[Gpdd] RAINBOW BRIDGE: Pixie Sue

[pat schuett]

It is with a very heavy heart that I must tell you my sweet Pixie Sue went to the Bridge on Friday evening.  

I was so hopeful when I sent the message to the GPDD on Friday morning; she had eaten some pellets and hay overnight, most of her salad in the morning and seemed to really enjoy two 10cc syringefuls of pellet-sweet potato slurry with her Sulfatrim before I went to work.  She had been on the antibiotics almost 24 hours by that time, so I was hoping it would begin to help her soon.  Of course, the GPDD folks were very generous with support and advice during the day (particular thanks to Penny who is always so kind and thorough), and I had several further supportive treatments to try by that evening.

When I got home from work, though, I could see she hadn't eaten at all during the day and it seemed to me that she was breathing harder.  I gave her the next dose of Sulfatrim and a bit of the slurry, but she was not interested in taking much of it. 

The advice that had been suggested by the most people during the day was that a diuretic was often a useful and/or life-saving addition to antibiotic therapy for respiratory infections.  I had asked the substitute vet on Thursday about it,  but she said she couldn't hear any fluid and didn't want to prescribe a diuretic.  I knew my own vet wasn't on duty until Sunday, but I was suddenly worried that might be too late: I phoned my own vet's clinic, explained the situation and asked if any of the other vets would prescribe two days' worth of a diuretic, just to get us to Sunday.  Of course, this was not "according to the book" and they refused.  Then I thought I remembered that my 95-year-old mum had recently mentioned taking furosemide --- I called her up immediately, hoping I was right.  Sure enough, she was taking it and was more than happy to give me a few pills.  

I drove right off to my mum's house.  I wasn't gone more than half an hour, but when I got back upstairs with the pills to the piggie room, I could see that I was too late.  I had left Pixie Sue in one of her cozy hay boxes at the back of her cage; she had come out to lie next to the bars beside her pal Virgil's cage, but I had been watching her breathing so closely less than an hour before that it was all too sadly apparent now that she wasn't breathing at all.  I was too stunned to do anything but sit down on the floor and cry.  I had known she was seriously ill, but even an hour before I would never have believed she was in such a desperate situation --- she was less than a year old and only a few days before had seemed so strong, vibrant and healthy.  It just did not seem possible that she could be gone with such horrifying speed.

I have so many regrets, but none of them will help Pixie Sue now.  In the moment, I felt I was doing my best, but now I can see a dozen things I could have done differently, or done better than I did.  I thought I had time to wait for the drugs to work; it truly seemed as if she was at least holding her own.  None of the piggie health problems I've dealt with, except in advanced old age, have moved with such horrifying speed.  It's a very hard lesson in how little time we sometimes have to get things right when a piggie is sick.

Pixie Sue, my little sweetie pie, you little flirt and temptress, I will never forget you and I know the boys, Floyd, Horatio and particularly Virgil will never forget you either.  

                                                                                                                                              Sadly,

                                                                                                                                                               Pat