Eluding The Arrow. When Life Narrowly Escapes Death. If Only By A Few Days

I have been repeating the following to myself routinely throughout the past days;

"There is nothing more precious than this day...."

I play this on a loop because my breath can't catch my fears for long enough.

Every moment of each recent day has been an egg-shelled goosestep frenzy. A holding of my breath as I cross my fingers and mutter a silent prayer for a reprieve,,, if only for another day. All the while knowing that my luck, and the mercy from above, is on short supply from an endless demand. Fate always wins. The house always calls its players home from rehearsal. I am not fooling anyone, surely not myself. The one who witnesses, awaits, and too often yields that fateful blow. No, surely I will not be provided mercy from deaths ever tightening grip. 

I know this, and yet I, like everyone else, sit here pray-fully begging for another skipped turn. 

Just one more hour, a sunrise, a day, perhaps the upcoming holiday, to be given with my dear boy.

His name is Charleston. He's 13. All grey faced and creaky. Bones jutting from a spine that used to propel him like an antelope. Stiff gaited and slow. He wags a slow paddle when you gleam a big "hello!" and whisper into his silken silvered ears,  "I love you." He is still there. 100% mentally intact. Feeling all of his wants, his impatient protests, and the pull of a cancer that is slowly ingesting him from the inside. He moans and flops, and reminds me to beg harder. Plead more profoundly. And decide where that line is that I always propose to stop at. The veterinarians compass is full of tricks. Tools of the trade to barter with the invisible veil of fate calling him home.

Today was a night of sleepless worry. He did well yesterday. We enjoyed a full day at home, uninterrupted. Last night he paid the price for not sleeping the day away as is his usual when I work 12 hours. He tossed, turned, moaned, whimpered, and panted in small short blows to a chest that has been compressed by fluid from a tumor leaking inside his heart.

He sleeps at the foot of my bed. His dry, violent coughs jolt me out of half slumber to try to assuage the beast that rises and screams within his ribs. It was a night that brought an awakening that we couldn't do this another day. It was just too cruel to hear him pant so fast and furious and still not be able to catch a good breath. 

When my husband awoke we talked about the logistics of putting him to sleep on his bed. In just a few moments he could be at peace. I could give him that. For all the pain it brought to me. I cried to my husband hating this part of my toolbox as much as I do. I truly despise this one last act. It is the most difficult thing I force myself to do. 

Why do I euthanize my own? 

It comes down to them. My beloved pets knowing that they left with me confessing the depth of my gratitude into their ears, their being. That I loved them beyond measure and I wouldn't let anyone else tell them for me at this last moment together. It makes me nauseous. Physically ill. I cannot eat, or drink, or let myself be forgiven for my failure.

I draw imaginary lines to not cross. 

Today it was oxygen and thoracocentesis. I was not going to put him in a caged oxygen chamber, alone. Breathe better my boy, but do it surrounded by stainless steel and a plexiglass door fogged with panting pleas to be freed.

Chest tap. Drain the fluid compressing his lungs and let the air back in. Why when the tumor is just going to replace it? Maybe it will take days, or weeks (fingers crossed), but, it will come back.

Nope we were going to be grateful for our time together and say our goodbyes. 

The cancer is in his heart, his bladder and his spleen. Nasty invasive fucker holed up in the heart. The one place I can't put my surgically gloved finger on and cut out. Tentacled, maniacal, bastard.

The sun came up. The windows filled with light. The puppies made their morning ritual jump up into our bed and kissed our hands. They wag and wiggle and nuzzle into the pillows. It is their subtle "good morning!" cadence. Charlie usually starts to stir after the puppies pop in. A long exaggerated guttery yawn. A shaking of his head and church bell collar charm cockatoo. He then stretches cat-like on the carpet and trots to the bedroom door for his chaperoned walk outside.

This morning, after a full night of fitful moans he did just this.

Walked outside, peed on the holly and trotted for his morning stroll.

He walked into the kitchen, sat on his bed, and ate the steak left over from last nights green-mile dinner.

I smiled a tear-choked nod to my husband and said,

"I'm calling the troops at the clinic and we are trying different meds and a chest tap."

