Oogy_ The Dog Only a Family Could Love - Larry Levin [12]
Based on the conditions he observed and the extent of ruin and infection he found, Dr. Bianco estimated that the dog had been lying untreated and unattended for five to seven days. He did not want to contemplate what the pup had endured during that period. Despite the fact that the pup had been losing blood the entire time, the ER doctors had not done a blood count or given him any transfusions. In his weakened state, the dog would surely have a difficult time surviving both the extensive infection and the shock of surgical trauma if Dr. Bianco were to operate, and operating offered the only chance of saving the dog’s life.
Dr. Bianco gently removed his elbow and laid the pup’s head down on the table. The dog lay on his side, exhausted; his tail swatted feebly several times. Dr. Bianco rubbed the dog’s neck. Even with the pup’s face so swollen and mutilated, Diane thought that he was undeniably cute. She gently touched the top of the dog’s head and bent over him, her eyes on Dr. Bianco’s face.
Dr. Bianco looked back at Diane. He shook his head in the negative and shrugged. He pursed his lips grimly, then said, “Diane, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can save this dog.”
Diane straightened from where she had been crouched over the pup. She looked into Dr. Bianco’s eyes. “Dr. Bianco,” she said. “You’ve got to save this dog.”
Dr. Bianco’s father and his uncles had all been craftsmen who worked with their hands. They were stonemasons, welders, and carpenters who had always taken great pride in what they created for the use of others. Dr. Bianco credits them with having given him the manual dexterity to be an exceptionally effective surgeon. With no other reason than the fact that helpless before him lay a victim of horrific abuse that might possibly be saved, and moved by Diane’s determination that every effort be made to preserve this life, Dr. Bianco started surgery.
The operation lasted several hours. First, Dr. Bianco’s assistant gave the dog general anesthesia. Dr. Bianco then started him on an antibiotic treatment and flushed the hole where his face had been to clean the gaping wound. He cut away the dead tissue and inserted a Penrose drain into the exposed portion of the animal’s face, a plastic tube that came out through an opening Dr. Bianco made in the underside of the jaw. This would allow blood and other fluids to escape, to prevent infection and promote proper healing. After this, he sutured the gaping meat that the dog’s face had become. They transfused blood and liquid nourishment into the dog intravenously.
The dog survived the surgery.
He wasn’t Oogy then. In fact, he didn’t have a name. For superstitious reasons, the staff didn’t name animals whom they didn’t know and didn’t expect to survive. By all rights, this dog should have been nothing more than one of the uncountable number whose lives are lost or destroyed as the result of dogfighting each year. Yet even though the pup had no real prospects for survival, the hospital staff worked together to do everything they could to save him. No one would be there to thank them if they were successful, and there was no one to pay for all the time and effort they were putting in. There was no guarantee that they would accomplish their goal or, if they did, whether the dog would be able to establish a successful, loving relationship with a human or another animal. But they persevered. Their efforts were, in the truest sense, simply a collective