You might remember Jaci; Jaci is a Lydia’s Uniforms’ customer and veterinary technician. Last month she shared a story on the blog about one of her favorite memories from her career. Because Jaci loves to write and loves her job, she has agreed to send in more stories on occasion to share with all of our readers and everyone here at Lydia’s. This month, her story is about a puppy named Bubbas.
ABC Proves Not as Easy as 123 by Jaclyn Hall
Bubbas was a typical happy, healthy, and hyper Bull Terrier puppy who was always up to something. We had seen him at the clinic several times for, not only his puppy vaccines, but also for a multitude of other mishaps and misfortunes that inquisitive, naughty puppies encounter: the bee sting on his lip, the bump on his head from running into the coffee table, the list goes on and on.
On this particular day, Bubbas came to us feeling pretty down and out. He didn’t greet me tail wagging, jumping, and tongue-popping away as usual. No, on this day Bubbas was sad and tired. He was laying on his side, with only a slight wag of his tail as I walked into the exam room. Bubbas had been up for the past 24 hours vomiting, unable to hold even a sip of water down.
“So what’s going on with Bubbas today?” I asked his parents. They informed me that he had refused his breakfast and dinner the day before. He had vomited multiple times in his crate while they were at work, and that the vomiting had continued throughout the night. Mom, Dad, and Bubbas had obviously not gotten any sleep. His gums were dry and tacky, and his entire abdomen was tense and painful as his doctor did her exam.
Given his history for getting into trouble, and the clinical signs on exam, we took him into x-ray to take a look at his stomach and GI tract. We were astounded at how simple it was to position and maneuver him, and how on any other typical day how difficult it would have been to not only get him into the position, but also to keep him in place long enough to even shoot a film. The x-rays were taken and I set him up in a comfy condo in our hospital before vanishing into the darkroom to develop the radiographs. Next was something I have never seen prior to, nor after, this particular case.
I put the x-rays on the viewer and my jaw dropped to the floor. “What the… ???” I shouted; loud enough for the entire veterinary staff to hear and come running. We were astounded – we just couldn’t believe it! What was this? Sitting perfectly in Bubbas stomach, aside from a large amount of air, were three, very clear to the eye numbers! A 4, a 5, and a 7 were perfectly outlined and completely radio-opaque. “What in the world did you do, Bubbas?” I asked him as I walked past him, x-rays in hand, on my way to show his owners.
The second his parents saw the x-rays, their eyes opened wider than deemed possible. It was as if a light bulb went off in their heads simultaneously, “The remote!” they both shouted together. Apparently, three days prior to this, Bubbas parents had lost their remote control for their television. They told us they had searched and searched with no luck. According to them, there was absolutely no evidence of an eaten electronic device in their home at all.
Given Bubbas poor status, and the off chance that there were also more missing items in his belly, the decision to take him into surgery was quickly made. An IV catheter was set, drugs were administered, and pre-operative prepping was done. I stood at the surgery table, across from the doctor, monitoring his vitals as the incision was made and the procedure began. What happened next is something no one could have imagined. Aside from the push-button numbers of the remote control and various chewed up pieces, we also pulled out pieces from a basketball, a rope toy, some remnants of a towel, a few random pieces of chewed up wood, and a squeaker from a plush toy still completely intact. What started out as a small bowl to put the remote control pieces into, quickly became a garbage bag full of assorted, apparently puppy yummy goods. No wonder he had a tummy ache!
As I sat aside him, recovering him after surgery, I remember him looking up at me with sad puppy eyes as if he was saying, “thank you”.
The days that followed were both joyous and traumatic, each second a complete roller-coaster ride for poor Bubbas. He ended up needing a second surgery to remove and repair a large portion of necrotic intestines, proving that, unfortunately, this little guy was not out of the woods. All too often in this profession we see foreign body patients make it through surgery, but not the recovery process. (Such a sad scenario.)
After the second surgery was said and done, Bubbas remained in the hospital for over a week. His need for multiple pain relief, antibiotics, and stomach protectants required round-the-clock care.
In the end, little Bubbas pulled through, showing the world how tough and resilient he could be. I felt tears in my eyes and my heart thumping as I released him to his parents. Seven days later he came in for his surgical recheck exam. Tail wagging, jumping, and tongue-popping away, I was more than ecstatic to see sweet lil’ Bubbas feeling his best. He is, to this day, living proof that the work we do on a daily basis is remembered, respected, and truly life-saving.
