We slept comfortably in the work van for our third consecutive night. It made the most sense, plus Dog loves it when the work van morphs into a softened up free-for-all. Before leaving Truckee, I had arranged the inside of my 2002 Ford E-250 with a twin bed for me, and numerous pillows, blankets and dog bed choices for Quinn.
I hadn’t told anybody in Santa Cruz that we were going to be in town for Quinn’s surgery. Not a sole. This had been our journey and it was going to remain our journey. Though Quinn never once showed a sign of being down and out like I at times tended to demonstrate, 2018 had been a tough year. Certainly for me, and quite likely for her as well. There was a sense that it might all be finally coming to a head.
Several months prior, as her condition began to really worsen, I concluded that although I have plenty of loving support and genuine care out there for both our well beings, no friend or family member could possibly relate to our current state of affairs. This was our show, and there would be no audience. Hence deciding to sleep in the work van. Besides, warm enough winter temperatures along the central coast gave us that opportunity to see this thing through as covertly as I had hoped.
On surgery day I was wide awake at 5am. Safe to say I was a bit nervous. I went directly from the twin bed to the driver’s seat and started the van. Because sleeping in the work van has now become an anomaly, Quinn signaled to me that she was befuddled by the action of events. I signaled back for her to remain curled up in a ball for a little while longer.
Quinn knows her vans. I own two of them. And even though neither van was officially being used as a sleep van throughout all of 2017 and 2018, it’s not like we don’t have practice sleeping in vans, because we do. It’s just that she has come to understand that there is a sleep van and there is a work van, and the work van is never the sleep van, and only sometimes is the sleep van the work van. Yes, she had been thrown a curveball.
I drove straight to Peet’s Coffee in Capitola for a couple reasons. First, they are open at 5am. And second, I love my Peet’s. By 5:30am we were in the member’s parking lot at the Chaminade Hotel and Spa. Our second home away from home, maybe our third. The fitness center hadn’t yet opened.
Certain that I had played the ‘Potty Card’ correct, I opened the slider, Quinn jumped down, and immediately sniffed her way to the grass where she took care of her morning business. We then did a slow, half mile jog around the upper lot, and then it was back in the van. Quinn drank some water which was allowable, suggested, and right on schedule so far as I was concerned.
So far so good I thought. We then drove to the Seacliff Beach area to wait out the final hour before it was finally time. I parked the van facing the ocean, tilted the seat back, and followed the January sunrise as it came up and over the coastal mountains behind Salinas, CA. Quinn rested shotgun.
***
At 7:40am, we drove to the office. I parked the van about a half block away. I don’t know how many times now Quinn had blindly and courageously jumped in and out of this van, each time trusting that I had safely prepared her landing area, and this time was no different. She jumped out and we slowly made our way towards our destiny. The parking lot was empty.
We stepped into the office, of course there was Autumn, and within minutes Dawn appeared. Being surgery day, neither administered any treats, instead Dawn administered the pre-sedation shot to Quinn as we sat in the lobby. I kept a strong, reassuring hold on Dog’s scruff.
Dawn and I sat there talking about what could be expected post surgery. It didn’t take too long before Quinn began to show signs of getting very sleepy. A surgery technician came to light and said that the room was ready. I walked her down the hallway towards the door which led into the surgery room. Quinn was clearly in wobble mode, slipping on the tiles floor with each step she took.
Up to this point, I had never seen the surgery room, but recall feeling the intrigue. From the hallway’s perspective, the room appeared rather large, certainly larger than I had anticipated it being. I remember seeing a couple other surgery techs that I hadn’t seen before doing some last minute readying.
Right when we got to the door, Dawn said my time was up. I handed over the leash, told Quinn to be a good girl, and turned my back. All of it was neither hard nor easy. The vibe was exactly like it needed to be. I couldn’t have felt any better about the way by which we made it to where we were.
I went to my van and drove around the corner to a coffee shop in the Aptos Station. I had a small cup of coffee and a heated pumpkin/banana muffin. With a couple hours of time on my hands, I took this time to let a handful of people know that I was in Aptos having Quinn’s eyes removed and that I would keep them posted.
At 10:15am the phone rang. The call came directly from Dr. Gratzek herself. She said the surgery went very well, and that the girls were going to monitor Quinn for the next 30 minutes or so, and that I could come get her at 10:45am.
I drove back to the office and this time parked in the parking lot, closest to the front door. Thursday is surgery day at Opthamology for Animals. That means animals get dropped off in the morning and picked up in the evening. I was feeling my A+ treatment and exercised it accordingly. I backed my van up with the sliding side door facing the front of the office. I disconnected the interior light and left the slider open.
I stood in the lobby up against Smitty’s cage. Bigbird got as close as he could to my left shoulder and began composing a slew of random sounds and repartee. To this point, I hadn’t heard him make a sound. The muttering felt deliberately reassuring.
Autumn motioned to me that the girls were leading Quinn down the hallway. I went to the hallway and met them halfway. She could barely keep herself erect on the slippery white tiled floor, but was striving nonetheless. I said a few words and she made a half attempt at a tail wag. That gesture was music to my eyes. Poor Girl looked hammered!
I lifted her up, carried her through the lobby and right out to my van. I laid her down on my twin bed with all her blankets. I was told I could stay in the parking lot as long as I wanted, so that is what we did. I kept my hands on her trembling body, put light music on the radio, and sat there for the next three plus hours as she shook off what remained of the anesthesia.