A Prayer for Creamy

Creamy, Henry's best stuffed pall in the world, is going under the knife this morning.

He's never had what I call a surplus of stuffing. Indeed, a recent density scan shows he's deficient in both grain and batting. Dr. Erin believes the only solution is a transplant, which she will perform this morning.

Henry is pacing around the kitchen, wringing his little hands, mumbling about all the times he should have told Creamy he loved him, but instead chucked him across the room to see if maybe he really could fly.

I'm reminded of the music box-ectomy my own little dog, Spot, underwent when I was about Henry's age. He recovered, but the scar of red thread never truly healed.

Dr. Erin tells me she has to go in through the neck. Apparently, this is due to the fact that many of Creamy's seams come together at this point. I'm also keenly aware it also makes the surgery much more dangerous.

I also find very little comfort in the callous attitude of Nurse Jane.

"Cut! Cut! Cut!"

Update: I saw Creamy after he came out of recovery. He's quite groggy, but much more full (of cotton). He's a much fattier Creamy: maybe even 18% milk fat.

1 comment:

just us said...

Come on, come on, Dave. It's Saturday now and I'm anxiously waiting to see whether old creamer made it through the procedure - and whether the patient's advocate is still talking to the surgeon.