And so goes the line. Nudged to the corner. Redefined in another day.

The words rattle in my subconscious. The pearls passed down from the weathered vets who taught me to live by these words;

"Let no patient die without the benefit of steroids, analgesics, and an appetite stimulant."

That was the recipe for todays reprieve. And a jigger of chest tap muddler.

and to the wise words of my fellow vet friend,, because it is true that we lose our "doctor brain" when it is our own pet, sedate for sleep. We all need it, and, that mercy comes without a guilty hangover.

For those who understand. For those who still grieve with loss. And for those pet parents who have walked down this road before. You are not alone. You gave a soul a life I know they are blessed and grateful to have had. Every dog should be as lucky as Charlie is. He was loved, he remains loved eternally. What more could one ask for?

Parting wisdom; Saying goodbye never gets easier. What does make it survivable is only knowing that there are lives ahead of me to take care of, and a sense of knowing I can add his footsteps to mine on the other side of this. My life is infinitely richer for having shared the last 13 plus with him.

I will miss you Charlie, everyday.

This Time Around. Coming To Terms With The Death of My Beloved Pup..

Veteran territory. I have been here before. The wound is soo deep it seems fresh, draining, life threatening. Death has been to visit me before. We haven't come to terms with each others presence, nor purpose. IT is still an unwelcome intruder. Albeit, ominous and undeniable, still IT calls, I collude, and yet, IT always wins, as I feign fractured and defeated. Again, and, again.

Our pets never live long enough. You can try to push the limits of pet-mortality with purchasing a parrot,, get yourself a good chance at a millennia, but dogs, if you stay mainstream canine, are lucky to see their teenage years, incredibly blessed if they hit two decades, and if you like to go big, or even "giant" you may not ever see double digits together.

I have learned that my heart can barely handle this pain every 10 years. I need, want, choose, hope, pray, beg, for a decade of longevity. Turns out my track record reflects this. "The older I get, the smaller my pets get." It is a hard-learned trade secret to try to spare me the loss every 5 years, or so, and it allows me to be able to carry them when their winter starts to wither and their bones can no longer support their ambulatory requirements.

The last few years has marred me with the loss of two beagles; Jekyll (just last month), and Savannah, a few years ago.

It took me weeks to get out of the grey fog I was flailing in with Savannah's loss. I just couldn't get out of the programmed repetitive daily motion I had become so accustomed to. The getting up at all times of the night. The managing her hysteria, messes, and failing functions. Undoing the habitual duties she set into my daily life took time. All the while desperate to go back to that place of interrupted sleep that her deprived mania brought just to have her back with me. But her loss was explainable, excusable, sensible. She had made it to 16. A ripe old age. A respectable age for any dog. She could be grieved but not denied a silver lining sentiment for surpassing the acceptable tenure. I could complain that her loss hurt, but I couldn't expect sympathy that she hadn't been afforded a long loving life.

Savannah

Jekyll, my most recent loss, another beagle, passed away at 8. He got cheated. I have anger lining that grief. Bitter shards to embalm him in. Seething pain to intern him with. Dust to damnation. A cursed cruel loss.

jek

The pit of my grief with his death lies here. The time frame cut too tragically short. The agony of desperate attempts to buy another "good" day for him. The exhaustion in losing the big battle. The responsibility I feel as having been the ultimate master of his destiny and purveyor of his curtain call. It is a terribly painful place to be. The ultimate responsibility can leave you with the lifetime of despair in second guessing and brow beating every previous decision. Sad couldn't begin to capture my angry bitterness. Except to mar it with also feeling responsible. That little fact made it crushing to swallow, impossible to move on, and fraught with such self doubting so that no piece of me was big enough to reassemble.

The days after his passing were simply about getting up, getting dressed, crying in the car to work, choking on grief and visible despair , all the while attempting to trudge into a day I dreaded facing. It also brought me back to why. The why of this profession? The immense magnitude of the responsibility we carry. The joy and the pain and the immeasurable grief it brings when you build a life around another.

The why we let them into our homes and hearts? The why we incorporate them into all parts of our lives? The why it is so easy to love them and yet so impossibly hard to lose them?
The why is the reason for everything we do as a parent and a veterinarian. It is important to always remember the WHY's?

