Dog Days
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Wednesday, March 14th, 2007This week we heard that our surviving dog, Defa, also has liver disease. Her prognosis is guarded: she could have as little as a year with us or she could live much longer, they can’t say until the worst happens.
I have spent a lot of time with her - perhaps too much time - in the last few weeks as she and I have grieved for Brin. We walk and walk in the spring sunshine and it is here I miss Brin the most, away from those who know I am not dealing well with her death.
And now to think my other dog may suffer an early death too is devastating.
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Posted in Dog Days
This is not a dog blog
Saturday, February 17th, 2007I have been truly humbled by the number of emails and messages of support that I have received in the last few weeks. Thank you to all of you that took the time to contact me; your messages gave me so much comfort at a time when I have been really struggling. I can honestly say that the terrible grief I felt after Brin died felt like losing my right arm. A month on I am doing much better, but I am now grieving for Brax, my ‘family’ dog who spent many weeks here each year, who I loved like my own and who died here on Sunday. And watching my parents go through a similar grief to that I experienced a few weeks ago has been heartbreaking.
However I am aware that not everybody likes dogs, nor can understand why I would feel so much emotion at a dog’s death. This coming week I will be blogging about entirely different stuff in an effort to lighten things up a bit around here and to focus my mind on other things for a little while. If anyone has any questions they would like to ask or an off-topic suggestion for a post, please feel free to email me (address in the sidebar) or leave a comment. Don’t be shy! I’d really like to hear from you.
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Posted in Dog Days
All over again
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
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
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