I've heard some people talk about the hardest reminders of losing a pet. Some folks are moved at the sight of the pet's collar, food dish, or toys. Others talk about the unbearable quiet of the house. We were reminded of the loss when we found extra time on our hands.
We never realized just how much time we spent taking care of Maggie. Whether it was getting her out to potty, sometimes more than once per night, or making sure she had food in her belly as soon after she got up in the morning to avoid an upset stomach, there was always something to take care of. We had always referred to Maggie as our "high dollar dog." She was from a reputable breeder with healthy parents. Her father was a champion mastiff. We decided on a top quality breeder as opposed to the less expensive breeders. She had no health problems in the beginning, and wasn't the runt of the litter. By all standards, she should not have had issues. But, very early in her life it became clear that "high dollar" was a nick name that would follow her.
When we looked back, we counted how many surgeries she had. There was the surgery to spay her, and some mild complications from that one - incision wouldn't close and had to be re-sutured and re-stapled more than once. There was the surgery to straighten and lengthen her back leg due to a growth disorder. There were two surgeries shortly thereafter to control infection in that same leg, and another surgery to finally remove all the plates, pins, and screws in her leg after the bone had finally healed. There was the knee surgery she had after tearing her CrCL (dog's version of a human ACL) while playing in the yard. Then there was a surgery to remove a large plum-sized mass on her front paw. It turned out to be benign, but it was a surgery nonetheless. And finally, there was the last surgery she had: a bone biopsy to determine whether she had cancer. In all, Maggie had a surgery for every year of her life. As such, there was a lot of time we spent taking care of her.
There were also some surgeries she didn't have. She had a recessed vulva which resulted in constant urinary tract infections. Our choices were to have the surgery, or make sure that we wiped her clean and dry every time she came in from going potty. Since we didn't have the heart to put her through more surgeries than absolutely necessary, we opted to wipe her every time she did her business. We also made sure that she had certain supplements in her diet to help ward off infections.
There were also a number of suspected fatty masses in various places on her body. Since none were that large and didn't seem to be affecting her quality of life, we opted to let those stay. She also had some hip issues. We chose to monitor her movement and control the pain medically rather than subject her to more surgery. She had trouble going up the stairs, so often we'd have to lift her back end for her to get her going. We had to do the same in order to help her into the bed.
Beyond surgeries, Maggie suffered from a wide variety of random ailments. She got terrible ear infections. To keep these at bay, we cleaned her ears sometimes as often as every day. In the spring and the fall, her allergies would flare up causing her terrible itching, painful, and swollen feet. We had pad wipes and a cream for that. There were also daily doses of allergy pills which we tried in vain to hide in cheese, hot dogs, and other food. Maggie would manage to eat the food around the pill and spit the pill out. So, we spent time shoving our hands in her throat to get the pills down.
All in all, we spent a lot of time on a daily basis taking care of our little girl. After losing her, we realized just how much. Once we got back on our "regular" schedules, we both found ourselves sitting idly waiting for the time that we would leave for work. Suddenly, there was an extra 30-45 minutes, and sometimes an extra hour. That was time we had spent taking care of Maggie's needs. Now we just had that extra time to sit and wait and think about why we were sitting and waiting.
I've never been one to whine about having more free time...until now. I'd often made the remark that if only the day were about an hour longer, I'd get so much more done. I got that extra hour, but would give it back in a heartbeat. I don't get anything more done unless you count sitting still and wishing we had our Maggie back.
We like to think that Maggie gave us some practice for having kids. She may not have known it, but she did a very good job preparing us. In the short time we had her, I can't remember ever getting a full night's rest at home. When traveling, I would often spring awake at 3 in the morning because I was so rested...my body wasn't used to 6 restfully continuous hours of sleep! There was the occasional morning upset tummy and vomit that occurred if we waited too long to get her breakfast. There was also the rare accident in the house. There was even broken furniture and dented drywall from rough housing indoors. There were ever present messes to clean up, and endless body parts to wipe, clean, dry, and otherwise take care of. There were many, many doctor's appointments, and even a few trips to the emergency room. We even endured the agony of whining and crying while of dropping off at boarding for a day (like day care) or a weekend (like a babysitter), only to be greeted with an excited smile from Maggie and a report from the caretaker that she was happy and played well with others. There was evening tired crankiness when she wanted to go to bed, but we weren't ready to go up yet...so she'd throw a fit and pout until we finally came upstairs. There were "arguments" over what was in the dish for breakfast or dinner. Like my parents, I "gave her the choice": eat what we're serving or go hungry. Also like my parents, Mike and I usually won those battles.
