shaky hands

I'll try to explain it, even though I still have trouble getting my mind around what happened, what's happening and what the outcome could be. For some reason I need to have this all written down. On Sunday I came home from a week away for my volunteer job. It was a difficult week with long hours and the three things I wanted most were to see hubby, the dogs and my bed. Sunday afternoon, the two hounds and I languished in the back yard. Monday we slept in as hubby went off to bring home some bacon. As I snoozed, Samantha put her paws on the other side of the bed and her sweet little head popped up. She's done this a hundred times before. Every time it makes me giggle, since it seems like she's popping up from nowhere just to say 'hello.'

All day Monday, we lollygagged around the house. Samantha's sweet smile imploring me to take them on a walk. I was just too tired. We all took a nap in the late afternoon. The two of them barked at the kids walking home from school at 3 pm. They played the fence game with the neighbor dogs – running up and down the fence and howling. Something I hate but when I'm tired, I don't try to stop them much. Eventually I brought them inside, their chests heaving and tongues hanging out the sides of their mouths, with big floppy grins on their furry faces.

Monday night/early Tuesday morning, Samantha scratched to go outside about 10 times. The last time, at 5 am, I went out with her and in the dark I could see her struggling to go to the bathroom. Not unusual, she's a paper whore and will eat tissues, paper towels, tp, what have you. Sometimes she gets a little stopped up. On Tuesday, Samantha was a little slow. She slept most of the morning then I put them out to go to a meeting. She was having trouble going up and down the stairs. I thought it might be her arthritis acting up with the changing season. In the afternoon, Rocky was barking alone at the children coming home from school.

I made her some boiled chicken because she didn't seem to eat all day. She got out of bed and licked the bowl clean. I started carrying her up and down the stairs not thinking that I should have been freaking out.

Wednesday morning she came downstairs, slowly, tenderly. Her tail was down, between her legs. She didn't have her usual bounce. I tried to give Rocky his fish oil, and went to give her one. She wouldn't eat it. Unusual. She normally scarfs those down like candy. So I put some peanut butter on it and tried again. Once again she turned her nose at me. Hmpf. So I tried peanut butter on my finger, a happy treat that she goes cross-eyed over. No go. I was on the phone with my best friend at the time, a dog person herself. We both thought it was really weird. I got off the phone and called the vet right away. Got an 11:20 am appointment. It was 9 am.

At 10:30 am, Samantha threw up. Bright yellow vomit and green grass. She stood there and looked at me. I cleaned it up and got her to the vet. She was down to 29 lbs, two pounds less than in November. He didn't seem to think there was much to go on. He did some bloodwork, gave her some fluids and recommended bland foods. Typical boiled chicken and rice. Rocky would be jealous, we'd have to share with both of them.

Leaving the vet I picked her up and put her in the car. She sat quietly all the way home. Panting and smiling at me in the rear view mirror. At home, she went to jump out of the car. I thought it was a good idea. She landed hard and lost her balance, hitting her snout on the concrete floor of the garage. I checked to make sure she was ok. She smiled at me and followed me inside, to her bed and fell asleep.

Wednesday night and into Thursday, she threw up again at least six times. All of it was bright yellow. Bright yellow vomit meant her liver was trying to tell us it was hurting, I would later learn. We cleaned it up as she sat there, with big sad eyes, begging us to make her better. I couldn’t make her better even if I knew how.

Thursday morning I was worried about her, but hubby said he'd stay with her as long as he could before going off to work. I had a golf tournament to play in for the chamber I belong in. In hindsight, I shouldn't have gone. The doctor called me on the 5th hole to tell me that her liver and kidney values were off. We needed to bring her in to get her on some fluids and antibiotics. We needed to do it right away. I called hubby to see if he could go take her. I should have left right then. I should have taken my bag and walked back to the car, back to Samantha. But I played on. Like an asshole.

At 10 am, hubby called to tell me that he had picked her up and was on his way to the vet. She seemed fine, he said. Her tail flickered when he came home.

She was at the vet all day on Thursday. He called to give me an update and ask me if she was exposed to mice or raccoons. No on both counts. I thought it could have been some weed killer, as we just sprayed for weeds in the mulch, which she likes to snack on. He asked for the ingredients just in case. I spelled them out since I couldn’t pronounce them. He doubted that they were the cause, but took the information anyway.

The vet hoped to see some improvement Thursday night. Friday morning I leashed Rocky up and took him on a walk alone. It was the oddest feeling, walking him by himself. When we got back, the vet called me to tell me that Samantha had not improved overnight. She had gotten worse. He offered three options: keep her one more night to see if she turns a corner, transfer her to a specialty hospital, or the third, less attractive option, euthanasia.

