All Gone Wrong
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Monday, February 12th, 2007Monday
‘Where’s Brax?’ the cleaner asks brightly when she arrives.
‘We buried her this morning,’ I reply glumly, tears pricking at my eyes.
Sunday
I clear away breakfast, watching Brax carefully. She and I have been up since three, seeking comfort in each other as she struggles to breathe. My parents are on their way home. I have already warned them how poorly she is. I know that if her breathing worsens I will have to call the vet before they return.
A few minutes later she is agitated, lying down, sitting up. I go to her, stroke her soft fur, rest her head against my shoulder. She falls forward into my arms. It is instant, painless, eyes open. Her body relaxes, reflex breaths come intermittently. It is silent in the room as my tears drop onto her fur.
And so now I begin grieving all over again.
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Posted in All Gone Wrong, Dog Days
Onwards but not upwards
Friday, February 9th, 2007One month ago today my dog died. Today I got a call from the vet telling me that our surviving dog is showing signs of having the same disease that Brin died from. On Tuesday I will be taking her to the same referral vet in Bristol that called me with the devastating news about Brin just before Christmas.
Meanwhile my parents’ dog remains critically ill with us. I took her to the vet today for a steroid injection that alleviates her depression and deterioration temporarily but will cause long-term problems for her. Irrelevant, she will not live that long.
My husband’s father is telling us that he is refusing treatment that will prolong his life by a couple of weeks because he doesn’t feel it is worth it. There’s nothing I can write about that except to say that we will be making our way to see him in the next couple of weeks.
Oh, and that thriving baby? When I got him weighed today it turns out his weight has slipped downwards across another centile.
I honestly don’t know how much more bad news we can cope with at the moment.
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Posted in Failure To Thrive, All Gone Wrong, Dog Days
Overcoming failure-to-thrive
Wednesday, February 7th, 2007Every year Matthew is home for the twelve days of Christmas. It’s a tradition in our household and we spend it doing family things, visiting friends and family and on twelfth night we take down the Christmas decorations and put up our eldest son’s birthday party decorations. It’s a good way to round off the holiday.This year had added benefit, in that Ben, our failing-to-thrive eleven month old, decided that he would start to eat and - at the same time - start to sleep. I am still at a loss as to why he decided that he had had enough of the starvation thing, even though I know and have been repeatedly advised that babies often ‘grow out of it’ - ‘it’ being whatever problem they suffer whether sleeplessness, eczema, reflux, diarrhoea, constipation (and of course at twelve months then develop picky eating, night-waking, tantrums, toddler diarrhoea, constipation and all manner of toddler related things) - but I have my own suspicions as to why he started to eat:
1) With Matthew home I got him to feed Ben in the highchair. There was no hint of milk (as I was the other end of the house with my feet up. Or, more likely, cleaning the loos). Ben didn’t know whether I would be back. So he ate.
Not certain about this one because, let’s face it, my boobs are just not THAT great.
2) I only offered him formula at night in an attempt to discourage him having milk at night. There was every hint of milk (as I was lying right next to him and if he could have got into my pyjamas he would have). Even when I was desperate for sleep I didn’t give in.
Also not certain about this one because actually he drank the formula anyway and went straight back to sleep. The same week he started eating so this made no difference. But I can pretend I was doing the good mother thing and refusing him milk that he didn’t need.
3) We put a television in the kitchen. I know, I know.
So I could remove the television and see if he stops eating. But, really, why would I?
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Posted in Failure To Thrive, All Gone Wrong
In which the grief is compounded
Friday, February 2nd, 2007‘I know what you’re going through. Exactly what you’re going through,’ I say as we hug each other tight.
‘I can’t cope with losing her,’ he says.
‘Are you sure you have to put her down today? She seems so bright,’ I say through my tears.
‘I don’t know, I just don’t know.’ My father shakes his head.
‘Then let me have her while you are away. Don’t do it today. If she has to be put down while you are away, I can do it. I won’t let her suffer. You know I’ll look after her.’
In a cruel twist of fate, only three weeks after my much-loved springer spaniel Brin died, my parents’ dog, Brax, is near the same point.
A mystery illness over the last few weeks has left her finding breathing extremely difficult and any exercise - bar a gentle walk into the garden - near-impossible. Extensive investigations have revealed nothing and there is no treatment.
On Wednesday they made the appointment to put her to sleep. I went to say goodbye. She was poorly, yes, dying, yes, but in pain? No. So she is now here with me, perhaps seeing out her final days in the same quiet corner where Brin spent hers, receiving the same love and attention that Brin did and if the time comes we will make the same journey to the vets that we did three weeks ago.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
(The Power of the Dog - Rudyard Kipling)
To those of you that come here after searching for ‘end stage canine liver disease’ I can only apologise if what you read here makes you dread what comes for you. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I hope you find strength and courage. I hope your grief gives way to good memories quicker than mine has.
And now I am about to go through it all again. And watch my parents go through it too.
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Posted in All Gone Wrong, Dog Days
Bad news comes in threes
Sunday, November 26th, 2006Last weekend Matthew received a phone call from his family, one of those phone calls which starts with ‘you’d better sit down, I’ve got bad news’. We are all still reeling from the call. He has spent this weekend visiting his family. It feels like he has been away every weekend for about two months and I’m feeling the fallout.
On Monday I took Ben to the hospital for further tests because the first round of results were inconclusive. More needles. Not much fun for either of us. He is also suffering a nasty stomach bug which has given him diarrhoea. The upside of this is that his bowel movements are at last normal!
On Tuesday my beloved springer spaniel Brin - the sh*t eating, wee drinking one - got up suddenly off the stairs, clearly unwell, with a stomach the size of a balloon. I rushed her to the vet, as much as you can rush anywhere when three children are in the middle of their supper and need a military operation to get them ready for even the shortest trip anywhere - where she had the fluid removed overnight and they investigated the cause. Apart from my obvious concern for her, I was also concerned that I would miss the inaugural meeting of our book club which had already been cancelled twice and would be going ahead no matter what and bugger if I was going to miss a much anticipated glass of wine and a good night out. So I made my mercy dash, rushed back, put the boys to bed, fed the baby to sleep, rocked him to a deep slumber and laid him down without breathing (me, not him) lest I woke him. Already late, I looked at my dog-hair covered clothes in despair, cursed the vet that made me lift the dog onto the table despite her obviously painful stomach and covering me in hairs, grabbed my bag and left. For two glorious hours I was able to forget about all these problems and enjoy some intelligent, adult conversation.
Since the dog got home she has been almost totally incontinent so the last few days have been spent washing dog beds - she likes to use all four dog beds but that has had to stop - preparing special hepatic food (she has advanced liver disease), mopping urine-covered floors and washing the dog repeatedly.
I feel exhausted, physically and emotionally. I need a break. I’d opt for an empty house, a bed and a great book but then I’m easily pleased.
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Posted in All Gone Wrong, Dog Days
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