George had his operation on Monday. We waited all day for news, and at 4pm received a call to say that it had been a success and that we could come and collect him.
The vet explained that because the removed mass was so large, the remaining space would fill with fluid unless it is allowed to drain. He now has a little tube sticking out from his abdomen for the liquid to escape. ‘He will drip’ she warned, before handing over some large waterproof pads to protect the car.
So, he’s back home and leaking. He was disorientated at first, probably the after-effects of the anaesthesia, but is back to his old self now. The ongoing challenge is making sure that he doesn’t lick or scratch the wound. Easier said than done. We coaxed him, at the vets recommendation, into an Elizabethan Collar – aka ‘the cone of shame’. That didn’t go too well. He looked unbelievably sad, tripped while going down the steps to the garden and then got himself trapped beneath the swing. He is content to wear my old vests instead.
His fear of the vet is now firmly and irrevocably entrenched. He refused to enter the building when we took him back for a check-up yesterday, and had to be carried in.