Maybe someday we'll have human children, or naked puppies as we call them in our house. Our furry children, mostly Maggie, taught us much and have prepared us well. Until then, we'll take our extra time, hours each week we would rather not have back, to sit and wait and think about why we are sitting and waiting.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Riding Roller Coasters
On a mild October 23, 2010, we said our final goodbyes to our big girl and held her as she quietly slipped away. It was the culmination of what had been the worst weeks of our lives.
In reality, the heartache began on September 10th that year. Michael and I had dropped "the kids" off at the vet's office for boarding while we would be on an extended weekend trip. We had requested that their annual checkups be performed while they were there. We had also noticed that Maggie had been limping a little on her back leg, and there seemed to be a small bump near her foot. Although we thought it was probably nothing and we were overreacting, we decided to have the vet x-ray it and see if there was anything to be concerned about. It would probably turn out to be nothing more than a bit of arthritis - a few days of running and playing in the yard had probably just made her sore. Still, we had friends whose dogs had a small bump on a paw that later turned out to be cancer. We figured we were being very proactive.
As we were pulling in to a parking spot at the amusement park lot, we received a call from our vet.
We expected to be told that both dogs looked well, and were doing fine with boarding. That was what we expected.
I could hear Michael's end of the conversation, as well as bits and pieces of what the vet was saying. At once, I heard Michael's voice strain and watched him tense up. I then overheard the word "osteosarcoma" on the other end of the call. Almost immediately I grabbed the phone. Michael and I sat in silence as the vet explained the situation.
The staff at the animal hospital also noticed the bump on Maggie's paw. She also seemed to be tender along her lower leg. When they x-rayed her leg, they saw a pattern in the bone which suggested she had osteosarcoma in that limb. The vet explained something I already knew: if it was osteosarcoma, it was an extremely aggressive cancer which would take Maggie's life sooner rather than later. It felt as though someone had sucked the air out of our lungs.
But then, I felt a small glimmer...of hope. I remember trying to think which leg the vet had just x-rayed...and which leg had Maggie had several surgeries on when she was younger? Could it be the same leg?
"Wait!" I blurted out. The line was silent. "Which leg are we talking about here?"
I could hear the vet, who had not treated Maggie before, shuffling papers to verify which leg we were discussing. When she answered, that glimmer of hope got a bit brighter. I asked if the vet had compared these most recent films with the ones from her previous surgeries at the veterinary college. "What surgeries" she asked. And suddenly, where Michael and I had gone to general quarters over the thought of losing our "baby girl," I was now going to general quarters to explain how the unusual patterns seen on the x-ray may very well be as result of the damage to Maggie's bone after several surgeries and a bone infection. I asked the vet if this could be possible - could the damage to the bone from all that mimic the look of cancer?
This veterinarian was not familiar with Maggie's history, but when I told her what our "little" angel had been through, she thought that what they were now seeing on film could indeed be a remnant of the damage done to Maggie's leg years ago. She promised to request the films from the college on Monday and let us know.
Certainly, I reasoned, everything would be fine. I would just have to find a way to keep myself calm for the next few days while all of this was sorted out. This was much easier said than done. Although this was a bit of a getaway for Michael and me, we had really just added extra relaxation days to a trip I had already planned. The real purpose of this weekend was for me to compete in a long distance triathlon. I had done many triathlons in the past, but this was to be the longest distance I had ever done and was already a bundle of nerves about the race. Now the thought of my furry soul-mate being gravely ill made me almost sick to my stomach. The roller coaster ride had started even before we entered the park.
