I took the photo on the left the day I decided I didn’t want to have her left eye removed because it looked practically normal compared to her right eye.  The photo on the right was taken this morning, just four days later.

On a more upbeat note, I will say that I wasn’t AS emotional as I thought I’d be when I left her at the Animal Care Clinic this morning.  I did give each of her eyes a little kiss good-bye, but because I know her eyes are causing her pain, in a small, weird way I’m actually kind of happy for Lou this morning.  I am just so anxious for her feel better.  I’m also looking forward to watching her adjust and learn new things, including new games that we can play together once she’s all healed.   Yeah, I’d say that I’m to the point right now where I just want all of this pain to end (hers AND mine) so we can start moving on.  In the meantime, this is going to be a looooooong day...