The night that dinner was traded for a trip to the hospital

Wednesday night was supposed to be an evening of friends and fun — Sarah J., Catelyn and my goddog, Scout, were going to come over for a canine play-date with Kelsy and Dakota (mostly for Dakota) and us humans were going to enjoy having a nice dinner together. Little did Sarah and I know that the seemingly carefree night would end in confusion, blood and a trip to the hospital, with dinner left to get cold on the kitchen counter…

It started off great! The dogs all met with no issues, and Scout was running around checking out all the smells instead of immediately wrestling with Dakota. Kelsy was maintaining a level of calm, and I wasn’t going to have to separate anyone (Kelsy has a heart condition and can’t get too excited). Catelyn was everywhere — checking out the hammock, the rock pile, the wood pile, the seesaw, the sidewalk chalk, the dogs, the sandbox…

Around 7:45 we decided to reheat the chicken that Sarah had prepared prior to coming over, while I used my awesome rice cooker/steamer to make rice and steam some carrots for supper. Sarah stayed inside to watch the food and set the table, and I accompanied Catelyn and the three dogs outside. At this point, after about an hour and a half of getting acquainted, Dakota decided she liked Scout and wanted to play. They were running puppy-laps around the backyard, but again, Kelsy wasn’t running with them and didn’t need to be separated for her own good.

After a few rounds, Scout was lagging behind Kota, probably wondering if he’d ever catch her or if he should just give up and go get more water. Catelyn and I were wandering back towards the house, calling all the pups to come with us… to come inside so we could eat dinner. And Dakota reaches the steps and rounds back for one more lap – headed back towards Scout who’s at the far end of the back yard. As she passes by, Kelsy reaches out with a happy-dog snarl as if to say, “Silly puppy, quit acting like a fool! It’s time to go inside!” Dakota breezes past her, Kelsy’s mouth snapping shut alongside Dakota’s neck and shoulders.

Next thing I know, Kelsy looks concerned and is chomping her mouth, like she’s got something stuck in it. Then I see blood. I scream for Sarah, who comes running out from the kitchen, “Get Catelyn, something’s wrong with Kelsy’s mouth!”

Oh boy — here’s the part where if you’re squeamish, you might want to have someone read you the rest, because pretty soon I’m going to attach pictures.

The canine tooth on the right side of Kelsy’s mouth was jutting out. I couldn’t tell if it was pulled out of place or broken, but I ran inside and immediately called M’s brother and the Vet, in order to get the number for the emergency vet hospital which is about 35 minutes north in Huntingtown, Md.

The picture on the left is Kelsy’s left canine tooth at midnight tonight. The picture on the right is her right canine – the one that got pulled forward and out to the side. I’m inserting them as thumbnails so you can choose to click on them and make them bigger, or assume that you’ve seen enough and continue reading.

     

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I love Sarah; she’s the most awesome friend EVER. Because while I was making all of these phone calls and trying not to panic, she not only watched Catelyn, but she sat outside and held Kelsy and kept her calm until she stopped bleeding (about 15 minutes). Then, she said some magic words that will so earn her a day of pampering completely on me and probably accompanied by a large margarita or three: “Get Catelyn’s diaper bag, cooler, my purse and keys. I’ll drive you. You’re not going alone.”

I knew better than to argue. We hurried Scout and Dakota into the basement, let M’s brother know what was going on, and I lifted Kelsy up into the back of Sarah’s vehicle and climbed in behind her. She licked me almost all the way to the hospital. In fact, if it wasn’t for her lip jutting out at a weird angle, you really wouldn’t assume that Kelsy was hurt at all. I sat in the back, kissing her forehead and rubbing her ears, amazed at her tolerance for pain.

We arrived a little before 9 p.m., and were discharged a little bit before midnight. The emergency hospital vet said that he didn’t have enough of the canine dental expertise or equipment to proceed to try to do anything to push the tooth back into place or remove it. It appeared that the tooth might have fractured the top jaw bone, and as a dog’s canine teeth have really deep roots, he didn’t want to put Kelsy under anesthesia only to get into her mouth and find out he couldn’t fix it, or had made it worse. And, with her heart condition, he didn’t want to risk putting her through surgery twice if he tried something and she still ended up needing to see the canine dentist. His diagnosis was that she had suffered a “fractured maxilla just caudal to right upper canine and displaced laterally.” [That's for my sister, because she'd want to know.]

I had brought Kelsy’s heart medicine with me, and the vet knew of her canine cardiologist. Apparently the canine dentist is out of the same practice, or the same building, or something, which is good because they’ll have access to all of her records. Anyway, he said that he’d write me up a referral and he’d call when his shift ended at 8 a.m. on Thursday to see if the Towson office was open and if the canine dentist would be in. Otherwise, she’d have to wait until Friday. He carefully prescribed some pain meds and antibiotics that wouldn’t interfere with her current condition and/or medication, and took an X-Ray which showed that the tooth itself wasn’t fractured. This was good news… as hopefully the blood supply to that tooth is still intact and the canine dentist will be able to save the tooth. But, a lot of that will also depend on the diagnosis as far as the upper jaw goes.

Catelyn didn’t fall asleep until we got in the car to leave the emergency vet hospital. She was unbelieveably good for the entire three hours we were waiting in first a room, then in the front waiting area of a pretty cold office. She smiled at everyone, told us what sounds different animals made, and ate all of the snacks that Sarah had brought for her. I owe her a trip to the Zoo, just for being an amazing 18-month-old.

It wasn’t until we were almost home that M finally returned my calls. I tried to calmly explain everything that happened and relate everything the vet had explained to me. I was grateful that he didn’t freak out, and before we got off the phone he told me not to worry. But it’s so hard not to feel awful (and responsible) when something like this happens on your watch…

We got home at midnight, and thankfully M’s sister-in-law picked up Dakota so I don’t have to worry about her bumping into Kelsy until I get this all sorted out. I should get a phone call from the emergency hospital vet by 8:30 a.m. or so tomorrow, letting me know if I’ve got to take Kelsy up to Towson or wait until Friday for an appointment.

In the meantime, I have to get some sleep and figure out how I’m going to tell Kelsy she doesn’t get breakfast tomorrow morning (because if Towson is open and she does have to have surgery, she can’t eat).