For those following the saga of our dog Teddy's struggle with auto-immune disease, it has now been one month since he went into the hospital. Thanks to several transfusions back then and lots of pills since, he is somewhat stable, but he probably won't get any better. His red blood cell count seems likely to remain in the 20s at best, barely adequate and not far above where it was when he went into the hospital. He's still hanging in there, but he doesn't have much time left. One of his hind legs filled with fluid a couple of weeks ago. Today it looks like the other is filling, too, and he is walking with more difficulty.
There's never a "good" time for this, but I wish it wasn't happening while I'm trying to finish my manuscript (due one week from today). At least with my new laptop I've been able to spend more time downstairs with him. But every time I walk out the door to do a bike ride for my book, I fear that Teddy won't be alive when I get home.
We still have no idea what caused the illness. It just came on so suddenly. Sure he is older, but he went from wanting to walk to the park and back to barely making it to the end of the block practically overnight. Now he just does his business at the bottom of the stairs and waits for us to carry him back up. On the bright side, he doesn't seem to be in pain, and he still enjoys eating (he has been getting canned dog food and hamburgers). Yet we know every day is a gift at this point, and we are savoring every moment we have left with him on this earth. We have reached the point where we have done all we can do. If his condition worsens, we'll have to say goodbye.