A (Kinda) Happy Ending, I Think

Well...this chapter doesn't have anything to do with good-byes.  That's a relief.  I began writing it when I was dealing with January and all of its grief.  We had Zuza's surgery date, January 23, come upon us, and really, I was pretty nervous. There are good reasons for doing the surgery beyond my discomfort of seeing that blind eye everyday and being reminded of her mortality.  Untreated, there is a possibility that the "hypermature" cataract could begin to break down, causing inflammation and pain.  She could develop glaucoma, which translates into a lot of pain and the possible removal of her eye.  I realize that it could fit the pirate motif quite well, but she'd have a few things to say about wearing a patch.  And a parrot.  We had been waiting since October for this opening, (which we only got because somebody loves Carolyn up there at the Cornell Vet School), and now we were taking her there at 9:00am for her surgery. 

The first thing that we were told was that, oh no, the actual surgery wouldn't be that day, they would test her and keep her there for three or four days, (!) do the surgery, keep her another day or two, (!) and then we would bring her home.  This was all blithely spoken by the student, who then did some of the tests that I am familiar with.  She had some trouble with them and then admitted that this was her first day on this rotation and she was nervous.  She was actually very sweet, and was relieved that Carolyn was not only a retired vet, but was encouraging and kind to her, and after that didn't try explaining things that Carolyn certainly knew.  When she left, I turned to Carolyn and said that there was no way in hell I was leaving her for the week!! I mean, c'mon, we have a retired vet and a very observant dog mom in the house and...and...and!  Carolyn reassured me that we wouldn't let that happen. Then the resident came in and did everything over again--like they do--and then the grown-up doctor came in and examined Zuza and spoke with us (mostly Carolyn, because she's the real thing), and back came the student to make all the final arrangements.  

Mostly I was worried about the rehab time.  She was going to have to wear a cone of shame for a month, and you know that was going to be ugly. She was going to have a number of eye drops every day, forever--okay, that's doable--and on February 2, she would be 11 years old, going under anesthesia for the umteenth time.  And Luke would be a freaking basket case the whole time she was gone.  But other than that, it was fine.

It was decided that we would leave her there for testing that included ocular ultrasounds and electroretinagrams, and wait for a call around 4:30pm to pick her up, or to drop off her (prescription) food.  Oy.  We went to do errands.  

On a side note--it never occurred to me that one could ultrasound an eyeball, especially a teeny one.  It makes sense, I suppose, but how little is the wand?  Second, I had not heard of an electroretinagram (ERG) before, and it intrigues me that anyone can look through a thick cataract to see what's going on in there.

So, the call came at 2:30.  Hmmmm, early.

We could come pick her up, and they were sorry that she wasn't a candidate for surgery. What?!!  We zoomed back and met "our" student--I was actually getting really fond of her--and got the whole story.  Boiled down to the basics, they wouldn't do the surgery because it wouldn't help her see.  They might have done it if her good eye was perfect, but the retinas in both of her eyes had only minimal function. In fact, they couldn't say how much she was seeing now.  So, the good news is that she didn't have to stay in this very scary place or deal with all of the aftermath of rehab, and we didn't have to plunk down $3000.  The bad news is that my baby girl is going to be blind.  The student said, "You carry her most of the time, right? It won't be that different. She doesn't really need to see."  In some ways she's right. Zuza's nose works great; her ears work, and we have no idea how well she has been seeing, anyway.  She runs joyfully out into the backyard when there is no snow, jumps heroically from her little stairs to Carolyn's chair in the living room, knows the locations of every little bed and waterbowl in my office and at home, panhandles ruthlessly from my clients and the tellers at her favorite bank, and is more than content to experience outside life from inside my jacket.  So it's good, right?

We still have to worry about all of the reasons we based our decision upon in the first place, but in my non-logical heart, I'm not so worried about those things.  I can't even tell you why.  Maybe it's denial, or maybe it's living in the moment, but if I have learned anything from these pirates I love, it's to take one step at a time. Losing them is unspeakably awful, but having them in my life is such pure soul touchingly rich.  So, here I am, training to become her guiding eyes human, while she continues to be my medical alert dog.  Seems fair to me.

Heart Dog

It's been a hard couple of weeks in the pet world.  I'm waiting to get some pictures before I write about a few that left us, but I do want to talk about one very special guy that Carolyn and I helped "cross over" on Monday.

His name is Monty.  His parents' names are Susan and Jim Johnston, and they are wonderful, thoughtful people who have known Carolyn as their veterinarian forever.  She has walked with them through illnesses and injuries, funny stories, multiple pet dynamics and the eventual aging of a long series of pets. Carolyn has loved them and the pets they entrusted to her care. Monty joins a whole lot of family members now, but Susan and Jim are left without him and without that unconditional love for which he was so famous.

And, you see, I think that Monty is a "heart dog", that one pet that reaches deeper inside you than anyone has ever reached before.  I don't know when that starts--was it the minute they locked eyes with you and saw something there that spoke to them?  Was it after a week or a month or a year when they knew that you were theirs forever?  And when do we figure it out in our cluttered human brains?  When do we know that this is the one, the one that will matter just a little more, the one that becomes so much a part of us that we begin to forget where they stop and we begin?

I think it is different with every dog.  Some would be happy with anyone who treated them kindly, fed them regularly and maybe understood the value of a squeaky toy or a tennis ball.  Others?  Others seem to know how to look into your soul and you cannot imagine living without them. And they, too, feel that you won't be as safe, or as happy, or as willing to face the tough times that happen to all of us, without them.  And they are right.

Monty was--and is--one of those dogs.

The good news is that they don't ever really leave you.  When they die, the loss is huge and painful, but after a while you begin to realize that you have been changed.  You are a little stronger than you were before you met them, a little braver.  Perhaps you find yourself a little more willing to listen, a little kinder.  However you are changed, it is for the better. And if you can get to a place of being willing to have a dog again, you will be a great pet parent, not because there will ever be that same heart dog in your life, but because you are a better person for having loved that heart dog.

I do believe that Susan and Jim will see Monty again, as well as all of those pets who preceded him.  But before that happens, they will have to be content with wrapping the memories of these precious lives around them, and to feel the richness, the glory of them all. 

They deserve every moment of that love.

I'm Back!!

Hi folks.  I last wrote almost 2 years ago.  And then I just stopped. I had more writing responsibilities at Briar Patch, and I got sick, and...I don't know, things got in the way.  I worried that I only wrote about sick or dying pets.  Who wants to read about that?

Well, I'm back.  And I'm taking a class in Grief Counseling around Pet Loss.  Guess what? People do want to talk about what makes their pet really, really spectacular.  They want to celebrate the relationships they have with their pets.  They want to see hundreds of pictures of cats they've never met, and hear stories of victories of pets vs. the cold, cruel world.  And they want to know that lots of people will never say, "Oh come on, it's just a dog.  So get a new one."

So that's what I'm going to talk about.  I'm going to talk about some of the wonderful animals I get to meet.  Some of them, like our newest kittens, Horatio and Calliegh, are the most pirate-like cats you will ever meet. To mix a couple of metaphors, they've boarded the ship and resistance really was futile.  And some of them, like the German Shepherd Greta, are at the other end of their lives when you meet them--but all of them have something to say to you, and I'm going to try to let them do that.

And now, for a completely gratuitous picture of a kitten to boost my followers: 

Horatio

WAIT! I have a better one!  

Horatio, the first night with us.  We fostered him. Right....