Fritzy is not eating. No inducement other than feeding his food to Gus gets him to sample the kidney prescription food and then it's never more than a 1/4 of a can at a time. Any more than that and he throws it all up -- and then he doesn't care that Gussie is enjoying his dinner.
More weight loss this week. One small seizure at the end of last week where I thought the boy had died on me. Kidney functions way too low; toxins in the blood. Things are definitely on the downhill slide.
This morning we piled both dogs in the car and took off for another vet consultation.
"How do we get him to eat?"
"What happens if he continues to NOT eat and lose weight?"
"Just how bad are his blood readings?"
"What do those readings really mean?"
"How do we fix this?"
The bottom line, of course, is that kidneys do NOT regenerate and we can't fix it. We can make Fritzy more comfortable but we can't make him well again.
Finally, we ask the question that's been in the room all along and no one is willing to mention: "How long?"
I've done the thing I swore I'd never do; I've put Fritzy in a cage to live for next three days -- never coming home, not seeing his mom and his pop, just vets and techs and IV's and shots. They are going to try and flush out his system and fill him full of Pepsid in hopes of making him less sick, more energetic, and HUNGRY.
Fritzy knew just how upset I was. He wrapped his little paws around my neck and hung on for dear life. Hubby sat in the car and acted unimpressed with our display of misery. I cried. Fritzy clung. In the end, Fritzy and I managed to let go of each other and he was carried away to a wire cage where he will spend the next three or four or five days on IV fluids while they try to flush the toxins out -- but this is only a temporary measure and frankly, so expensive, that we can't do it all that often. The staff put Fritzy in a cage in the center hallway so he could watch everyone and be the center of attention . . . but it was still a cage away from the only home he's ever remembered since he was rescued -- oh! my! lord! 10 years ago now.
I thought Fritzy was only ten but we have his papers (well, the vet has his papers) and he's actually 11 years 5 months and 9 days old. He's officially an old dog. And he's slipping away from us at a rapid pace.
Hopefully, this stop-gap measure will buy us some time.
Now I just have to figure out how to survive until Fritzy comes home Friday or Saturday. Keep him in your prayers. He's such a good little guy -- and so sweet.
Fritzy on the left; Gussie on the right.