my favorite photo of her
when i first began drafting this blog post several days ago, the first sentence read, “a week ago, i thought this post would be an obituary.” after considering whether it would have been better if she went right away instead of lasting that extra week — a week that kept her alive needlessly, in pain and in vain — i’m certain that right away would have been better.
of course, i have the gift of hindsight and the scourge of jewish guilt that
makes me think that everything i’ve done i could do better if given another chance,
but reality is a merciless beast and my reality is that my dog is dead and the
well-meaning chorus of “you did everything you could for her” rings hollow for
me and will never remove the feeling i have inside that i didn’t.
i don’t say this to evoke sympathy or soothing words, just to state a fact
that i would have done many things differently. i realize that none of it
matters now. i realize that she’s gone and i’m tormenting myself with options i
no longer have. i suppose it’s part of the grieving process and i will get
through it. but still, there remains a secret hope that we all get one do-over
in life. i would choose the past week as mine.
at four months
like the cliche, i never saw it coming. when my little Pinko (whom i call
Cheddar nowadays) started walking funny on Thanksgiving, i assumed it was just
a sprained muscle that would resolve itself in time, like it has in the past.
so i continued on with the long weekend, visiting with friends who were in town
and enjoying a daytrip with Tico to the Salton Sea. in other words, i stayed
out of the house most of the weekend and didn’t notice that my dog’s health was
in a freefall.
this was my ultimate mistake because by sunday night, Pinko stopped eating
and seemed feverish and weak. by monday morning, when i took her to the vet,
her nose had begun bleeding. the vet put her on an IV, took chest x-rays and
drew her blood, which showed that all her organs were failing and producing
enzymes to shut her body down for an imminent death. her temperature registered at 105.8
degrees (106 is fatal in dogs). she also had blood in her lungs.
with no time to waste, he sent me over to Animal Specialty Group in
Glendale, a referral-only hospital staffed 24/7 with animal oncologists,
internists and surgeons. more x-rays were taken there and ultimately an
ultrasound that couldn’t locate a tumor in her body, ruling out the possibility
of cancer. instead, she was diagnosed with thrombocytopenia, a blood disease
that causes one’s body to attack its own platelets as though they were
pathogens. at intake, Pinko tests showed 11,000 platelets (150,000-300,000 is normal),
and she was bleeding internally.
after i hastily signed some paperwork, she was admitted to the hospital’s
intensive care unit and given a drug used for chemotherapy that tells her bone
marrow to begin reproducing new platelets, a high dose of the steroid
prednizone to shut down her body’s immune response so it would stop killing her
platelets, and antibiotics to fight off any developing pneumonia or other
infection she might catch because of her newly compromised immune system.
that day was a fast-moving blur and i know i didn’t ask all the right
questions or understand all the details, but there are a few things i will
always remember about it, such as watching my dog’s legs buckle from weakness
on the slope in my front yard, almost causing her to slide downhill until i
caught her; the sensation i had when she expelled a mighty sneeze that covered
my face and white shirt in her blood; and the way Tico wiped the tears off my
face after i cried hysterically on his shoulder once we left the hospital.
right before i left her at the hospital
the emotion that best characterizes that day for me was bewilderment. not
that there is some ideal time for all of that to happen, but the surprise and
urgency of events left me in a fog that had me wondering if the day actually
took place. surely, i would wake up at any moment. surely, i would open the
door of my house after leaving my dog in the hospital and find her waiting
there for me with a wagging tail.
but as reality set in, the vodka flowed and tears blurred my vision, the
only thing i could do was wait for news with a heart full of hope. i talked to
the vet twice a day and visited her at the hospital every night after work. and
every night, she would walk over to me with a wagging tail, collapse against my
body and fall asleep with her head in my lap while i petted her through rubber
gloves and cried.
hospital blues
most days, she looked horrid, her half-dead eyes barely registering the life
happening all around her. she shook constantly and gagged often for no reason.