The air sucked out of the room in an instant. I struggled to breath as he kept talking. Kept explaining what was wrong in her bloodwork, that he suspected leptosporisis, something from mice. I tried to listen but it was all I could do to keep breathing. Without hesitation I told him I’d like to transfer her. He told me to come in a half hour to get her. This was at 9:30 am.

My hair was still wet from the shower. I raced to the bathroom to dry it so I could get to her, to my baby girl. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. Tears were streaking down my face as I tried to dry my hair, wasting time. Losing time. Before I left I called hubby to tell him what I was doing and to ask him to come with me. I told him what the vet had said. I didn’t know what else to do, I cried. I didn’t like the options. He agreed to meet me at the new hospital in Parker. I put Rocky outside. Got in the car, and tried to steady my hands by drinking some water.

I took Samantha’s blanket and leash with me in the car. She wouldn’t need the leash. She did have the energy to go far. On the drive over to get her, every time I tried to change the radio station, my hands were shaking. I still couldn’t breath. I tried to get a hold of myself and somehow I managed to walk in the front door without bawling.

They handed me her X-rays, bloodwork results and all the documentation. The vet came out with her. Samantha walked slowly, clearly unhappy, but her eyes said ‘hello, thank god you came for me!’

The doctor showed me how her liver problems were showing on her gums, her ears and her claws. She was turning yellow. Her big brown eyes had a yellow glaze on them. I paid the bill, what I thought was a lot and soon would learn was just the tip of the iceberg, and got going with her. She walked to the car, her eyes lit up when she saw she would get in the front seat, a place she never gets to sit.

All the way to the new hospital she sat, eyes half open, quiet, still. I petted her and told her that her brother needed her to come home. My hands still shook. Stroking her head made me feel better, but I struggled for air and at each stoplight couldn’t contain the sobbing.

I arrived at the hospital before hubby, sat in the car with her for just a little while. Just a few minutes more with my sweet girl. I called hubby and learned that he was on his way, to go inside and get her admitted. So I picked her up out of the car and walked her inside. She was obviously pissed that we weren’t at home.

Inside, they took her chart, and then took her back to get stabilized. They handed me a form to fill out. At this time I had gotten the tears under control and somehow managed to breath normally. Again, my hands shook as I struggled to sign my name on the admittance papers. At the bottom of one of the sheets, it had a CPR/DNR question. I stared at it, reading the words but not understanding the question. Did they want me to choose, right here, right now, if I wanted them to save her or let her go? This wasn’t fair. I didn’t have time to think. I couldn’t decide this on my own. I checked to perform CPR and started crying again.

Hubby showed up at he hugged me. We waited for the doctor to brief us. The whole time we tried to talk about something else, anything else, that would keep our minds off reality.

They shuffled us into an exam room to wait for the vet. When she finally came in, the news wasn’t good. She gave us the worst case scenario. Samantha is in bad shape. She could have kidney disease. Should could have renal failure. We needed to be prepared for the worst. She kept talking and talking and I couldn’t hear what she was saying. It was too much, too much to take in all at once. She said something about an ultrasound, catheters, more bloodwork. All of it could help, or it could do nothing. We had to decide what to do.

The vet tech came in with the estimate. It was $2300 on the low end, or $3600 on the high end. She explained the charges and left us to discuss it. Hubby and I looked at each other in silence. My heart was breaking. This wasn’t a decision we should have been making today. She’s only 10 years old. Beagles can live a lot longer than that. She was fine a few days ago.

Hubby spoke first. “I don’t want to give up on her,” he said. I agreed. She’s our baby. So we agreed. The vet tech came back in and we signed the paperwork. The DNR question was on the sheet again. Begging the question, do we do everything to save her, or let her go? I looked at hubby and told him I didn’t know. I couldn’t know. He shook his head and said he didn’t think so. I nodded, put my head down and cried while he checked the DNR box.

They brought her out to see us before we left at noon. She trotted as best she could to us, thinking we were going home. Her little tail was still down, but there was a small flicker. Her big smile and lazy tongue greeted us. We bent down and petted her, telling her to get better and we’d see her later. I told her she had to come home because her brother is a little shit and can’t live without her. The tech tried to take her back, but she wanted to follow us out, follow us home. So she tricked her by having us walk to the other intake door with her following us. Then she disappeared into the hospital.

Hubby asked me if I was ok to drive. I was. Barely. In the car, every station had some kind of sappy music playing. I turned to the heavy metal station and cranked up Metallica. The hard guitar and loud music dulled the nerves that had been cried raw all day.

