Dusty still at the vet's. More investigations. Fluid all around her chest, compressing her right lung to the extent that it didn't show up on the X-ray yesterday. My brave girl. I go to see her and she gamely bounds towards me, doing her little half-jumps of glee. With one lung and a murmuring heart, all puffy-chested and wheezy. I administer her first dose of apricot kernels, but now she's staying in an extra night, she'll miss tomorrow morning's dose. Now scanned, steroid-injected, heart-medicated, resting.
Each time I go to get up from my chair, I check to see Dusty's not under it before I push it backwards. Each time I go out, I anticipate the patter of Dusty's paws on the wooden floor as she comes over to the door. And I keep nearly treading in her water bowl.
Come on, miracle cure.