one night, she burrowed her head under my arm and scratched at my pants when it
was time to part, making for an extra difficult goodbye. that was the same
night she had a seizure and i ran out crying from the ramen shop where Tico and
i were having dinner after leaving the hospital.
the nightly scene
every day seemed to bring both good news and setbacks. she had more energy but
her stool was bloody. the platelet count was still too low (14,000 two days
after intake) but the pneumonia cleared up. i never knew how optimistic to feel
from one day to the next, so i did the best i could to quell my anxiety, calm
my pounding heart and reduce the grinding of my teeth. sometimes, my best
amounted to very little food and sleep. other times, i got very zen about it
and resigned myself to dealing with news as it came instead of fretting over
the fact that i couldn’t control the news. (but mostly, i didn’t eat or sleep.)
my rock. he came to the hospital with me every night.
five nights after Animal Specialty Group admitted Pinko to its ICU, i
received word that the platelet count was at 56,000, a number that exceeded
everyone’s expectations and caused an eruption of joy with requisite happy
dance in my kitchen. with that, she was released to convalesce at home with a
bag full of medicine, detailed instructions on monitoring her eating and stool,
and appointments for future visits when her platelets would be tested.
her first night back home
she was at home for three nights, also a fast-moving blur of hope and
despair. she refused all food, even her favorite ones, and the force-feedings
through a syringe felt like abuse, especially after the trauma she had endured.
her backside was leaky, causing me to line the furniture with puppy pads as she
had frequent accidents.
the first day at home, i could do nothing but cry my eyes out. i think i began
the grieving process then with the instinctive knowledge that there would be no
bouncing back from this and that my dog was already gone. i asked Tico to
handle all the syringe feedings that day while i sat on the couch, overwhelmed
by helplessness and in tears, apologizing.
all the meds that i’m convinced did more to harm than help her. after
i called the hospital complaining that her body was not handling them well,
they told me to stop giving her half. i was incensed i wasn’t advised of this
option before.
she had to take 15 pills a day — an immune-suppressant steroid, anti-vomiting
drugs, appetite stimulants, antibiotics and antacid — all of which she
resisted, creating another struggle. her skin smelled of chemicals, and she
spent most of the day shivering, drooling, droopy-eyed and immobile in a
zombie-like state, a shell of her former self, looking as though she would pass
out at any moment, though never actually falling asleep because the medication
made her wired. she didn’t howl or bark once and her tail never wagged.
one of the few good moments at home as a reunited pack. as expected,
Juice was an incredible support to both me and Pinko through this ordeal,
staying by her sister’s side through the difficult nights and feedings and
often licking tears off my face.
the second day at home started better, with a visit from my mom, before
taking a nosedive when the baby food i fed Pinko at lunch, thinking she would
like it more (which she seemed to), came back up. i saw blood in her vomit.
after that, she had trouble getting comfortable and seemed weaker than before, so i laid down next to her, stroked her ears and kissed her face, while Tico
called the hospital for advice. i apologized for feeding her the baby food and asked her what i should do. i listened to her breathing,
which sounded labored. i worried she had blood in her lungs again and was
becoming dehydrated.
that night was her last on earth.
glad my mom got to see her a final time.
i spent that last night lying awake in bed, grappling with the thought of
ending a life i loved so dearly. i didn’t think i could do it. i considered
taking her back to the hospital, but was worried about the bill, which was
already over $5,500 (all on my credit card). i told myself that i could make more money in my life but i could
never make another Pinko and the expense would be worth it if i had a healthy dog
at the end of this.
at 5 am, after staying up all night with my stomach and heart in a knot, i meditated and asked for guidance. my
maternal grandma came to me, as she has many times before in moments of
crisis, and said only one word: rest. i fell asleep for two hours and awoke
understanding what the day would bring. i went to Pinko and kissed her face.
she looked as though she had been awake all night. she put her head on my arm and sighed, her eyes exhausted and resigned. i told her to hang on, that we were almost there.
