"Thirty-four," he said, looking at me with sincere regret. I nodded and he apologized again.
"No," I finally said. Chienne's eye doctor had numbed her eyes after examining them and measured the pressure.
"Too high," he mumbled after looking at the measurement on the blind eye. Shaking the instrument, he pressed buttons on its side and offered that he'd recalibrate while I looked at the tech with worried eyes.
"You're a good girl," I told my dog, cuddling her as she leaned against me from her perch on the table. "Such a good girl," I murmured again as the doctor pressed the monitor against her eye.
"You warned me," I said once Chienne was on the ground again. "The injections sometimes don't work. I, um," I paused, blinked and swallowed. "I don't want you to take her eye," I whispered. "I'm sorry," I said as I took the tissue the tech offered. "I just needed more drops and expected that everything would be fine when you checked. I wasn't ready."
It appears I should brace myself. I brought the puppy home with instructions for a more intensive drop regimine. We scheduled another surgery for one more injection. We do not believe she is miserable though she's likely mildly uncomfortable.
I, conversely, am seriously sad.
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