The next few days flew by, but Maggie was constantly on our minds. We bounced between utter despair that we were losing our girl, and complete confidence that a comparison of x-rays would show she was fine. When the phone began to ring that Monday afternoon, it had hardly chirped before we answered it. The verdict: a comparison of the most recent x-rays with those from the veterinary college showed they were nearly identical! Maggie did not have cancer. The unusual pattern on the bone was indeed a result of the previous damage and infection. It looked almost exactly like early bone damage from osteosarcoma, but given the period of time between the x-rays, there was now no doubt that the damage the docs were now seeing was old, and not cancer!
I have in my lifetime I have had a few moments where I took a big breath and in letting it out, I felt the weight of the world come off my shoulders. This time, it was like being free of the weight of the universe. This time, just feeling like I could breath was the relief. I knew in a few weeks, Michael and I would look back on this and think how silly we had been to get so freaked out about the whole thing.
And so our lives seemed to continue from there, as though they had never been interrupted at all.
That is, until two weeks later when Maggie started limping on her front leg - a limb she had never had trouble with before.
In reality, the heartache began on September 10th that year. Michael and I had dropped "the kids" off at the vet's office for boarding while we would be on an extended weekend trip. We had requested that their annual checkups be performed while they were there. We had also noticed that Maggie had been limping a little on her back leg, and there seemed to be a small bump near her foot. Although we thought it was probably nothing and we were overreacting, we decided to have the vet x-ray it and see if there was anything to be concerned about. It would probably turn out to be nothing more than a bit of arthritis - a few days of running and playing in the yard had probably just made her sore. Still, we had friends whose dogs had a small bump on a paw that later turned out to be cancer. We figured we were being very proactive.
As we were pulling in to a parking spot at the amusement park lot, we received a call from our vet.
We expected to be told that both dogs looked well, and were doing fine with boarding. That was what we expected.
I could hear Michael's end of the conversation, as well as bits and pieces of what the vet was saying. At once, I heard Michael's voice strain and watched him tense up. I then overheard the word "osteosarcoma" on the other end of the call. Almost immediately I grabbed the phone. Michael and I sat in silence as the vet explained the situation.
The staff at the animal hospital also noticed the bump on Maggie's paw. She also seemed to be tender along her lower leg. When they x-rayed her leg, they saw a pattern in the bone which suggested she had osteosarcoma in that limb. The vet explained something I already knew: if it was osteosarcoma, it was an extremely aggressive cancer which would take Maggie's life sooner rather than later. It felt as though someone had sucked the air out of our lungs.
But then, I felt a small glimmer...of hope. I remember trying to think which leg the vet had just x-rayed...and which leg had Maggie had several surgeries on when she was younger? Could it be the same leg?
"Wait!" I blurted out. The line was silent. "Which leg are we talking about here?"
I could hear the vet, who had not treated Maggie before, shuffling papers to verify which leg we were discussing. When she answered, that glimmer of hope got a bit brighter. I asked if the vet had compared these most recent films with the ones from her previous surgeries at the veterinary college. "What surgeries" she asked. And suddenly, where Michael and I had gone to general quarters over the thought of losing our "baby girl," I was now going to general quarters to explain how the unusual patterns seen on the x-ray may very well be as result of the damage to Maggie's bone after several surgeries and a bone infection. I asked the vet if this could be possible - could the damage to the bone from all that mimic the look of cancer?
This veterinarian was not familiar with Maggie's history, but when I told her what our "little" angel had been through, she thought that what they were now seeing on film could indeed be a remnant of the damage done to Maggie's leg years ago. She promised to request the films from the college on Monday and let us know.
Certainly, I reasoned, everything would be fine. I would just have to find a way to keep myself calm for the next few days while all of this was sorted out. This was much easier said than done. Although this was a bit of a getaway for Michael and me, we had really just added extra relaxation days to a trip I had already planned. The real purpose of this weekend was for me to compete in a long distance triathlon. I had done many triathlons in the past, but this was to be the longest distance I had ever done and was already a bundle of nerves about the race. Now the thought of my furry soul-mate being gravely ill made me almost sick to my stomach. The roller coaster ride had started even before we entered the park.
