Two awesome weeks had slid on by. I'd had a great time with Cyclist Human who hung out with me while Parent Humans were gone on vacation--although he insisted upon taking pictures of me every single day...
Oh, who am I kidding, I didn't really mind. I could definitely be famous. I think I shall call him Paparazzi Human from now on.
Anyway, maybe it was all the excitement of a visitor and then the return of my Humans...maybe it was being out of my normal routine...maybe I didn't drink enough water...maybe I'd eaten one too many carpet fibers, and it had finally caught up with me...but a few days after Mom and Dad returned, my teeny tiny stomach started to feel like it was being squeezed, even though it also felt like I'd eaten a giant bunny buffet (yet that is something I definitely had NOT done), and I didn't want to move, and I just didn't feel buntastic like I usually do. I felt absolutely horrible. I felt like I was going to die. Seriously. I'm not just being dramatic. Mom realized something was seriously wrong when I wouldn't eat the cilantro she gave me. I always eat cilantro.
Agonizingly hunched in my own ball of fluffiness, I waited until Mom could figure out what to do. She always knows what to do.
But not this time. I knew this could only mean one thing: she was gonna bring in the big guns. She was gonna call Lady Gail, aka: Gee, aka: <long pause for dramatic effect> the Bunny Whisperer.
A few texts and calls later and a diagnosis of something scary called "GI Stasis", Mom sprung into action. She scooped me up--which would usually be against my will, but this time I was just too miserable to fight it--and wrapped me tightly in a towel. I have to admit, as much as I don't like to be manhandled, it was kinda nice to be held and hugged and rubbed and told everything would be ok. What was not nice, however, was the part where Mom stuck a plastic squirty thing (she called it a "syringe") in the side of my mouth and made me, made me! swallow things like water and mushed up pumpkin and pineapple juice. I'm not saying it didn't taste good or wasn't refreshing, but it was not nice.
This went on for 3 days (I'd say 3 weeks, 'cause that's what it felt like, but Mom would tell me to stop exaggerating). Mom and Dad continued to feed me from the syringe.(Sidenote: Dad was way better at holding on to me than Mom was--of course, I'd never tell her that--and the two of them working together to feed me was nicer for all of us. Mom eventually perfected the Bunny Burrito, and she fed me much better that way if she had to be on her own.) I was mad that my yummy pellets got taken away. I hated that my beautiful face and exquisite fur and perfect whiskers were caked with dried pumpkin and sticky pineapple juice. But I sure loved being taken care of.
Did I think I was going to make it through? Honestly, no. I felt so horrible. I couldn't eat, couldn't drink. Sometimes I could see a bright light, and I just wanted to go toward it. Ok, yeah, that might be a slight exaggeration. But did I want to give up? Sure did. But I didn't. And you know why?
That first night I got sick, I heard my very distraught Mom say as she and Dad were going to bed, "I'm afraid to go to sleep, because I don't want to wake up in the morning and find a dead bunny!"
That was all the motivation I needed. Of course I didn't want to be a dead bunny. But I really didn't want Mom to be sad. I love her and Dad too much. Well...*cough cough*...I mean...they're pretty cool...
Anyway, I summoned all my bunny strength, and with a lotta love and a little food shoved down my throat, I pushed through. After those long, scary, agonizing days, I awoke that third morning with a little bit of energy and a very hungry tummy. Mom came in with a few bits of lettuce, and she about did cartwheels in front of my cage when I hunched over and nibbled those cool, crispy, delightful pieces of greens. Best. Lettuce. Ever.
Before long, I was back to my normal self. Eating, drinking, playing, chewing (on bunny appropriate materials, of course). And I never want to be that sick, ever again. So thankful Mom, Dad, and the Bunny Whisperer took such great care of me. I think they all love me a whole awful lot. I'm ok with that.
But ya know, there is one thing I'm a little miffed about. Since we've gotten passed this scary sickness, I seem to get a little less yummy pellets than before. Mom said something about hay and lettuce and a thing called "fiber" being way more important. I can't say that I agree with her. Glad Dad still sneaks me alfalfa cubes when she's not looking...
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