I can love this pup, let him go knowing life too often works in its unfair ways, and not be ashamed, embarrassed or surprised when it repeats itself in my clients lives. If you can't feel a loss you cannot love. They are inseparable. It is what makes a vet a real person in the right profession for the right reasons.

I know this. I believe this. The tough part is living this when my own heart is shattered after losing the little one I loved so completely. It is grieving. Understandably. Grieving without withdrawal from ever opening your heart again is what I believe to be the most devastating part of pet loss. This is where I spend time talking to clients. It is normal to grieve. Grieve, however you need to, for you. Take time for yourself. Make a place to memorialize your pets life. A place to know you can go to to tell them how much you miss and love them. Live in the memories of your time together. But, try to not blame yourself. Try not to get stuck here. I know it is hard. I spent weeks here feeling like I, me the great powerful veterinary healer, could surely have saved my beloved boy. I had time, financial resources, access to the best specialists. Every tool to make him survive even the worst disease. It didn't happen, He left too soon. I lost him. I failed him.

Me and Jek at the oncologist's office.

That was exactly how I felt. Can you imagine how everyone else who doesn't have a decade of being a doctor, a clinic at their disposal, an Army of specialists, a bank account dedicated to dog care feels?

We will all lose a love because life always meets death. But giving up on loving again, ever having a pet again, that's where the real tragedy for me is.

So many clients give up after their pet dies. I think they feel it is too painful to go through again, or, like me they feel as if they will never find another pet who fills the shoes, measures up to the caliber of loyal/obedient/dedicated/wonderful there pet did. It is natural to not want to feel awful again. But not feel again? That's a loss that costs more than any heart should endure.

You cannot go through life living it if you try to not feel it,, good, bad and everything in between.

We all write the chapters of our own book. My book, each deep rich chapter of it has always been delineated and defined by the four legged family who made the tapestry the vivid, meaningful experience it was. The many homes, the varied geography, assorted jobs, were all the background that set my stage for each chapter whose central characters were always the dogs, cats, and pigs who made this life colorful and rich. They were, and are, the most important and meaningful pieces of the life I created and treasure. Some took up hundreds of pages. Some saw me through decades of questions trying to create the adult the kid was dreaming of. Some were short poems, a life too little, too fragile and too small to last past a haiku on an abbreviated page. But I am a richer, wiser, more content and accomplished thanks to their acceptance, love and wisdom.

You would think that with all of these chapters, all of the times I have been through loving and losing them that I would be better at grieving? My previous practice would make perfect assembly line efficiency of recovery? Yeah, not so much. I still invest whole heart immersed, drown in despair with loss, and trudge ugly through getting over it. Practice has not made perfect, unless that perfect implies pitiful.

The loss of Jekyll and Savannah took me weeks, months, longer/forever, to come to terms with. I will never "get over them." They were too monumental for that. All I wanted from myself when getting through their loss was to not give up. It was all I could hope for. They were loved. (I can say that with total conviction). There are millions (millions) of equally deserving (I can say that with complete honesty also) who never know a kind hand. I still have that to give. I may be broken and hurt, but I can still be kind to a furry face. I have to think beyond me. Society, civilization rests on this. It does transcend past human to human. Anyone who has ever loved a pet knows that. The world is better for all of us because we can love each other, regardless of size, shape, color, claws, fur, or fins. Love that is compassion is the key to life. All life and all living. This is what I believe, and remind myself of when reeling in loss.

Here's what happened to me after Jekyll passed away. I cried a lot, for days, weeks.  I told the people around me that while I appreciated their sympathy I couldn't talk about it at work. I had to stay busy and focused around the grief.

