Posted by Dinah on September 24, 2003, at 10:34:42
The love of my life was a 2 3/4 pound little dog. I used to call her my happiness because whenever I saw her, a bubble of happiness would rise in my stomach and bring a smile to my face. She adored me and I adored her right back. Everywhere I went she was at my heels. I used to lean on the door and wait whenever I was going to close a door, because I knew she would be scootching through any second. She was pure energy. And all positive loving energy at that. She was a delight to my rather more serious soul. She insisted on sleeping on the small of my back, and I learned how to sleep on my stomach, without moving. I can still close my eyes and see that dog down to the tiniest freckle. I can feel how she felt in my hand.
In the summer of 1987 we got up one morning as usual. She stood to my side ready to be lifted off the bed and I swung my legs off to sit. My leg knocked her off the bed. She had fallen off the bed a million times. One of my dogs even enjoyed giving her a little push (oops) from time to time. So I swooped down laughing to scoop her up and sympathize. But before I got to her, I realized that this time was different. She laid motionless where she fell. I picked her up screaming and ran through the house calling for my mother to come drive us to the vet and for my father to call to say we were on the way. I continued screaming right out to the car, neighbors popping their heads out to see what was wrong. I didn't put on shoes or change out of my sleeping tee. We sped to the vets. But I knew when she lost bladder control that she was gone. We met the vet on his way to work and flagged him over. He must have seen she was dead. He told us to continue to the hospital where he took her briefly then returned her to us. I was in shock. I was cold and shaking. I held her while we went home and changed and drove to the crematorium, and I refused to leave while they cremated her.
After this, I slid into the second major depression of my life. Suicide was a subthread of at least a year. My happiness was gone and I had killed her.
Three years later, in the spring of 1990, Harry was born. He wasn't my darling, but he made me smile again. He brought a measure of happiness back to me. We were inseperable. We trained in obedience, although I never wanted to risk him by entering him in shows. When I married, things changed a bit. My husband isn't really a dog person, although he married me knowing I have always had a houseful of dogs. Things changed a lot more when my son was born, especially when he began to crawl. My husband was positive that the dogs were dirty and would be harmful to my son. Like the drip of water on rock, some of his attitude affected my own. Harry and I weren't as close as we were. A while ago (I'm lousy at time) I insisted that that needed to change no matter what and my husband backed down (my son was older by then too). But I so regret those years, not only for Harry's sake, but for my own. I missed out on years of the love and happiness he so freely gave.
Now Harry has cancer. It's possible that they got it all when they removed the tumor, but from the pathology report it's not likely. After talking to people who had chemo done on their pets and a couple vets I know from my dog life, and looking up phrases in the pathology report, I have decided not to do chemo. His sarcoma was so poorly differentiated that they couldn't identify it for sure. But there best guess is a very aggressive cancer that doesn't respond well to chemotherapy or radiation. Estimates for his life expectancy range from less than a month to three months. Unless they got all of it when they removed the tumor.
I'm loving him all I can. I got him a baby sling so that I can carry him around when I work when he wants to cuddle (which is most of the time). He's getting fed special food. I'm determined his remaining time will be wonderful.
But I am not taking this at all well. If my dissociative fog lifts, I'm overwhelmed by agitation and self injury urges. At my more vulnerable times, as I fall to sleep and as I wake up, I want to hurt myself. I know that the pain I'm feeling now is mixing in with my earlier loss. I just can't stand going through that again. I really can't. I just don't know what to do...
poster:Dinah
thread:262931
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/grief/20030903/msgs/262931.html