The Unexpected

I'm a creature of habit.  I like order, I like routines, I like the expected same ole' same ole'.  Oh I like the good unexpected as much as anyone else....but for the most part I am content with keeping my routine, well... routine. 

Unfortunately life is full of unexpected moments and days that are not of the pleasant variety.    

Ten days ago our oldest basset, Belle (aka Bellso, Bellsy, Little Big Dog, Puddin' & Pie, Silly Girl, etc.) was diagnosed with a kidney infection,  placed on antibiotics and we began subcutaneous fluids here at home.  By last Wednesday she needed to be hospitalized so she could receive IV fluids to better flush her kidneys and bring her elevated kidney values back down.  By Friday her kidneys were responding nicely and it was anticipated she would be coming home Monday or Tuesday of this week, once she had started eating again. 

Kidney issues can make a dog (or person) feel nauseous so Belle was given anti-nausea medication to help settle her stomach so she would want to eat.  When she still wasn't eating  a stronger anti-nausea medication was given as well as an appetite stimulant.  Belle, a lover of all things food, would not even eat her favorite foods (typically not permitted unless we were trying to give medication):  peanut butter, chicken and cheese. 

Because her kidney values were responding so well and her lack of appetite seemed to be the main thing that needed improvement they were looking at placing a feeding tube to get some nutrients into her.  She needed those nutrients to get her strong and back home again. It seemed like a pretty straight forward treatment plan as imaging studies showed nothing worrisome.

Before I go any further, yes, I said feeding tube and yes, I am talking about a dog.  I know, I get it.  But to us our dogs are family members. When we adopted them we promised to do the best for them that we could, while always keeping their quality of life a top priority.  That is probably the biggest struggle pet owners face.

How far do you go?  

How much do you spend?  

What test do you finally say no to?  

It is uncomfortable to have that discussion because you feel you are placing a dollar value on their life.  It would be awesome if we could all walk in and say, "No matter what the cost, do it."  

But that's not realistic.  

When Belle was first evaluated at the hospital the doctor came up with a care plan for her:  studies and tests they would need to do to rule in or out specific diagnoses, possibly more tests depending on those results, and finally the anticipated treatment.  They give you a cost estimate with a low and high end and you pay a 50% deposit of the high end at that time.  If the expenses get close to the maximum you agreed upon, the doctor lets you know.

Even typing that paragraph felt awkward, but I had to get it out there.  

Michael and I had been praying for Belle.  We were thrilled her kidneys were responding, but we couldn't believe she wasn't eating. The doctor treating her would call once a day with a report and the 4th year vet med student also taking care of Belle called us twice a day with updates.  Each time the phone rang we expected to hear she was eating.  We even visited her and took her some boiled chicken, but she had no interest in it.  On Saturday both the doctor and student told us they would need to place a feeding tube the next day if she didn't eat on her own. It's a very minor procedure done under a light anesthetic.  

Michael and I prayed so hard.  We knew within a few days we would be reaching the high end of that estimate and then the really tough conversations would need to take place and even tougher decisions would need to be made.  We prayed if she was going to get better that we see improvement soon.  We prayed for God to let us know what we were supposed to do for Belle.

The next morning He did just that.  Belle took a turn for the worse before the feeding tube could even be placed.  The doctor felt she'd had a stroke.  We rushed to the hospital knowing our decision had been made for us.  

I leaned over Belle, petted that beautiful head, stroked those velvety ears, and looked into those brown eyes that were always so expressive  - for what I knew would be the last time.  Through tears I told her repeatedly how much we loved her,  what a wonderful friend she was and how brave she was...

....and she quietly slipped away.

Getting a dog is easy.  Letting them go is the hardest thing ever.  

I think part of me knew last week that this was going to be the outcome.  I cried a lot last week and really couldn't understand why I was so upset as all signs pointed toward a recovery, except for the struggle to get her to eat. 

Grief is grief, whether it is related to humans or our pets. The same stages of grief still apply.

Tuesday night I was mad at God.  Belle was supposed to be back home by now..  with us... enjoying life large and on the sectional.  She was only 10.  She should be giving that bunny in the back yard a run for its money.  She should be enjoying blankets and laying by the door catching rays.  

God let me have my pity party.

Then as only God can do He wrapped His grace around me, told me He loved me in spite of my anger, and reminded me that He always knows what is best.

God answers prayer, but we don't always get the answer we want.  Belle had the best medical care available both by our regular vet and the staff at ISU's small animal hospital, but God trumps medicine every time.

Willow is trying to understand all this, just as we are.  When we brought Belle's things home we got out Belle's collar.  Willow smelled it and started crying. She went to the door - the last place she had seen Belle  - and cried.  She finally cuddled up next to me, put her head on my lap, and the crying continued.  The other night we took Willow with us to run some errands and when we got home she ran through the house, looking for Belle in each room.  While at times she appears to know Belle is gone and seems to have matured suddenly, at other times she looks with hopeful expectation at the door as if she is waiting for her to come home once again.

Michael misses Belle following him around in the morning as he gets ready for work. Those two had an amazing bond.  He was "her main man...her D-A-D, Dad."  She would go in each morning and keep him company and I would hear Michael talking to her. He would leave for work saying, "Goodbye Bellso" and she would watch him pull out of the drive and down the street.  Then, faithful as ever, she anxiously waited for him to return each day. And each night after Michael and I prayed, kissed each other goodnight and said "I love you" he ended his day with "Goodnight Belle"  before turning off the light.  She was definitely his dog. 

I miss her company during the day, her tolerance of my singing, her therapy ears, her snoring, and her presence.  I miss her laid back attitude. I miss her keeping the neighborhood and our home secure.  I even miss that sigh she gave me when I would tell her not to lick her paw - even though that sigh was really the equivalent of a human eye roll. I miss her personality.

We received a note from Brittany, who used to work at our vet's office and would take care of Belle when we boarded her:

"I just wanted to personally give you my condolences. Belle was amazing.  I loved her like she was my own, especially when she boarded. She was the first basset I had ever met and was the reason I decided to go on a hunt for a basset of my own.  If it wasn't for her I would have never gotten Kelso.  She was so lucky to have an amazing and loving family. And I'm deeply sorry for your loss."

I remember Brittany telling us excitedly about her new basset, Kelso, and that she had gotten him because of Belle.  We knew Belle was awesomely special, but it was so nice to hear from so many other people who loved Belle.  The prayers that went up for Belle were such a comfort to us.

I'm no longer mad at God, not at this moment anyway. Grief is funny that way, one minute you are sad, the next accepting, and the next... pick a stage.

They say the decision to end a pet's life is a decision to end their suffering and begin your own in his or her place. 

They couldn't be more right. 

*****

Dear Belle:  

We loved you so much it was so hard to let you go, but we loved you too much to make you stay.  

We were so blessed that God entrusted us with such a sweet soul. You were a faithful friend, a great listener, a trusted confidante,  a security dog, and comic relief in one adorable package. 

These words seem so inadequate when compared to the countless hours of unconditional love and devotion you gave us, but  I just can't find the perfect words to wrap up in a neat little package everything you meant to us.  

I think the poem Rainbow Bridge says it best.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.  There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.  There is plenty of food, water,  and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. 

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor.  Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.  The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing;  they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind. 

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance.  Her bright eyes are intent.  Her eager body quivers. Suddenly she begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, her legs carrying her faster and faster.

You have been spotted and when you and your special friend finally meet you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.

- A variation of the poem by William H. Britton