We got what we wished for. We got him back, for a while. An amazing, surprising, blessed few moments. It was more than I had hoped. It was everything I needed. Yes, as selfish and maniacal as it sounds, it was a miracle we wished for, bought, and had for a little while. Just a little while.
My dog Jekyll is the little beagle who stole my heart all of those years ago. He has always been a bit of a lemon. Always a little broken, a little fragile, and for 8 years a beagle hell bent on finding, exploiting and reveling in trouble. Running for hours on the lamb, bunny-drugged and possessed to be their shadow. He was his own pup. Loving a dog on their own terms is a challenge. Always. Always who he wanted to be, rarely who I wanted him to be.
Jekyll stumbled in November 2017 with an odd pain I couldn't quite identify among his lifelong of physical inadequacies. It took me 8 weeks of looking, hunting and knowing he wasn't quite right. It was January 2018 when his cancer was hunted to the ground: TCC, transitional cell carcinoma of the urethra. This cancer grows until it cuts off the passage of urine out of the bladder. You gotta pee, and when you can't long enough you die. Jekyll was dying. I was reeling with the quickness and mercilessness of the diagnosis. He had days, maybe weeks to live.
I wanted more time. I wasn't (yes, more selfish "me's" here) ready. I just couldn't believe it, and I wasn't going to accept it if I had any choice in the matter. I made desperate phone calls. The kind a frantic mom does when her kid is dying. Chemotherapy started in late January 2018. Jekyll had nine rounds of weekly chemo. Some worked, most didn't: but the ones that did he faced without pause or hesitation. He faced every day of those i.v. catheters, drugs, anesthesia and strangers poking him bravely and fiercely. He walked away from 4 months of drugs a dog with a new life. All of the pieces of him that had started to surrender to dying retreated. They stayed out of our life for two months of blissful, puppy-playtime joy. He was back to himself and I was left knowing that the beast we slayed was merely sleeping. We hadn't banished him, we had maimed him, but, he would be back. BUT, OH THOSE AMAZING MONTHS! I cannot tell you how wonderful they were. I cannot express how perfect life was again, and, how grateful I was to be watching him so full of life. His old troublesome, untrustworthy to stay at home self. He was his own destiny, life was all his to be whatever he wanted it to be. It was miraculous. Simply that.
The grip of cancer is creeping back into his life. I see it in small glances and ever increasing straining to urinate, sleep through the night, and leaking urine in his bed.
He is surrendering slower this time. The beast within is not as big and mighty this time around. But it is still there. Insidious, unrelenting, ever present if you look closely. I cannot, we cannot, escape him, that beast of cancer that dwells within.
Jekyll had a magnificent reprieve. A time of running, sniffing, playing, being happy. Really, truly, blissfully happy. Happy to be a beagle in a world of beings to discover and uncover. The truth is that I am/was most fulfilled to be the mom, the vet, and the person to help get him to that place of youth again. It is the essence of a veterinarian. To alleviate. To understand, dissect and unravel to make the patient whole again.
This is the curse you are given at some point on the journey of life. The plot always has an end. For me, what I have learned, is that what you put into this life is what you get out of it. Trying to thwart the ending, the tragedy that the end brings is cutting the corners. Negating the path of a long journey for the road that might be paved in good intentions but cheats you on the little joys that hardship, challenges, and grit built doesn't ever get you to utopia. And really, who wants to be anywhere else? You have to be really careful in protecting your heart if your heart is all in. I have failed being reasonable, finding peaceful passage when the road looks rocky, dark, uncharted and even treacherous. You walk on. Me, and Jek, we walk on. For today, hopefully tomorrow, but always grateful we had the time we did together. It is the life, unfettered, unforgiving, and never promised for tomorrow.
There are two important life lessons for me here, at this place where an end is still looming;
My job, my life, my purpose, is to help the suffering (the four legged kind). There is, and always should be much more to this quest to end suffering than a pink injection syringe. Right or wrong veterinary medicine does a lot of final mercy judgement in killing. We "end suffering" a lot more than we extend our necks to provide a brief respite for our patients and their family. Far too much to remind us to be compassionate and generous. Giving up too soon, or without a fight, a plan, a list of options, sells our profession short. It makes us able to euthanize without stopping our day to recognize the loss it brings. We have become hardened to euthanasia to the point we validate it for almost every possible condition and reason. It is the easy way out, and too often at our patients expense. What if it wasn't on the table as an option? What if?
There is life within dying. Little pieces left to cherish. I cherish every single one on a different level today than I did last year. What if every human cherished life to this extent? What if?
Lastly, I have to remind myself at the end of this there is a beginning awaiting. I have to. There is another beagle out there who needs me. Whom I need to be reminded why I am so dedicated to animals and the beauty they bring to our lives. I cannot shut down. I cannot bury myself in this grief, as comforting and consoling as it feels to be there. Wrapped in the memories of my beloved pup.
