The Night Lola Went Quiet: My Sick-Day Sheet
Poor Lola turned quiet overnight, literally overnight. Less eating, less moving, wrong-feeling belly watch. Vet first thing in the morning, prayers requested from the whole house. This post is my sick-day sheet: the overnight timeline, what I logged before the vet, what the vet found (their words), and the recovery watch. Strictly personal record, not vet advice of any kind. I state no causes, no remedies, no guidance. For any quiet rabbit: vet first, log alongside. Sick days get the most careful pages.
Overnight timeline: 22:00 to 8:00
22:00 normal evening: ate hay, flopped tile-side, routine. 2:00 camera check: in hide instead of tile (unusual, flagged). 6:30 morning: still in hide, greens untouched (first uneaten breakfast on record), water line unchanged. 7:00 observations logged: movement slow crossing the room, belly feels different to my usual touch (wrong-feeling, the word I wrote and underlined), posture hunched between moves. 8:00 vet called, appointment secured same morning. What I logged before the vet: last normal poop + last meal with exact times (poops 21:40 normal, meal 22:00 hay), belly feel + movement level + water intake in one line each, everything written down to hand the vet. The sheet traveled with us in my hand.
At the vet and after
Back from the vet: guts moving, no stasis, eye ulcer found and treated, their findings, copied to the sheet word for word, plus the recheck date. Treatment details stay between us and the clinic; this page holds only outcomes and my watch schedule. Home routine per their instructions (followed exactly, logged tick by tick). Recovery watch entries pair with my weigh-in method (daily checks during recovery, same tile) and the weekly tracker format (readings plus photo). Get patched up and back to yourself in no time, Lola. The sheet stays open until the binkies return, first happy sign awaited, logged the hour it lands.
Recovery watch: days 1-7
Day 1 (vet day): home by noon, hide rest, hay nibbled evening, appetite 50%, logged carefully. Day 2: greens half-eaten, movement better, first evening flop (cautious cheer). Day 3: hay speed normalizing, poops regular again, eye brighter. Day 4: first binky attempt (aborted mid-air, wisely). Day 5: full hay enthusiasm, normal mischief resumed (tunnel inspected). Day 6: routine indistinguishable from baseline. Day 7: binkies returned, logged the hour (18:40), the sheet closed with a star. Revisit attended per the vet’s date; recovery confirmed; sheet filed under health history. What the week taught (process only): log exact times (21:40 poops mattered at the clinic), write belly-feel words immediately (memory blurs by morning), keep the sheet in hand (vets read dated rows gratefully). The sheet stays open until the binkies return, and they did, 18:40, starred.
Chart discipline: what sick days require
Sick-day chart rules, posted inside the notebook: times exact (never around), words immediate (never later), vet words verbatim (never paraphrased), outcomes dated (never assumed). The quiet-rabbit protocol: notice early (compare against routine, not worry), call promptly (morning, not evening), log alongside (parallel, not instead). What this page never contains, by design: causes guessed, remedies suggested, timelines promised. Only my vet decides those; I just track so changes surface early. Lola’s file: one scary night, one morning visit, one finding treated, seven watchful days, full recovery. Most careful pages in the diary, and the most relieved closing line: binkies 18:40, sheet starred, prayers answered.
Vet-visit kit, perfected by this scare: sheet pre-filled (last normal times already logged, the habit that paid), carrier ready (blanket inside, door practiced), questions listed (three, all asked, all answered), treat for after (parsley, morale). Questions asked this visit: guts sounds meaning (explained), home-watch priorities (appetite first), recheck timing (dated). Answers filed verbatim in the read-only box. The kit lives by the door now with the carriers, readiness disguised as tidiness. Next scare (hopefully never): same kit, same sheet, same speed. Overnight vigilance continues as routine: 2am camera glance nightly (habit from the scare, kept as luxury), morning greens-check with intent (appetite read daily). Quiet rabbits get noticed fast in this house, the sheet sees to that.
Closing the sick-day file: binkies 18:40 day seven, recheck passed, sheet starred and filed. The scare’s gifts (unwelcome, kept): the vet kit by the door, the 2am glance habit, the exact-times discipline. Lola’s file joins the health archive: one night quiet, one morning swift, one finding treated, full recovery. Prayers answered, sheet closed, binkies resumed. Well done, everyone, especially the patient, who cooperated throughout and billed us in worry.
Sheet closed, starred, filed. Binkies resumed; prayers answered; diary relieved. Until next scare (hopefully never): kit ready, times exact, vet first. Lola, well done.
Quiet noticed fast, vet called faster, sheet kept fastest. The sick-day doctrine in nine words. Lola binkies; diary breathes.
File closed with gratitude: to the vet (swift, kind), to the sheet (exact, ready), to Lola (brave, recovering).
I am keeping the overnight sheet by the lamp this week, with times and notes exactly where I can reach them. Lola binkied across the rug tonight, and the whole house exhaled together at the sight.
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