The next few days flew by, but Maggie was constantly on our minds. We bounced between utter despair that we were losing our girl, and complete confidence that a comparison of x-rays would show she was fine. When the phone began to ring that Monday afternoon, it had hardly chirped before we answered it. The verdict: a comparison of the most recent x-rays with those from the veterinary college showed they were nearly identical! Maggie did not have cancer. The unusual pattern on the bone was indeed a result of the previous damage and infection. It looked almost exactly like early bone damage from osteosarcoma, but given the period of time between the x-rays, there was now no doubt that the damage the docs were now seeing was old, and not cancer!
I have in my lifetime I have had a few moments where I took a big breath and in letting it out, I felt the weight of the world come off my shoulders. This time, it was like being free of the weight of the universe. This time, just feeling like I could breath was the relief. I knew in a few weeks, Michael and I would look back on this and think how silly we had been to get so freaked out about the whole thing.
And so our lives seemed to continue from there, as though they had never been interrupted at all.
That is, until two weeks later when Maggie started limping on her front leg - a limb she had never had trouble with before.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
How it all started
Michael grew up with dogs; I grew up with cats. I always thought (and Michael still jokes) that I would be an old cat lady... But even before we got married, Michael wanted a dog. Not just any dog - he wanted a mastiff. It was what he always wanted...and so it was what we got. It took somewhere around 2 minutes for me to become hooked. I gave it 2 minuites seeing as how the little thing chewed our hands and made Michael bleed. Otherwise, it was love at first sight!
We referred to Duke as our first born. And, as wrong as it is, we anthropomorphised - we gave him a "human" voice. We didn't have human children, and so it was the closest thing we had. It wasn't long before Mike and I wanted another, and Duke "wanted a sister." And so we started looking.
I had always wanted a German shephard...until I had a mastiff. Now, I couldn't see having anything other than another mastiff. We found a breeder close to us and arranged to have one of the next littler. As it turned out, we'd be able to pick up our new pup right after we planned to return from our annual vacation out west. Just before we left on our trip, we had the pleasure of picking our girl from the bunch.
I looked at each one carefully. Some were lighter than others. I wanted a darker one...to "match" Duke. Some were larger, more assertive. But then there was this little thing that seemed to try to hide in the grass. I picked her up and cradled her in my arms. Almost instantly, she was asleep. Although I was concerned about her small size (was she eating enough? was she the runt? could she be assertive enough to get food amoung her litter mates?), I fell instantly in love.
It was set. When we returned from vacation, we would pick up our girl Aqua Flowers. She'd been named that by the breeder. As each puppy was born, they slipped a homemade collar on the new pup's neck. This one had been embroidered with aqua colored flowers. Ans so, until we gave her a new name, she was known as Aqua Flowers.
We spent most of the next several weeks trying to decide what to call her. We tossed around several nomes, but none had the right ring to them. (Duke was of little help in the process. Mostly he grumbled about having a little slobbery sister...) We knew we needed to include "Duchess" and "midnight." What was a Duke without a Duchess? And Midnight was the name of the breeder. And it needed "Maxwell" in there somewhere too. That was the name of the Scottish clan that the family name Kirk belongs to.
And then it hit us: Margaret...and we'll call her Maggie. It had a great ring to it. So, with just a few days to go, we decided our new girl would be "Duchess Midnight Margaret of Maxwell."
We referred to Duke as our first born. And, as wrong as it is, we anthropomorphised - we gave him a "human" voice. We didn't have human children, and so it was the closest thing we had. It wasn't long before Mike and I wanted another, and Duke "wanted a sister." And so we started looking.
I had always wanted a German shephard...until I had a mastiff. Now, I couldn't see having anything other than another mastiff. We found a breeder close to us and arranged to have one of the next littler. As it turned out, we'd be able to pick up our new pup right after we planned to return from our annual vacation out west. Just before we left on our trip, we had the pleasure of picking our girl from the bunch.
I looked at each one carefully. Some were lighter than others. I wanted a darker one...to "match" Duke. Some were larger, more assertive. But then there was this little thing that seemed to try to hide in the grass. I picked her up and cradled her in my arms. Almost instantly, she was asleep. Although I was concerned about her small size (was she eating enough? was she the runt? could she be assertive enough to get food amoung her litter mates?), I fell instantly in love.
