Day 1 - 6: The Things Nightmares are Made of ..
- Samantha Knight
- Feb 8, 2022
- 2 min read
Updated: Apr 18, 2022
Having already explained how we have come to find ourselves in this devastating situation, Lloris spends the first six days (Day 1 being the day of the accident and surgery) as a resident at the areas Supervets.

At £250.00 per night I am hoping he is being hand fed caviar and has a personal nurse attending to his every whim.
It feels like the longest 6 days of my life.
Every day awaiting the phone call that could come at anytime to update me on his progress.
I try to keep busy and try my best not to be that annoying owner who just cannot wait for the call, so calls in first. I shall confess to doing that on a couple of occasions! What can I say, patience has never been a virtue of mine!
Every day I ask the difficult questions that they just cannot give me the answers to, but everyday I hope a more positive answer will be forthcoming;
Is he standing yet? - Always a No
Does he have any deep pain feeling in his legs? -the answer is always a ‘very little’
Is he trying to move his legs? - not yet
Can he control his toilet habits? - No
Is he eating? - Always yes - when hand fed!, that’s my boy, you make the most of the hospitality!
Is he comfortable? - Always yes
When can he come home - soon!
Is he ’where’ he should be recovery wise? - every dog is different…
I am always told though, what a lovely well behaved patient he is and how he is very gentle. - that sets me off in tears everyday, because he is so loving and gentle and he just doesn’t deserve this. Not that any dog does! I am also updated daily on the higher than normal risk a french bulldog has of developing Myelomalacia. This is fatel should it occur and would result in Lloris having to be put to sleep. Luckily he has shown no signs as yet and would normally be apparent within the first week after surgery.

Whilst I’m itching to have him back in my arms I am of course fearful about the future, worried he won’t love me anymore for letting this happen to him and worried he will never be truly happy again.
When I think of our journey ahead I am full of insecurities such as;
Am I physically capable?
Am I strong enough?
Does he want to get better - enough?
What if I do it wrong?
During what seems endless hours of just waiting for daily phone calls, I suddenly feel creative at some stupidly early hour of the morning and write a little poem (no idea where this has come from!)… but I guess this is all my own therapy so I shall pour it out!

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