FMC 3.0

(Fair Warning: If your last name is, or has ever been Raab-Long, you might wanna skip this one. Especially if you’re at your desk at work.)

That’s kind of a personal mantra for me when bad stuff comes at me (however, I’ve been oft accused of the second part being ‘expect the worst’.) It generally works well. You hope everything works out, but mentally prepare yourself for the worst. Of course, there are times that no matter how much you prepare, you’re still gonna get your heart broken. This is one of those times.

Truth is, I’m gonna lose a good friend. It may be this week (worst) or it could be years from now (best). In all likelihood it’s going to be somewhere in the middle. No matter when it happens, it’s gonna hurt. He’s fun to be around, fiercely loyal, and has been a good listener.

But lately he’s slowed down a bit, and very recently decided he wasn’t gonna eat much any more. He lost 13 pounds in two months. While most of us would welcome such a change, it wasn’t what he needed.

So we take him to the doctor, who pokes, prods, and takes his temperature. Gets blood to do some blood work, and runs down a possible list of reasons he’s not eating. None of them seem very good. The big ugly one on the list is cancer, which isn’t unheard of at his age. There’s plenty of other possibilities. That was Friday.

Saturday they call and say that there is some bad stuff in the blood - low protein levels and an infection. They want a urine sample as well.

Sunday is Easter, and more importantly, his 12th birthday. He’s gray in the face, and doesn’t want to do much on his birthday, not even eat.

Today the urine sample is collected and taken to the doctors. Within an hour, they want him back in. They want to start him on Dialysis, because his urine sample showed some pretty high toxin levels. His kidneys aren’t operating properly. Hopefully, after a few days of cleaning out his system, his kidneys will function at the minimum levels to keep him going. They’re also going to put him on major antibiotics to kill the infection. We won’t know how he’s doing for a few days. We don’t even know if he’s coming home. If his kidneys don’t improve, theres not much to do but make him comfy.

Here’s what I do know:
1. This picture was taken in 1995 shortly after Mousse came home. It doesn’t feel like 12 years have passed:

I can’t believe how small he was. Or how odd my dad looks with color in his hair and no beard. (Sorry dad.)

2. Tonight, Mousse is sleeping at the hospital while most of us are gonna have a really hard time sleeping in our own beds. It’s been a while since he’s slept away from home without any of us.

3. Coming home from work, I almost didn’t make it through the front door. Coming through that door knowing for the first time in nearly 20 years that a pup wasn’t gonna be on the other side of the door to greet me was possibly the most heart breaking and excruciating thing I’ve ever done.

4. When Mousse does go (which in hoping for the best is a long, long time from now) he’ll be the fourth in a line of great pups. It never gets easier. If anything, it gets harder and harder to say goodbye.

5. I always thought that if any of our pups were to find a way to live forever, it would have been Mousse.

But what else can you do but hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. It could turn out being a pretty good week, or it could be really rotten. Here’s hoping.