My Letter to Dr Fine

I have a dream.

It includes happy people, AND, their happy, healthy pets.

Let's call it a fairy tale in real-time. A hope to manifest into a novel, a Hallmark movie,, or maybe just crazy happy vets who create within the chaos. 

Cookie.. Oh, How I love this girl! She is one of my "why's" I love vetmed.

My dear friend Carroll, just passed away. It was an accidental, totally unexpected, tragedy. He had a peanut allergy, went to Applebee's, ordered dessert, (because he ALWAYS ordered dessert, like we all should ALWAYS do), and realized as he was leaving that he was having an allergic reaction. He drove himself across the street to the Urgent Care. The brand new, totally unequipped for a full blown emergency, and checked in. At the desk he lost consciousness. He was revived in the back, and died 30 mins later. That is it. The whole transition took minutes. In less than an hour he was his effervescent, jovial, chummy, vibrant, ever-smiling self, and minutes later; gone. I had been to his house the week before. We had plans. He was my every-other-weekend bestie. I gave him a hug hello and goodbye every single time I saw him. No one smiled as big as he did when he saw me. That is the kind of friend you adore. That is the kind of friendship that takes decades in adult time to grow.

His wife, Linda, also my dear friend, died equally unexpectedly, during a routine outpatient procedure at the best equipped, most capable hospital you could hope for. She was having a percutaneous liver biopsy. I know that she was nervous going into, but, she was nervous going into everything. Living, and waking up, made her nervous. Her procedure was supposed to be done in under an hour. The whole quick little in-and-out visit done under sedation and ultrasound guidance. In dogs and cats we do it in a 30 minute time slot and injectable sleepy-time sedation. Linda woke up from that procedure, her blood pressure fell quickly, she coded and they took her to surgery. They spent 7 hours trying to stop the bleeding of her friable, completely cancer riddled, liver. After 7 hours in surgery the doctors came out to Carroll to say that they had done all they could do. They woke her up to say goodbye to Carroll. This last sentence kills me. This last sentence has been a recurrent topic of dilemma, deliberation, and constant anguish about what I would do in this situation?  

I think that what it comes down to, is....

Don't wake me up.

We were days away from land. I was second mate, (prob supposed to be in caps,,,whatever) on the bridge in my pressed (they were always pressed) khaki uniform. Long polyester, knife like front pleats, black socks, black polished shoes, (we called them coframs, although my brain remembers them first as Chloraforms,, bc I am supposed to be a biologist not a soldier), hair in a tight bun, pressed pleated two front pocket, short sleeved khaki shirt,, and the  webbed khaki belt (another story for another time), brass buckle included. I remember talking to the helmsman, a young new recruit on the center wheel. We had a ships wheel where an unlicensed crew stood four hour watches with the officers. I was standing behind him talking,, I don't remember anything else. I remember being forced to wake up, and being soo angry. "Why, WHY, WHY!! are they waking me up. This is the best sleep of my life!" Turns out I had fainted. I hit the deck, yess a steel deck, so hard I woke up the Captain in his bed below me. 

I was deaf for three days. I couldn't stand, or, open my eyes for 2 days. Do not faint on a ship unless someone is standing beside you ready to catch you. Nothing is soft there.

I have had surgery multiple times. One was to remove 13 masses from my breasts. I went down two bra sizes. I had to meet with the breast surgeon and the plastic surgeon at the pre-op. I was in my hospital gown, cap, and under multiple warm, bleached white blankets. I told the surgeon to take out everything they thought might be a problem. My mom had breast cancer and I believe in preventative care. I told the plastic surgeon to tidy up whatever was left, try to give me a matching pair and call it a day. I don't care about size. I just wanted clean/cancer free leftovers. As I was waking up I only remember being angry. I was angry that I was being woken up. Wherever I was, under that cloud of general anesthesia, I was happy. It was gloriously wonderful there.

Should I meet an unexpected, tragic, twist of fate, please don't wake me up. Please let me go.

In the meantime, I still have a dream. I want to build a life full of stories, around pets and their people. I want to have my own volume, (or two), of stories that revolve around living a life full of chaos, color, and characters. I belong in vetmed, but, I am more than a veterinarian. A storyteller, an artist, and an advocate. BUT, there is time to weave stories in between the heartbeats of the dogs and cats.

Carroll and Linda had a general store that they filled with other peoples stories. It is a magical place of dust, poor overhead lighting, questionable wiring, and charm that only age can deliver. The store has fallen into a place where its next chapter is facing a blank book. I can't remove myself from this store. These stories. This place that is my home and has lost so much of its early history. 

I'm spending the moments away from the vet clinic wondering if there is a second chapter, another book of stories for me to fill, weave, witness? Can I live this life harder, bigger, fuller, and still love every single second of it?

Can I be both? Can I do both? Why am I misplacing my dream while I await my own tragic end?

Maybe its time for a long coffee and a long day of creating more stories? Maybe its time for all of us to live every life inside this one we have today?

Advice from Our Grief Counselor

Today I am sharing with you a blog that my best friend Linda wrote. She has been my best friend for 7 years, (ever since I moved here after vet school). She owns an antique store in Gatchellville Pa. and lives about 10 minutes away from our home. She has been a dog lover since…well, I think forever. Miniature poodles have always been her favorite because they are small, portable, and she can dress them up. When I first met her she had Mason a ten pound strawberry blond curly haired bouncing boy. He had a vertical leap that allowed him to launch his tiny body straight up and into your arms. She and her husband Carroll now have two white miniature poodles, Banjo and Noodle. Banjo was rescued from our clinic because he had chronic skin infections and his owners no longer had the ability to treat him. As soon as I saw him I knew that he would be the perfect companion for Noodle. The two have been inseparable buddies since Day 2. (It usually takes a bit of time for the resident pup to accept a new pup. I was actually surprised it didn’t take Noodle longer. He is a little spoiled,,and sometimes the Prima Donnas don’t take to change so willingly).