Juice held vigil next to her sister all day and night. this is the
last photo of the two of them together.
an hour later, Tico and i were dropping her off at the hospital so she could
get her medicine and nutrients from an IV. i told them to give her something
for the pain and call me after they ran their tests. they told me they wanted
to keep her in the ICU another two nights. i told them one at the most and then
began calling around for a holistic vet. i went home and laid on the floor next
to Juice, asking the universe to make it very clear for me: either make this
manageable and i’ll manage it, or make it impossible and i’ll do the
impossible.
the vet called back in the afternoon and gave me every diagnosis imaginable
— diabetes, hepatitis, anemia, pancreatitis, liver failure, GI tears and blood
in the intestines. she suggested more medication, a blood transfusion and a
feeding tube. i thought about calling her a cunt for never suggesting
euthanasia, but instead handed the phone off to Tico so i could regain my
composure. once i did, i told her to get the shot ready. i would be there in
under an hour. i had no doubts anymore.
at six months, with the love of her life.
i want to state now that i don’t see my dogs as my actual children, despite
referring to them often as “my furry babies.” i imagine that once i’m a mother
(which i very much hope to be), i will feel differently about my child than i
do about my dog. more to the point, there is an understanding when a
pet is adopted that the pet will never outlast us and that we’ll one day have to make that decision
we refuse to entertain until circumstances force us. i
knew that day was coming, but given that Juice is 11 (almost twice Pinko’s age) and
has begun having issues with her bladder, i never considered that day would come
for Pinko first. not even once.
she was a deep thinker.
but still, love is love, and the nature of my love is protective. through this ordeal, i wanted only to shield Pinko
from pain above all else, even at the expense of her recovery. every instinct
in my body told me to toss aside the pills that were making her sick, to stop with
the demoralizing force feedings and to find another, perhaps more natural
approach. yet i did none of these things and instead marched toward a false
promised land that filled us both with anguish, hers more excruciating. these are regrets i will need time to process, along with my grief. i’ve made promises to
Juice that i won’t repeat these mistakes.
she was a cuddler.
the last few moments with her were far more beautiful than i thought they would be. i brought
Juice along so she could understand what was happening and find her own
closure. when the two of them saw each other, they touched noses briefly but
purposefully in what i took to be their final goodbye. Juice then sat by Pinko’s side
while i sat on the floor and brought Pinko’s head and chest across my lap.
her first time in the snow.
i talked to her for a few minutes, praising
her for brightening my life in infinite ways for six years. i thanked her for
being a difficult dog initially so i could learn about unconditional love. i
apologized for extending her life that extra week, asked her to forgive me for yelling at her when she misbehaved and said i hoped she could reincarnate as a future dog of
mine, to be adopted at an undetermined time, so i could see her again. i also told
her that i put her name tag on my keyring and would keep her collar in my purse.
then i went through the list of all the things i loved about her — how she howled when she wanted
attention, herded me toward the dog treats, sat on me when she didn’t want me
to leave, jumped on me so she could stretch her back, pushed my legs apart so
she could sit between them while i stood, and
ran ahead during our hikes, though not too far, before running back to jump on
her sister’s head. she was a funny dog, both sassy and sweet, equal parts
fire and sugar, sometimes needy and always loving. i told her i hoped her sister and i gave her as much love as she
gave us.
she had soulful eyes.
then i put my hand over Pinko’s heart so i could feel its final beat, leaned
back into Tico’s arms, told the vet we were ready, and let my tears roll off my
face and onto hers so she could take some of me with her. less than a minute
later, i felt her heart and breathing stop. i kept petting her tan fur until
her body began getting cold. then i kissed her still face goodbye and told her i would miss her every day for the rest of my life. she passed
on Tuesday, December 10, around 4:45pm. she was a month shy of her 7th
birthday.
goodbye, sweet girl. you live in my heart
now.
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