I'm Fighting Tears

Nick the Pug is still in the emergency vet hospital. He's already had two surgeries, one to resect his soft palate and widen his nostrils, and the second to try to fix collapsing tracheal and laryngeal cartilage. As of this morning he was "doing great." This evening I heard that he's in trouble again, and if he doesn't improve by tomorrow he'll need a permanent tracheostomy. He'll be at increased risk for lung infection, and never bark again.

I'm beside myself; this is a nightmare that never ends. When we went away, he was a seriously inbred but healthy little dog; we come back to a medical train wreck, all because the damned house sitter couldn't be bothered to turn on the A/C or follow our feeding instructions. My workmen, who know her better than I, say they suspect she probably barely bothered to stay at our house. Certainly I found myself wondering how she could bear being here with the reek of dog pee I found when I got back.

I'm heartbroken and furious and terrified at the same time. I managed to choke down supper, but now I feel like I might puke.

Poor Nicky.