Carroll and the pups, in matching outfits, of course.

The pups matching haircuts.

Noodle and Banjo on their porch.

Linda and her pups.

Linda, in addition to running her own antique store and spoiling her two poodles also provides another service, she is our grief support person.

Easter lunch greeting.

Linda and Carroll's store.

Here is another blog from Linda about grief.

     What do we say to people who have lost a pet?  Sometimes when we don’t know what to say, we say nothing.  We figure it’s better to say nothing than commit some sort of faux pas and instead say the wrong thing.

     Over the past six months every week or so, sometimes every few days, sometimes a few times a day, I will get a call from Mary Ellen at Jarrettsville Vet Center to tell me that “One of our pets has died. Can you give his parents a call and see how they are doing?”

     To me, this is a service that all veterinary practices should offer, but I don’t think they do.  It makes sense though. The practice follows a pet through all of the years of his life, and then, what?  Nothing?

     I always have to repeat to the grieving parents that I am not trained in grief counseling, but by now, I feel like I have a bit of experience.  I have immersed myself in every book on pet grief that Amazon has to offer. 

 And I feel like I talk about it now non-stop, (a great way to put a damper on any dinner party by the way this is why I am no longer invited anywhere, I guess).

     But I have had pets and I have lost them.

     I’ve learned a lot in the past few months. One thing I learned is that people-friends, spouses, teachers, neighbors-just don’t know what to say, so they do what is comfortable and they stay away.  Unfortunately a lot of people go through this grief alone.

     But it’s easy to say the right things...easy.

     When I started, I was nervous, just as any of you might be when faced with the task of cheering up someone who has been through a death.  I had notes in front of me...what advice I could offer? How could I help? How could I cheer them up?  Well, I was all wrong and lucky for me I caught on fast.

THERE IS NO CHEERING UP.

THERE IS NO TRYING TO MAKE PEOPLE FEEL BETTER.

Forget about all of that nonsense.

      The people who are going through this type of loss are not going to feel better, not for a while.  They are not going to cheer up-not today, not tonight, not until they are finished with whatever grieving process they need to go through.

     People in grief do not want to be cheered up in my opinion, to be cheery at a time of such loss would minimize the huge effect that their pet had on their life. 

Now, when I make one of my calls (and now there are no notes, no advice sheets, no pad and pencil, much better.) I call and introduce myself and just say,

·         Would you like to talk about it?

·         What are you missing the most right now?

·         What was it that made Spooky (or Peanuts, or Sweet Pea, or Angel) so special???

 And once those questions are asked, the words, sometimes the tears, come flowing out.

     Often people experiencing pet loss don’t think their loss is worthy of too many words.  People have already told them, “Well, at least it wasn’t a real person. It was just a cat.”

The best thing we can do when someone we know has lost a pet is just to pick up the phone and ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

      Now, I am not talking about people who need professional help.  If you know someone who is not eating, not sleeping, not able to function-certainly, they should be steered towards a professional who can help them find peace with their feelings. 

     But for most of us it really helps to just open up and talk.  It’s something we can all do-for the people we love-but also for a lonely neighbor who we suspect might not have anyone to talk to.

     So easy-“Would you like to talk about it?”

In closing, this is a picture of my own angel, Mason, who died six years ago. I still miss him, of course but now whenever I think of him, I have a big smile on my face.

Mason, when he was a puppy.

There are many books that deal with the subject of grieving the loss of a pet. 

Some of my favorites (and all are available on Amazon.com as well as other sites):

·         The Loss of a Pet by Wallace Sife

·         Goodbye, Friend by Gary Kowalski

·         Pet Loss by Herbert Nieburg and Arlene Fischer

·         When Your Pet Dies by Alan Wolfert

Two books that specifically deal with children’s feelings are:

·         Children and Pet Loss by Marty Tousley-an advice book for parents of children.

·         Remembering Candy by Rob Van der Gulik.  This book is an illustrated children’s book, geared specifically to small kids, written by the author along with his two children.  At the end of the story, there are two pages with questions and advice for children experiencing loss. This is the book that I would read to my own grandchildren if they lost one of their pets.

My favorite book on pet loss is called

·         Going Home...Finding Peace When Pets Die by Jon Katz.  Mr. Katz is a writer, farmer, cattle breeder, and dog lover who has written many best sellers about life with dogs including Soul of a Dog, Dog Days, A Good Dog, and The Dogs of Bedlam Farm.

Going Home is his personal tale of coming to terms with the grief following the loss of his dogs over many years. Most poignant to me was his guilt and grief over putting down his dog, Orson, who was healthy, but aggressive-he had bitten three people.

He writes about giving a dog whose time is coming to an end, “a perfect day” filled with love, special treats, and special activities, and letting the dog’s friends come to say good bye before the end.  He also writes about the importance of preparing for a dog’s death in advance, (when that is possible...sometimes it isn’t, of course).  He suggests having a plan for that day and week, making sure you have companionship either at the death or shortly after, having a grave dug in advance, if that is your choice, and a ceremony to mark the date. His writing is both practical and poetic…very helpful.

Banjo guarding the window.

On duty.

We all have matching outfits!