Page 116 of Unravel Me

I tell myself I’m not jumping to any conclusions. I tell Dr. Holmes that I’m hopeful, that the X-rays will show the stomach still in proper position, so we’ll be able to remove any gas quickly and easily.

I tell myself everything is fine, but when those X-ray pictures land in my hands fifteen minutes later, showing me the damning evidence, they fall right to the ground, Dr. Holmes’s eyes following.

“Bear’s stomach is twisted. He has GDV.”

* * *

“I don’t understand.” Adam’s quiet, lost voice punctures my chest as he stares down at Bear, his head resting against his torso. “Is it something I did? Is it my fault?”

“GDV doesn’t have much of a rhyme or reason,” I repeat the same information I gave to Mrs. Greene just three days ago, only this time, I can’t swallow the heartache. “Bigger breeds with a deep chest, like Bear, are at a higher risk, though it can happen to any dog, and even cats. GDV happens when the stomach expands with gas and then rotates, or twists, blocking the entrance and the exit.”

“So the gas has nowhere to go,” he murmurs, a protective palm sliding over Bear’s belly. “How common is it?”

“The chance a dog Bear’s size contracts GDV is about twenty-one to twenty-four percent.”

“Fuck. Have you ever treated a dog with GDV?”

I look to Dr. Holmes, and she nods, gesturing for me to continue. “This past Friday we diagnosed a St. Bernard with GDV.”

“What happened?”

The words are lost to Adam’s brilliant eyes, holding onto that spark of hope but dimming fast.

“Rosie,” he whispers. “What happened?”

“Pepper—” Her name catches in my throat, breaking, burning. “Pepper passed during surgery. Her stomach couldn’t handle the pressure any longer and ruptured before we could release it.” A single tear leaks from the corner of my eye, and I sniff, swiping it away. “I understand why that might make you hesitant to proceed, but surgery is the only option. We would release the gas and set Bear’s stomach back in the normal position, then perform a gastropexy, which is where we attach his stomach to his abdominal wall to prevent future twisting.” I hesitate. “If Bear doesn’t have surgery, Adam, he will die. There isn’t another outcome.”

His chest rises sharply, and he strokes a hand down Bear’s side. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I trust you, Rosie. If you say he needs surgery, let’s do it.”

Trust. It’s a double-edged sword sometimes, isn’t it? I want it. I’m honored to have it. And yet I’m terrified to be the one to break it, even unintentionally.

So I only nod, praying I don’t have to do that today, and then excuse myself to have the operating room prepped.

Dr. Holmes catches me in the hallway. “Are you okay to do this? There’s no shame in stepping back. It’s always difficult, but when you have a personal tie to an animal—”

“I want to stay with Bear. Please don’t take me out of this.”

“If you feel your control slipping at any time, you let me know, and someone else can step in.”

“Thank you, but I won’t lose control.” It’s only a half lie; I’ll keep it together until the surgery ends.

When the OR is ready, I make my way back to the exam room where Adam waits with Bear and his dad. Deacon smiles at me, getting to his feet.

“Your mom is on the way over. I’m going to meet her out front.” He claps Adam on the back, kisses his head, and then takes Bear’s face in his hands. “You, big boy. I know I’m gonna see you later. I can feel it all the way down to my feet you love to sit on so much.” He presses a kiss to his nose, and Bear reciprocates the sentiment with a languid flick of his tongue over Deacon’s face. “You’re such a good boy, Bear.”

Deacon pauses at my side on the way by. “Thank you for taking care of my boys, Rosie. I know how much they love you.”

The words hang heavy in the air as he walks away, leaving Adam to stare at the deep flush the sentiment leaves on my cheeks.

“We’re ready for Bear,” I tell him. “Dr. Holmes will perform the surgery, and—”

“But you—”

“I can’t do the surgery, Adam. My job is to assist her with instruments and monitor Bear while I watch and learn.”

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