He's extremely thin, weak, dehydrated and has fluid in his abdomen and possibly his chest. The only thing that surprised me was the dehydration - he had been drinking water normally as far as I know.
The vet (a new young vet in the practice, who never saw him before) thinks maybe cancer. They gave him subcutaneous fluids and a B12 shot as well as pain meds, and I have metronidazole to give him to try to settle his gut. He sipped a tiny amount of water and refused dinner tonight. He's in his little bed, tucked in with his down-filled blankie, near a crackling fire. I wish I could say he looks comfortable and content, but he doesn't.
He's weakening by the hour, I swear. Last night he was still excited to eat a few of his favorite vanilla cupcake goldfish after a small but reasonable portion of dinner. Tonight he refused dinner and is oblivious, zoned out in his little bed. That could be the pain shot, of course.
We left with the meds and a half-assed plan to schedule an ultrasound to see what's going on, but now, hours later, I'm able to be a bit more objective. What would the ultrasound really tell us that we can't already see? He's not a candidate for surgery if there's a tumor, and at his age and in his frail condition, chemotherapy isn't an option either. If it is cancer, or something else that doesn't respond to medication, we are out of options. We will try the limited options available, and see if they help.
He's had so many ups and downs, so many scares, over the years since his initial lymphangiectasia diagnosis, and I've always said I trusted that he'd tell me when he's had enough. I think he's telling me that tonight. Now it's up to me to find the strength to listen.
When I left the staff reminded me that they are open tomorrow morning and Sunday afternoon. I think they are pretty sure they'll see me again this weekend.