More on Jekyll here;
The Turmoil Of Contemplating and Deciding How Long To Fight For Your Pets Life.
If you are a pet parent in need there are lots of ways to get help, and even help others. You can find me, answering pet questions, providing support to pet parents, and building a place for others like us, here at Pawbly.com.
I am also at the clinic, JarrettsvilleVet.com and Facebook. Or see my helpful videos on YouTube.
Be well. Live Life. And GO ON.
Jekyll stumbled in November 2017 with an odd pain I couldn't quite identify among his lifelong of physical inadequacies. It took me 8 weeks of looking, hunting and knowing he wasn't quite right. It was January 2018 when his cancer was hunted to the ground: TCC, transitional cell carcinoma of the urethra. This cancer grows until it cuts off the passage of urine out of the bladder. You gotta pee, and when you can't long enough you die. Jekyll was dying. I was reeling with the quickness and mercilessness of the diagnosis. He had days, maybe weeks to live.
I wanted more time. I wasn't (yes, more selfish "me's" here) ready. I just couldn't believe it, and I wasn't going to accept it if I had any choice in the matter. I made desperate phone calls. The kind a frantic mom does when her kid is dying. Chemotherapy started in late January 2018. Jekyll had nine rounds of weekly chemo. Some worked, most didn't: but the ones that did he faced without pause or hesitation. He faced every day of those i.v. catheters, drugs, anesthesia and strangers poking him bravely and fiercely. He walked away from 4 months of drugs a dog with a new life. All of the pieces of him that had started to surrender to dying retreated. They stayed out of our life for two months of blissful, puppy-playtime joy. He was back to himself and I was left knowing that the beast we slayed was merely sleeping. We hadn't banished him, we had maimed him, but, he would be back. BUT, OH THOSE AMAZING MONTHS! I cannot tell you how wonderful they were. I cannot express how perfect life was again, and, how grateful I was to be watching him so full of life. His old troublesome, untrustworthy to stay at home self. He was his own destiny, life was all his to be whatever he wanted it to be. It was miraculous. Simply that.
The grip of cancer is creeping back into his life. I see it in small glances and ever increasing straining to urinate, sleep through the night, and leaking urine in his bed.
He is surrendering slower this time. The beast within is not as big and mighty this time around. But it is still there. Insidious, unrelenting, ever present if you look closely. I cannot, we cannot, escape him, that beast of cancer that dwells within.
Jekyll had a magnificent reprieve. A time of running, sniffing, playing, being happy. Really, truly, blissfully happy. Happy to be a beagle in a world of beings to discover and uncover. The truth is that I am/was most fulfilled to be the mom, the vet, and the person to help get him to that place of youth again. It is the essence of a veterinarian. To alleviate. To understand, dissect and unravel to make the patient whole again.
There are two important life lessons for me here, at this place where an end is still looming;
My job, my life, my purpose, is to help the suffering (the four legged kind). There is, and always should be much more to this quest to end suffering than a pink injection syringe. Right or wrong veterinary medicine does a lot of final mercy judgement in killing. We "end suffering" a lot more than we extend our necks to provide a brief respite for our patients and their family. Far too much to remind us to be compassionate and generous. Giving up too soon, or without a fight, a plan, a list of options, sells our profession short. It makes us able to euthanize without stopping our day to recognize the loss it brings. We have become hardened to euthanasia to the point we validate it for almost every possible condition and reason. It is the easy way out, and too often at our patients expense. What if it wasn't on the table as an option? What if?
There is life within dying. Little pieces left to cherish. I cherish every single one on a different level today than I did last year. What if every human cherished life to this extent? What if?
Lastly, I have to remind myself at the end of this there is a beginning awaiting. I have to. There is another beagle out there who needs me. Whom I need to be reminded why I am so dedicated to animals and the beauty they bring to our lives. I cannot shut down. I cannot bury myself in this grief, as comforting and consoling as it feels to be there. Wrapped in the memories of my beloved pup.
More on Jekyll here;
The Turmoil Of Contemplating and Deciding How Long To Fight For Your Pets Life.
If you are a pet parent in need there are lots of ways to get help, and even help others. You can find me, answering pet questions, providing support to pet parents, and building a place for others like us, here at Pawbly.com.
I am also at the clinic, JarrettsvilleVet.com and Facebook. Or see my helpful videos on YouTube.
Be well. Live Life. And GO ON.
I love the first and last pictures especially. Your smile, Jekyll's big confident personality, the sunshine on you both, your beautiful home in the background. A snapshot of the kind of Heaven on Earth that people who love animals get to experience for a time that always seems too short. Thank you for always sharing. Thoughts and prayers with you, Jekyll and your family.
ReplyDelete2
ReplyDeleteDrusilla said it all. My heart breaks for you. I've been thru it many times, and it never gets easier. Hugs, Roberta
ReplyDelete