Seventeen days ago, our little girl went in for brachycephalic soft-palate surgery, something we hoped would finally help her breathe more comfortably. The surgery itself was meant to improve her quality of life, to make her days easier and her nights more restful.
But after the surgery, things didn’t go as expected. She developed complications, and then later, she aspirated. That aspiration quickly turned life-threatening. Her tiny body went into cardiac arrest, and shortly after, she suffered a grand mal seizure. It all happened so suddenly. One moment we were told she needed monitoring, and the next she was fighting for her life.
In those critical minutes, the vet acted fast. Their quick response, immediate CPR, and urgent intervention are the reasons she made it through those earliest, most dangerous moments. Without that fast action, she wouldn’t be here with us today. A tracheostomy was placed to help her breathe, and she was moved into intensive care where every breath and every heartbeat was monitored.
The first days after the arrest were the most frightening. She was deeply unconscious, completely still, and entirely unaware of anything around her. We did not know whether she would wake, or what her life might look like if she did. But from the very beginning, she kept fighting.
Slowly, tiny signs appeared. A twitch. A swallow. A brief lift of her head before she sank back into rest. They were small things, but to us they meant everything. They were the first clues that somewhere inside, she was still trying to come back.
As she woke further, we were faced with the reality of her neurological injury. She could not see. She could not hear. She could not recognise our voices, our touch, or the world around her. She circled constantly, panting heavily as if overwhelmed from within. Her movements were frantic and confused. She did not understand where she was, or why her body felt the way it did.
Even through all of that, she kept trying.
She began to pause between the circling.
She started settling more deeply when lying down.
Her breathing softened in calm moments.
She hesitated before bumping into objects.
She sniffed the ground as if searching for something familiar.
And eventually, she ate – a tiny amount at first, but a sign her instincts were returning.
Every improvement has been small, but none of them have been meaningless. They show that she has not given up.
Now, seventeen days later, although she is still blind and deaf, still confused and easily overwhelmed, she is no longer the terrified little dog she was after the arrest. Her circling is slower. She lies down on her own. She has longer periods of calm. Her temperature is more stable. She walks more purposefully. She rests more easily. She responds differently to gentle handling. She is still fragile, but she is undeniably fighting.
Today, we are bringing her home.
Not because her recovery is complete, and not because the challenges are over, but because home is where she will feel safe. SASH Gold Coast has kept her alive. Now she needs familiar scents, predictable routines, quiet, softness and the presence of the people she loves. She needs the comfort of the place she has always known.
Her recovery will continue to be slow and delicate. She will need patience, calm and constant care. But she will also have love, familiarity and the reassurance of being in her own space.
Today marks a new chapter in her journey.
A chapter of possibility, not certainty.
A chapter where every tiny improvement matters.
A chapter where she is surrounded by the people who will do anything to help her heal.
Whatever happens next, she will not go through it alone.
We will walk this road with her, one gentle day at a time.
We can’t thank the SASH team enough !
– Gold Coast QLD