When we got home, Rocky smelled her on us and went looking for her in the garage. He went to the back of the Subaru to see if she was coming out. He barked at us, ‘where is she?’ went inside and ran around the house. It was all I could do to stand up straight before finding a seat.

At 7 pm, we called for an update. The vet explained that they had gotten the catheter in and were pushing fluids. They did the ultrasound and found no damage. So the kidneys were functioning at a lower capacity, but they were not diseased nor does she have a detectable cancer. Good news, sort of. But, she said, Samantha’s urine output didn’t meet the input of fluids. They wanted to administer a diuretic to get the flow going. Without it, she could have kidney failure, which is fatal. Sure. Do it. Call back in an hour to see how she’s doing, the vet said.

At 8 pm, we called back. They told us that they had just administered the dopamine and were waiting to see if it worked. They’d call us back in 45 minutes. Not wanting to sit there and wait, we forwarded the phone to Hubby’s cell and took Rocky on his second walk of the day. It was dark and after the 90 degree heat of the late summer day, the night air turned cool, cold even. We shivered and hurried on our route. At home, the contrast between the breezy cold air outside and the warm house made me break out in a sweat.

I emailed the beagle rescue lady to let her know. She loves Samantha and would like to know about her. Sylvia emailed me back saying she would send all good dog thoughts her way. She also told me to picture Samantha coming home, happy, romping with Rocky in the backyard. So that’s what I did. I called my mom and gave her an update. I had talked to her earlier and she was concerned for me.

At 8:49 pm, Clair, the vet tech called. She said that the diuretic was doing what it was supposed to be doing, that Samantha’s output was meeting or exceeding what was going in. She cautioned that she wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it was a good sign. Would we come see her? she asked. Yes. We’ll be there in 20 mins.

By 9:05 pm we were at the hospital. They had us put on gloves because lepto is transferable to humans. (If that’s what she has, we still don’t know.) They took us back to her, she was lying in a kennel with a blanket over her, tubes sticking out, a cone around her neck. She sat up when she saw us. It was hard to pet her because the cone was in the way. We told her to lie down, a trick we’ve practiced a hundred times, and she did. She was so tired, and looked so old and sad. We kept our voices cheerful as we told her to get better, that her brother wanted her to come home, we wanted her to come home. She started snoring. I told her that we’d play bobbing for hot dogs at the beagle picnic next year, so she has to get better.

I wanted to stay all night, but they wanted to reduce the stimuli, so we headed home. Before we left the vet tech said that they would call if anything happened, but to consider no news as good news. We left the hospital in pretty good spirits. Samantha was going in the direction we all hoped for.

Back home, Rocky again looked for her. He barked at us in his agitated way, saying ‘I thought you were bringing her home!?’ Sorry sir. Not tonight. In a few days, we said with hope in our voices. It was early, but exhausted, we crawled into bed. All night I kept waking up, looking at her bed, hoping that they would not call. Hoping that they would.

At 6:22 am, the overnight doctor called with a scheduled update. In the grogginess of early morning, with a hangover from crying the day before, I listened as he said she had gotten more depressed and lethargic overnight. He went on to say that the fluid in her stomach was rising, that the fluid output wasn’t where it should be. He worried that her urine was leaking out of her bladder and into her stomach, causing her a lot of pain. An easy fix, he said, put a catheter in and drain it out, relieve the pressure. If it is a leaking bladder, while not great, is better than anything else and fixable with surgery.

Everything is so clinical to them, while to us it’s our sweet girl. I hung up the phone, cried out “what are we doing to her!?” and starting sobbing again. Hubby tried to sooth me, all the while his stomach turning in knots. He replied that we were trying to make her better. Are we, I asked? Are we doing this for her, or for us? Both, he replied.

So that’s where we’re at. Waiting. Waiting to hear back how she’s doing. Waiting to hear if this latest fix is going to fix her or if we have to make a decision I didn’t think we’d face for another six or eight years. It would be easier if she was older, or had been on a decline, or was sick for a while before this. But she was fine, happy, perky, barking and healthy on Monday. It boggles the mind that she could go from happy to lethargic in five days.

I’m now wavering between a weary calm and sobbing hysterics. As I was making the bed this morning, I came around to my side and saw her bed. I had washed the cover on Thursday because it smelled like the inside of a dog. It sat there, still plumped from being re-stuffed in the cover. Unused. Lonely. I collapsed onto it and started sobbing again. Rocky walks around the yard looking for Samantha. It’s just so heartbreaking. I pray to the great dog spirit to give her the strength to get through this, or give us the strength to make the right choice. I don’t know what that is right now. As hubby said, we aren’t ready to give up on her. Not just yet.