Page 56 of Playing for Payback
"Alder? Can you come here?" Lena's voice has an edge I haven't heard before.
I find her kneeling beside Gordon, who's lying on his side in the hallway. My dog's eyes are half-closed, his usual manic energy completely absent.
"What's wrong with him?" I ask, dropping to my knees next to them.
"I'm not sure, but something's definitely off." Lena gently strokes Gordie's head. "He was pawing at his mouth when I walked past. Has he been eating and drinking normally?"
I try to think. I've been so wrapped up in my issues that I haven't paid close attention. "He didn't finish his breakfast this morning, but I figured he was just being picky. He does that sometimes."
Lena frowns, her hand moving to Gordie's jaw. "I'd like to look in his mouth. Can you hold him still for me?"
I nod, cradling Gordie's head in my lap. He whimpers slightly but doesn't resist as Lena carefully pries his jaws apart.
“Shit,” she mutters, peering inside. "Alder, his gums are severely swollen. There's—" She shifts position to get a better look. "I think there's an abscess on the left side of his back. It's pretty bad."
"What does that mean? He just needs antibiotics or something, right?" I try to keep my voice steady, but there's a rising note of panic I can't quite suppress.
Lena meets my eyes, her expression grave. "Dental abscesses in dogs can be serious. They can spread the infection to other parts of the body very quickly. We need to get him to an emergency vet. Now."
"He's just a smelly dog," I protest weakly. “Everyone always says he’s smelly.”
"Alder." Lena's voice is firm but gentle. "This isn't normal smelly dog stuff. This is a serious infection. Trust me on this. Teeth matter."
The certainty in her voice galvanizes me into action. I scoop Gordie into my arms, surprised at how limp he feels, and head for the door. "There's an emergency clinic in Shadyside, about fifteen minutes from here."
"Give me your keys," Lena says, following close behind. "I'll drive. You sit with him."
I hesitate for only a moment before tossing her my keys. We hurry to the car, Gordie making small, pitiful sounds against my chest that twist something deep inside me.
"It's okay, buddy," I murmur, sliding into the back seat with him still cradled in my arms. "We're going to get you fixed up."
Lena navigates through early evening traffic with calm efficiency, occasionally glancing over with concern etched on her face. "Keep talking to him," she suggests. It'll help keep him calm."
So, I do. I tell Gordie about the birds we saw on the river today, about the swings, about how I'm going to buy him the fancy organic treats once he feels better. My voice catches occasionally, but I keep talking, as much for myself as for him.
By the time we pull into the emergency vet clinic's parking lot, my shirt is damp with sweat, Gordie's drool, and my arms ache from holding him. But I refuse to let him go until a vet tech meets us at the door with a gurney.
"What happened?" she asks, helping me transfer Gordie onto the small wheeled cart.
"Dental abscess," Lena answers before I can speak. "Severe swelling in the lower left quadrant, likely affecting the back molars. He's lethargic and showing signs of pain when touched near the jaw."
The tech gives Lena an appraising glance. "Medical background?"
"Dentist," Lena says. "Human teeth, but the principles are similar."
"Got it." The tech nods and begins wheeling Gordie through a set of double doors. "The doctor will examine him. You can wait in the reception area, and someone will come out to collect your information."
"Can't I go with him?" The words burst out of me, desperate and raw.
"I'm sorry, sir. Hospital protocol. We'll update you as soon as possible."
I stand frozen, watching the doors swing shut behind Gordie, my arms suddenly aching with emptiness. Lena's hand finds my elbow, gently guiding me toward the waiting area.
"He's in good hands," she says softly. "Come on. Let's get the paperwork started."
I nod silently, allowing her to lead me to the reception desk. Lena mutters under her breath about the cost, but I will pay any amount for that mutt to be healthy. He’s been my rock through some tough shit. I throw my credit card on the counter.
The next thirty minutes pass in a blur of forms and pet insurance questions. I sign whatever's put in front of me, grateful that Lena seems to know what information they need when my brain simply won't cooperate.