After two weeks I started trying to put my toes back in the water. I started looking at the pets in the shelters and at the local rescues. None of them were Jekyll. None of them pulled me into compulsion to step forward for them to come home with me. None of them were Jekyll. I was looking for that face. That smile. Those ears. Some tiny resemblance to jar me into adoption and out of affliction. I realized that obviously I wasn't really ready. I wanted to be ready. I just wasn't. I started spending loads of time with Charleston, my other dog. The left behind dog while we were all so focused on Jekyll. He had been neglected while Jek took so much of my time to monitor, treat, and obsess on. I owed him help in his grieving to. He was as heart broken as I was. We went on lots of walks, changed the room around. Got new toys. A little distracting helps pets adjust to a different routine and life. He got quiet and withdrawn. He missed his instigator and boisterous beagle brother. He was always the shadow behind that dynamic personality. He never saw his own sunshine  without Jekyll pointing the way.

Charlie was depressed.. But, he seemed more than withdrawn. He seemed deflated.. Vet mode mom kicked in (although it felt like paranoid vet mom). What would I do if he was dying too? Charlie's blood work revealed a low thyroid. I put him on medication to see if this would help resolve his lethargy, depression and sadness. It helped quite a lot. He started to wag again.

The next set of events changed everything. It added a new chapter and pulled me out of isolation and despair. A hurricane hit. Storm landed. (more on him soon). Hurricane Florence lands.

I added two very sick puppies within 3 weeks. We needed each other. I remembered I had a purpose outside sadness. I am alive again with them. I can go on. Being needed and loved helped me remember to start writing the next chapter, again. I was pulled out of grief by two sick puppies. I reinvested my energy into them, constructive caring, versus my grief soaked couch. Charlie, well it took about a week to realize they were residents, but when he could no longer ignore their incesant chew-bite instigation, he started to play. Within two weeks we stopped his thyroid meds (there is no medical study to back this, but its true). Charlie, and I, were back with the living.

I wasn't ready. I have no idea how long we will get together. But the time with them is far better than the wallowing in despair. We need each other, all of us. Loneliness is the gateway to despair and my puppies are waiting for me at home.

To all of those out there drowning in grief I hear you. I know. There is a way out. Reinvest your whole self in a pet. They need you as much as you need them. You can help each other to the shore. I send you all love and support.

For more information on who Jarrettsville Veterinary Center is please visit our Facebook page, or our website.

If you have a pet question or a story about your pet to share so we can start to help others who might be in the same situation you are (or were), please visit us at Pawbly.com. It is free to use and open to everyone.

If you want to learn more about pet care visit my YouTube channel here. 

The Aftermath.. The days after losing my beloved Jekyll.

It has been a day of crying. Just a puddle of despair....
.....and lots of self-doubting questions.

My dearest Jekyll-pup.. How I miss this face....

How will I go on?

How will I go to work today? How do I face anyone? What if they ask about him? How can I maintain any kind of decorum or composure? How can I talk, utter a word, without crying? And then how do I stop?

How do I go on?

How do I get through the rest of the days ahead when they can't possibly contain any light or joy in them?

Did I let him go too soon? Did I really (really) do all I could have? (Internally I never, ever, answer this question with conviction that "I did!" There was still chemically induced coma to let his gut heal for a while. Stem cells. Cloning. More radiation. More chemo? Bringing him to the teaching college to say "DO anything, everything. Money is no object."

Charlie, his roommate, companion, partner in crime for the better part of the last decade, is as lost and alone as I am. For the last year of Jekyll's intense treatments, unyielding all night emergency bathroom requests and alarms Charlie sat in the bed next to him. He never once got up with us. knowing these were just a part of his disease process. Not time to wake for the day. Not anytime to be going outside at O-dark-middle-of -the-night-morning for anything of interest. He would open one eye, check to make sure one of the parents was getting up to take Jekyll out and then go back to sleep. Charlie has been the guardian for Jekyll's whole life. The big brother overseeing the rambunctious energetic trouble seeking beagle-hound. He has kept a watchful eye, been very sedentary as Jekyll slowed down. Charlie's life had to sit in the wings waiting while Jekyll took so much time and attention. The daily 4 mile runs had to be truncated to long walks in the woods twice a day. The adventure remained but the stamina waned. Charlie, who has sat vigil or left his side in the last 6 months waited. He waited for his friend to get better. He waited for his mom to get more time to give him. His life got smaller, subdued, and simple. I owe him an apology for that. He never took time or attention away from Jekyll.. I didn't have any left over to spare. He was respectful of that.

