First three days — nothing. The doubt was deafening.
Day five — his breath was lighter. Small. But after two years of nothing working, small felt like a miracle.
Week one — I lifted his lip. Held my breath. The buildup the vet flagged? Thinner. Not gone. But thinner. First time anything had moved in the right direction.
Week two — gums looked calmer. Pinker. The angry red that haunted me through Oscar's decline wasn't there anymore. I checked every single day. Every single day it looked better.
Week three — his teeth looked cleaner than they had since he was a puppy. Not slightly. Visibly. I kept lifting his lip like a crazy person because I didn't trust what I was seeing.
Six weeks later — back at the vet. Same clinic. Same exam room. My hands were shaking. She lifted his lip. Checked both sides. Looked at his gums. "His mouth looks great. Keep doing whatever you're doing."
I made it to the car before I broke down.
Because those words meant one thing — the disease that killed Oscar just stopped in Milo.