Atticus is Fine; I'm Lucky to be Alive

A week ago Atticus and I had a plan to be in Newburyport to get his hair cut on Tuesday, stay with our friend Paul Abruzzi that night, and then be at Angell Animal Medical Center first thing Wednesday morning for Atti’s eye surgery.

We never went to the groomer, but we did end up in the hospital – only problem was it was a different hospital and Atticus wasn’t the patient - I was.

I’ll cut right to the punch now, then fill in the gaps. According to the doctors, I’m lucky to be alive.

Lately I’ve been fighting something I’ve termed a stomach virus. It starts off with a stabbing upper abdominal pain like two tiny creatures are having a knife fight inside my gut. The pain starts to descend towards the lower intestine a day or two later and the discomfort stays there for a bit. Then the chills and fevers start and last for several days.

I’ve always been the type who “wills” myself better. So when this “virus” first hit me over a year ago I thought it was food poisoning and sure enough, after ten days I beat it. It returned about a month ago at the end of this June, stayed for 10 days, then left. Over the next several days Atticus and I hiked quite a bit. Then, nearly two weeks ago, it returned. The initial pain wasn’t as severe but the follow-up pain was out of this world. Each night I’d sweat it out; each afternoon it would come back on me. Then came a night that was unlike any other I’d ever known. I felt like I was literally dying of thirst no matter how much water I gulped down, and I felt like I was being cooked to death.

Just before 8:00 p.m. that night (last Monday) I did something I’ve never done; I called 911 and crawled out the front door to await the arrival of the ambulance. When they picked Atticus and me up I felt like I was dying and my temperature read 104.9 degrees. They brought us to Memorial Hospital in North Conway, just 10 miles away, where nurses and the ER doctor started examining me. Meanwhile, while I was moaning and groaning on the gurney, Atticus sat up and watched over me from the chair and they were good to let him sit there and be with me until my friend Leigh picked him up.

Just before midnight a cat scan was performed on me from the chest down through my bowels and soon after things got really scary. I became non responsive to doctors and nurses for about 20 minutes. The only thing I remember about going under is hearing one of the nurses saying, “This is not good!” Then everything went black.

They took me to a different room and added something to my IV bag to spark me to life. Eventually, when I came around, it was clear how concerned the doctors and nurses were. That’s when I met William “Stuart” Battle, the man who was about to operate on me and save my life. The cat scan showed the gall bladder was the culprit and needed to come out but they had to stabilize me first and the stabilization took more than 16 hours after I first arrived at the hospital. My blood pressure was just too low. Meanwhile I downed liter after liter of intravenous fluid.

Stuart referred to my condition as “acute gangrenous choleocytitis with cholelithiasis and early septic syndrome and shock”. When I asked him what would have made it "late" instead of "early" he said "another two hours".

Around 3:00 pm on Tuesday, Stuart Battle and Bob Tilney, a surgeon who lives here in Jackson and knows Atticus and me, tried to remove my gallbladder by a scope but it was too far gone. They opened me up and went to work on what was a very unstable situation within my abdomen. As Bob later said, the infection was already in my blood system by this time and they had their work cut out for them in cleaning me out.

Several times throughout my stay at the hospital, which turned out to be just shy of eight days long, doctors told me how close a call I had but I suppose I didn’t want to hear it, but now that Atticus and I are back in Jackson, the thought hits home. Had I not called 911 when I did, I may have been too far gone to call it later and it would only be a matter of time before I was dead. And the surgeons continue to tell me that had I not had the gallbladder removed, I would most likely be dead now.

Obviously there are people to thank, including the two doctors: Dr. Battle and Dr. Tilney; a whole slew of nurses, lead by my nurse in the Intensive Care Unit, Maureen Murphy Ansaldi; and then there’s everyone else in the hospital who took such great care of me. What an amazing facility Memorial Hospital is. There's a real sense of teamwork there and doctors and nurses seem like equals. There is respect in each others' work and a sense of community.

I can’t thank Leigh Grady and her family enough for taking care of Atticus each night; and her friend and Wild Things co-conspirator, Leanne Galligan, for also helping out with him. As you can imagine, this was not easy on Atticus. Up until this past week we’d spent only three nights away from each other in eight years and he’s hated each of those nights. But suddenly we were thrust into a situation where we could not be together. Leigh and Leanne endured Atti’s near constant mourning and whimpering and whining. He did all he could to find his way back to me and they had to watch him closely. This means he had to wear a leash and a collar for a change.

Each morning Leigh or Leanne would drop Atticus off at the hospital, take off the leash and collar, and he would spend the day with me. Each night, against his protests, they picked him back up.

And let me tell you how wonderful it is to have a hospital like Memorial Hospital that understood the relationship between Atticus and me and allowed us to spend so much time together! Over the last several days we became a regular sight in the hospital as we “hiked” the hallways while I built up my strength. Atticus, as always, was patient with me, and kept the pace slow. But what mattered most to him was simply being with me. It’s all that has ever mattered to him. He’s always seen it as the meaning of his life and when I needed him most he understood it.

One of the nurses who were around me when I went non responsive that first night, tells me that while I was indeed unresponsive, I did say one word, first in slurred speech and then quite clearly. That one word was “Atticus”.

Luckily we are home. The scare is nearly passed. I have to go back on Thursday for another look to make sure the infection stays down, which isn't guaranteed. My insides are a mess right now and it will take some time to get back to normal, but luckily we’re through the worst of it. I do, however, have one hell of a scar and a drainage tube will be sticking out of me for the next several weeks.

I'm in the typical pain, but grateful to be alive. And I'm so grateful for the help we received from friends and from the amazing professionals at Memorial Hospital in North Conway.

(Because of the stress he’s endured, I’ll be putting off Atti’s eye surgery for a little while. We have time and he’s been through enough lately.)