Jekyll and Charlie,, always ready for another adventure.

On the first night without Jekyll, amidst the sobbing and the silence, and the loss, the loss of Jekyll's presence which brought a coldness and a stillness to the house which loomed, foreboding and haunting, Charlie got into his bed, curled up and closed his eyes like he has for years before. He is our steady sleeper. He never gets up at night. He never got up the thousands of times Jekyll needed to. He never made a peep until I got up and told him it was "time to start our day." That night, this past Sunday night, our first night without Jekyll in 9 years, Charlie got up every hour to summon me. Every hour he scratched me to wake up, he ran down the stairs, shot out the door, looking. Left. Right. Ears up erect. Listening. Looking.

 

Charlie looked for Jekyll all night long. Eight trips outside. Eight trips darting outside intent to find him. Eight trips being coaxed back inside reluctantly. Apologetically. Unwilling to leave him alone outside. Knowing he was not in the bed room, not next to him in his bed. Not with us.

It is so hard for all of us. The mark that this loss bears.

Two days after losing his best friend I still cannot get Charlie to eat. I have left over steak, roast beef, chicken nuggets. Charlie will only eat the snacks Jekyll was being blandished by. Charlie has retreated into a subdued routine. Nothing gets him happy. Nothing pulls him out. Not walks, not food, not me. 

I lost one kid on Sunday, and I cannot seem to cajole my other into rejoining the world. I get it. I do. I don't want to be here without Jekyll either. It just not the same.

People, souls, all of us, retreat into ourselves when life denies us the comfort we need. It is safer, quieter, peaceful here with my memories and loss.. no one will ask me anything here. I don't have to answer the why's, the how's, the dreaded "how are you doing?" I can just hug my dog who already knows the answers.

More on Jekyll here;
The Little Things.

Losing My Beloved Jekyll-Pup

there are dozens more stories on him.. he was my muse,,

Jekyll Arrives

Wordless Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Wordless Wednesday is a photo compilation of many of the pets I see over the week at Jarrettsville Vet.

Each patient has a story and each photo is my little way of telling them how much they mean to me, and how much I love being a vet.

Gracie, Who arrives in a muzzle,

but slowly warms up to us.

She had her knee repaired on Monday.

Waking up pain free..very very important!!

Re-check apointment..
back with a muzzle..
oh, Gracie..

Our favorite kitten picture of the week.

Amie, who came to visit last week.
Had a long list of worries, and then we did diagnostics and got to cross off almost all of them!

My Charlie, and his new present..
needless to say he is in love with it!
Thanks aunt Diedra.
(Oh, it's her birthday today!
Happy Birthday!)

Dozer (short for Bulldozer), came in for limping.
At 250 pounds and 6 years old osteoarthritis was high on my rule out list..
Problem with this diagnosis is that we need a pelvic x-ray to confirm.
Problem with this is heaving 250 pounds up onto an x-ray table AND then holding 250 pounds still.
It was a circus act that Dozer won easily.
Next time I am sending him to an equine practice.

Sophia smiles

And then the ears go up!

Trooper begs,,very very well..
those eyes are so focused they are hypnotic!
And of course, I crumble and give in.

Beau, the Great Dane..begging also.
and I give in again!
(Note to my clients remove the treat bowl before I get in the exam room if you don't want me to feed treats..)

I fell head over heels for Cooper!
The 4 month old Boston..
who loves everyone!
He is a world class kisser and nibbler!
But you gotta hold on! Because he is also a wiggler.

That face is irresistible..and those ears,, they go straight up and then
curl back at the top because they are a little too flimsy at the tips..

Sunday morning at home. I decided to take a bunch of pictures of my pups..they are irresistible too!

Jekyll

Bored with the photo shoot already

Really bored..

And again..so much for funny photos.

The shy deference that begs for release.

Finally, one funny photo!

For more pet photos please visit our Jarrettsville Vet Facebook page (where the other vets and staff post their patient photos), or for more pictures of my pets and a few patients visit Pawbly.com and follow me. I post pictures daily to my Timeline..or just follow the questions other pet lovers are asking and answering.

Have a wonderful week everyone!

Happy Hump Day!