It was set. When we returned from vacation, we would pick up our girl Aqua Flowers. She'd been named that by the breeder. As each puppy was born, they slipped a homemade collar on the new pup's neck. This one had been embroidered with aqua colored flowers. Ans so, until we gave her a new name, she was known as Aqua Flowers.
We spent most of the next several weeks trying to decide what to call her. We tossed around several nomes, but none had the right ring to them. (Duke was of little help in the process. Mostly he grumbled about having a little slobbery sister...) We knew we needed to include "Duchess" and "midnight." What was a Duke without a Duchess? And Midnight was the name of the breeder. And it needed "Maxwell" in there somewhere too. That was the name of the Scottish clan that the family name Kirk belongs to.
And then it hit us: Margaret...and we'll call her Maggie. It had a great ring to it. So, with just a few days to go, we decided our new girl would be "Duchess Midnight Margaret of Maxwell."
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Grief
Grief is a funny thing. It makes you want to laugh when you should be serious; cry when you should be laughing; and feel that screaming, throwing things, and sitting quietly all go together quite naturally. It makes getting up in the middle of the night to shove pills - and cheese or peanut butter or hot dogs...or anything that will work- down the dog's throat is normal.
I know there are stages of grief - anger, denial, acceptance, whatever - and I think there are stages of pre-grief as well. In these last few weeks Michael and I have been everywhere on the emotional map. We've been utterly devastated and hopeful in the same hour. We've been angry and then resigned the next hour. We have been through every stage of grieving...sometimes in one day. Its like grief showed up before it needed to. Maggie is still hanging in there, yet we've been grieving her for days. It makes me wonder what affect our emotions have had on her.
I look at Duke, our almost-9-year-old mastiff mix and know he understands about as well as a dog can. He looks sad. He gargoyles: body on the sofa, legs dangling off the front, head drooped down between his front paws, eyes trained on the floor. He has seen all of this before. He has outlasted "Uncle Milton," "Aunt Hershey," and "Aunt Bailey." He's seen us process the loss of three golden retrievers. He knows what it looks like. He seems to sense something. He kisses Maggie a bit more, for no reason. He lays down on the sofa with her, when normally he would kick her off and have the couch to himself. I feel like he's looking out for her. So, if he is taking cues from us, I know she is too.
So we continue through this process. Michael and I know what is coming...eventually. Some hours of some days I think we'll make it to Christmas. I think we'll have another winter together of watching Maggie take giant bites of snow off the patio chairs. Some hours, especially in the middle of the night, I wonder if we'll make it to next week. And some hours I am content to have today, and to make the most of it. I don't know how many tomorrows we'll have together.
I know there are stages of grief - anger, denial, acceptance, whatever - and I think there are stages of pre-grief as well. In these last few weeks Michael and I have been everywhere on the emotional map. We've been utterly devastated and hopeful in the same hour. We've been angry and then resigned the next hour. We have been through every stage of grieving...sometimes in one day. Its like grief showed up before it needed to. Maggie is still hanging in there, yet we've been grieving her for days. It makes me wonder what affect our emotions have had on her.
I look at Duke, our almost-9-year-old mastiff mix and know he understands about as well as a dog can. He looks sad. He gargoyles: body on the sofa, legs dangling off the front, head drooped down between his front paws, eyes trained on the floor. He has seen all of this before. He has outlasted "Uncle Milton," "Aunt Hershey," and "Aunt Bailey." He's seen us process the loss of three golden retrievers. He knows what it looks like. He seems to sense something. He kisses Maggie a bit more, for no reason. He lays down on the sofa with her, when normally he would kick her off and have the couch to himself. I feel like he's looking out for her. So, if he is taking cues from us, I know she is too.
So we continue through this process. Michael and I know what is coming...eventually. Some hours of some days I think we'll make it to Christmas. I think we'll have another winter together of watching Maggie take giant bites of snow off the patio chairs. Some hours, especially in the middle of the night, I wonder if we'll make it to next week. And some hours I am content to have today, and to make the most of it. I don't know how many tomorrows we'll have together.
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