In order to fully explain our situation, I must give some history to our situation. Without the history, the “antidote” makes no sense. Molly is my little "doghter". She has quite the story to get to this point, really. For such a wee little girl, she's been through a lot already. Allow me to indulge my story telling, please, and let me take you back to 1999. Molly was three years old and just a healthy little lady happy, energetic, loving, but I started noticing that her fur was drying out. Then, she didn't want to eat any more, except grass. Our vet, at the time, told me to give her some peptobismal and just watch her. I was not impressed with the advice, but didn't know what else to do.
I gave her the pink stuff, but she continued to go downhill. At one point, and I feel horrible about this, she wanted to go with Mom and I to Portland. She was so sick to her tummy, she threw up in the car just before we were getting ready to leave. I cleaned her up, cleaned the car up, gave her some more pink stuff and I left her with my Pa. (I still feel just absolutely horrible about that action!)
When I returned, Molly was very sick. I rushed her right in to the vet's office. They did some blood work tests, and put an IV in her to make sure she was getting fluids. I had to leave her there that night and felt just miserable that I didn't listen to what her body was saying to me. It was so clear upon my reflection! I really beat myself up about that oversight, even now, seven years later.
Molly's blood work came back and we discovered she had some long name infection. Her whole stomach lining was infected. The vet suggested I put her down. My mind screamed at me, “no!” Molly confirmed the, “No.” I asked for other options; they included a surgery to remove part of the stomach lining. Molly and I agreed to that one, as it was the best choice available to us at the time.
I went to work, the vet did the surgery. However, in the middle of it, I got a call at work. It turns out the infection was much worse than our vet thought and I really should think about just letting her go. Again, my mind screamed a strong, “no,” and I refused. I told him I hadn't checked with Molly about this bring her back so I can check with her. He did what he could and brought her back. I was so shaken that I took the next three days off work.
When I got to the vet's office and picked Molly up, she was groggy, of course. I felt a wash of relief that Molly wasn't ready to give up and her Spirit was still strong. Our vet gave me some medication, telling me that the side effects could be loss of fur, loss of eyesight, loss of hearing, and a lot of other things. He told me that we'd need to re-evaluate after she had taken the pills.
Over the next three days, something happened between Molly and I. I gave her one pill the first day. I held her all that day and slept with my hands on her that whole night. Something was different it was a feeling of something, rather than something I could point to directly. I gave her a second pill the second day. I continued to stay right with her all that second day. My hands were on her all the time. They felt tingly and hot, then cold, then hot, then cold. But always, they felt tingly. Molly was starting to feel better, and it was something, again, that was a feeling. I just “knew” it. The third day, I could see her eyes were becoming distressed. I made the call to no longer give her the medication. It was risky, but there was something more going on and I trusted it.
The third day, I stayed with her, hands on her at all times. It was an instinct that I was following. I've always been like that (except when I'm so engrossed in human activities that I forget to listen!) - follow the instinct, as it's generally right. Go with the gut! Molly was feeling much more herself again. My hands were more often hot and tingly than cold and tingly, and then, suddenly, the tingly stopped! I remember clearly looking at my hands for something to show up that was wrong with them. But there was nothing - they were just …normal. Not tingly, not hot nor cold, just *normal.* At that point, however, Molly got up, went to get some water and food, and proceeded to also be “normal.”
