“Hi, Shannon.  It’s Wendy again.  (deep sign) Reagan’s sick again after a few good days of feeling better.  Not sure if I should bring her back in or if the doc wants to call me.”

“Oh, no.  Poor Reagan.  Let me take message.  Tell me what’s going on.”  (I’ll spare you the gruesome gastro details.)

The vet called me back within an hour sharing her disappointment about Reagan’s relapse of symptoms.  We decided to extend Reagan’s medication regimen and the bland diet.  I agreed to call her back the following day with an update.

The next day Reagan appeared more like herself after eating plain chicken and bringing me her squeaky ball to play — so my concern lessened.  My report to the vet was positive and optimistic to the road of recovery.

This morning I woke up to Reagan’s stomach making loud gurgling sounds.  She wouldn’t eat her chicken or take her medication with cheese.  Rather she raced outside to do her business.  (Again I’ll spare you the details.)  A blanket of helplessness crawled down my body.

For the past couple of weeks, my husband and I have been tag teaming getting up in the middle of the night, exchanging ideas about peaking Reagan’s interest in her food, and baffled about this Super Bug infesting our dog’s digestive system.  Due to the lack of sleep, the ebbs and flow of progress, and excessive worry about Reagan’s well being, my thoughts have been jumbled in my “monkey” brain of negativity.

I really miss Reagan’s bright eyes and perky energy and spunky walk.  She seems soothed when I rub her belly and sing her a lullaby.   Tomorrow I’ll make another call to the vet.