GriefSPEAK: Mercy’s Mysterious Malaise – Mari Nardolillo Dias

By: Mercy Dias, as told to Dr. Mari Dias, EdD, FT

Mercy’s Mysterious Malaise

or

How to advocate for your pet

Mom knew I wasn’t feeling well. I wasn’t eating or drinking, and I refused to give her a kiss. I was drooling like a Mastiff, (and I don’t drool!) and my tongue was protruding slightly between my lips.

The next thing I knew mom and I hopped into her car – I didn’t know where we were going, but she certainly did. We went to a place that mom called the “ER.” There were so many people with dogs, cats, and hamsters. I tried to be excited because I was thinking it might be a zoo, like when we go to PETCO. But it wasn’t.

We were immediately checked in and a girl put something in my ear and then in my butt. I heard her tell mom that I had a high fever, and I needed blood work. I guess “blood work” refers to a stinging pinch with what I thought was a big needle. I tried not to flinch – I must admit I think I did a pretty good job! Mom & I sat for a while waiting for something called “results.”

These “results” were told to my mom by another lady. They called her “doctor”. I know that word. It doesn’t promote calm. The doctor told mom that I had anaplasmosis. I got this tick born disease on one of our recent hikes on the trails. The doctor told mom to just give me doxycycline and carprofen, and I would feel better in no time. I sensed that mom was not relieved. And if you know my mom, she is tenacious.

I could understand a bit about what was going on. I knew I didn’t feel well, and it sounded like this doxy stuff was going to make me feel like myself again. Sounded good to me. But. Not to mom. I was ready to leave and go home, but mom stopped me. She turned to the doctor and asked what this slobber was in my mouth, and what’s going on with my tongue? The doctor assured mom it was a common sign of nausea (which goes along with this ana. Something tick disease.)The doctor gave me Zofran for nausea, and we finally left after 4 hours.

I was in a hurry to get on the couch. I was so sleepy. But no. Mom gave me some water that I refused to drink and a piece of roast beef with a pill wrapped inside. I refused it. Mom was shocked because she knows I love roast beef. I wished she would just leave me alone so I could sleep. She did, but not before she went into her office to research “side effects of anaplasmosis,” (I know because I won’t let her leave my side, as exhausted as I was, I sat next to her while she typed away.)

The next morning, I heard mom on the phone. I knew she was speaking to those ER people again about my mouth. She told them I refused to eat or drink. “That’s because she’s nauseous. Come back in for another shot of Zofran.”  I heard mom say something that she repeated often throughout the day; “It’s not because she WON’T eat. It’s because she CAN’T eat! “Off we went. I tried to tell mom it was only 8:45am and I still had a lot of sleeping to do, but she coaxed me into the car.

Back at the ER. My temperature is still high. Again, they told mom I was nauseous. I could feel her ire and frustration. She insisted that we see a doctor. She repeated the phrase, “It’s not because she wont’t… it’s because she can’t… I am not leaving until a doctor looks into her mouth.”

I didn’t want to hear that! Who wants a stranger sticking a tongue depressor in their mouth? I had a choice, and I just kept my mouth closed and my jaws locked, although I was still drooling like that Mastiff I told you about, and despite my locked jaw my tongue was still sticking out. Mom and I sat there watching all the commotion, people running around, bumping into each other. And the animals! Oh, the animals. I wish I felt better so I could play. It was 5 hours before the doctor mom requested came over to us. We were a perpetual, stationary item, just sitting, never moving. And… for all those hours, mom refused to leave. “I am not leaving until someone looks in her mouth!”

The different doctor tried, but I wouldn’t let her. She tried to send us to two other places. Mom stood firm. “I am not leaving”. The doctor finally placated mom and gave me a needle that made me even sleepier than I already was – although I didn’t think that was possible! I finally crashed, but once in a while I would open my eyes just a sliver to make sure mom was there. She was.

They told me that the doctor opened my mouth and inserted some sort of device to keep my mouth open. Mom got her answer. I had a huge abscess under my tongue, which caused my tongue to get as swollen as a human in anaphylactic shock. The doctor tried to drain it, but it just kept filling up.

Mom looked at the doctor and said, “I knew she couldn’t eat or drink. Now that I have the answer, what do you plan to do? Long story long, they gave me general anesthesia and intubated me. (Fortunately, I was running through fields in my mind, because when I saw the photos, I couldn’t believe they did this to me. I now understand it was the safest method because if that infection went into my lungs, I was a potential goner. The intubation tube was for safety.

They lanced my tongue, checked everything out and then gave me another shot that reversed the anesthesia! Who knew? I know now. I feel like I’m an expert. I was very loopy and weaving through the crowd of dogs, cats, and guinea pigs, but I was awake. My mouth felt a little bit better, and the drooling was gone.

They gave me more medication and told mom that if the abscess returned, I needed a CAT scan. I was alerted to the word CAT. No, no. No cats! The doctor also mentioned the potential need for a feeding tube, as I would not be able to eat or drink for a while, given the lancing and all the trauma to my mouth. I would refuse a feeding tube if it came to that. I can be as stubborn and tenacious as mom.

Eight hours after our arrival,  we were finally getting out of that place. I understood that, and boy was I happy! We got home, me happily ready to sleep. I heard mom tell the story to about a dozen people while I was drifting off. The repetition of the story helped me understand more.

I remember the doctor asking,” how can she breathe with this tongue?” Fortunately, I continue breathing, much to mom’s delight. The next day I surprised her and drank two bowls of water, baby food, and kibble. No feeding tube for me, thank you!

I am writing this for a few reasons. One – trust your human. She/he will advocate for you even when they are told they are wrong. Two – Don’t give up. Let your human know you are sick. Don’t try to hide it. And three – I don’t want any of my friends to go through what I did and always “Trust but verify”!

I am wiser now, and most of all, so thankful to my mom who will never take no for an answer.

Love,
Mercy

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Access all of Dr. Dias’ columns at: GRIEFSPEAK

Dr. Mari Nardolillo Dias is a nationally board-certified counselor, holds a Fellow in Thanatology and is certified in both grief counseling and complicated grief. Dias is a Certified death doula, and has a Certificate in Psychological Autopsy.

Dias is an Adjunct Professor at CCRI, and Professor of Clinical Mental Health, Master of Science program, at Johnson & Wales University. Dias is the director of GracePointe Grief Center, in North Kingstown, RI.  For more information, go to:  http://gracepointegrief.com/