Lea: The Last Day

As soon as Delia died three and half years ago I started dreading Lea's death, thinking through the different scenarios of how it could happen. It's a bad habit, to dwell on things like that.

When the day came, (one month ago today) it was both better and worse than all those times I had laid in bed or driven down the road and imagined how it would happen.

When I went to bed on Thursday night, I knew that would be the last night I had with her. I was exhausted. Grieving. Hurting because I was watching her struggle so greatly. I was defeated. I didn't know what else to do to save her. She was only declining for one week. Just one short week before she had seemed to be doing quite well. But I stood watch over her for those 7 days. Watching her weaken as each hour passed. I worried and came up with different plans for how to help her. I tried a dozen different foods trying to get her to eat. I carried her up and down stairs. I held her, swaddled in towels, for hours at a time. I forced meds down her throat. I cleaned and bandaged her her head. I fielded a thousand questions from the boys.

And it just wasn't enough.

So as soon as I was up on Friday morning I called the vet. Made an appointment. Wrapped her up and headed into the office. I didn't take anyone with me. It's hard to explain why I had to do it alone. Part of me just wanted to be alone in the grief. But, the greater part of me knew that the only way I would survive that morning is if I didn't have a choice. If I was alone, driving us to the vet, talking through options (or lack of options) with the vet, making hard decisions and filling out a lot of paperwork, then I had to keep it together. I had to get through. But if someone had been there with me, likely my dad, I wouldn't have been able to push through the whole mess of it. I would have broken and not managed to maintain the little control I had. And I wanted so badly to be calm for Lea. I didn't want my emotions to scare her more. I didn't want her to see how nervous I was and then she feel anxiety in return.

So I left Courtney's house and drove us to the vet. And I gripped the steering wheel and prayed fervently that I would stay calm. That I would just stay calm until after it was over.

And I (mostly) succeeded.

We saw a new vet. He looked over her infection. We spoke briefly of her medical history. He talked through the options for treating the infection... aggressive antibiotics (that she probably wouldn't survive), surgical removal of the flaps of both infected ears (that she probably wouldn't survive), a lengthy hospital stay...

And, in the end, there just was only one option. So I held her while they got all of the paperwork together-- the papers where I signed my consent for them to kill her. Then I waited in that room alone while they took her back to place the port in her leg where they would administer the drug. And I stood beside her while she laid on a striped towel on the table beside me as the (very nice) vet talked me through the process.

It was pretty straight-forward. An overdose of anesthesia. She would get sleepy, fall asleep, and then the overdose would do its job and her heart and lungs would stop. And the (very nice) vet ran through some possibilities of what might happen during the moments before she died. It was such an anxiety-ridden moment. All these scenarios of things that might happen after the anesthesia was administered. Things that were pretty likely because dogs with heart issues often die a little more dramatically than other dogs.

She was already laying down on the towel. I stood behind her and petted her. The (very nice) vet very slowly administered the anesthesia. She immediately started getting sleepy. Several seconds later she snored loudly (very normal for her an extremely sweet moment for me--it was just so her) and several seconds after that it was over.

She died so well. That sounds ridiculous, but that was my very first thought. She was so calm and so quiet. There was nothing scary or surprising. She just did so well right up to the last.

 I was on the brink of falling over the edge. You know that moment when you aren't quite crying, but if you blink or make any attempt at speaking that you will immediately fall into that ugly cry and completely lose any semblance of control? That's where I was--for the entire hour at the vet-- but in those very last moments it was almost unbearable.

I made it through that morning. I made it through that whole week. And I am so thankful I was with Lea for those last days. And I am so glad that I was able to be with her when she died. But, I didn't escape unscathed...watching her die scarred my soul.

It has been one month since she died. And I miss her, every day. I don't know why I grieve so slowly or struggle so much from losing a pet. But I loved her deeply and am so grateful that I had her, and she had me.

Lea was cremated and delivered right to my door. There is something vaguely unsettling about that. But it was unbearably hard to leave her in Maryland and travel back home without her. I felt relieved when she was back home too.

Lea-- The beginning of the end

At the end of March I took Lea out for a walk and, much to my dismay, saw a tumor protruding from her girl parts.

Yes.

And so started a really overwhelming couple of months.

Our local vet wouldn't touch the tumor so we were referred down to Greenville, SC to go to a specialist at Upstate Veterinary Hospital.

On April 16th I took Lea in for a quick visit with a surgeon at their Asheville office and on Friday, April 17th, Carson and I headed down to take her to Greenville. There we saw an internal medicine specialist who ran all of the diagnostics on Lea-- checking her heart and overall health so that we could come up with a game plan.

Two years ago Lea was diagnosed with a heart murmur, she was 10 at the time. She had already outlived Delia (who died at age 9), and I think I never really worried too much about her heart. Vet visits with Lea involved vaccinations, heartworm meds, and the occasional ear infection. That's it.

So, when the incredibly soft-spoken, kind, and empathetic Internal Medicine Specialist met with me to go over all of the diagnostic tests, I was not prepared. Not prepared at all.

There were tumors. A lot of tumors. Everywhere.

I cried. And talked to the vet. And called my mom. And made a plan.

Aggressive treatment or lengthy surgery was out--her heart wouldn't be able to handle it. So we decided to do a very short surgery just to remove the protruding tumor (she was under anesthesia for less than 15 minutes) and then start palliative care.

The extremely kind vets at Upstate estimated that she probably would only live a few more months.

Leading up to the surgery was a bit stressful. I dropped Lea off in Asheville and they transported her down to Greenville and back up the next day. The surgery went smoothly and she recovered very easily, and the next few weeks were just so good. She seemed to feel noticeably better, and not having to look at that tumor anymore was GREAT.

In mid-May I started getting things ready for our trip up to Baltimore for Julia's graduation.
Lea had a tiny sore on the side of her face that I was watching and it started to worry me. So, on May 16th Daniel took her to the vet. She was diagnosed with ear infections and a "hot spot" (the sore on her face). We started oral antibiotics and a topical ointment. On May 21st, Lea had a rabies vaccination in preparation for getting groomed the following day and the vet thought her hot spot was healing nicely.

On May 22nd she went off to get groomed. That was also the first day she refused to eat.

My dad flew into Greenville on Saturday to ride up to Baltimore with me the following Monday. Lea continued to not eat and on Sunday her sore seemed to be worsening again.

Dad, the boys, and I started our road trip on Monday, May 25th. Lea had not eaten in three days.

Stop 1 on the road trip was Lyle's house. Lea was weak. I carried her up and down the stairs to go outside or go to her crate. She was alert, but tired.

The following day we headed to Baltimore. Lea was the same. Not eating. Weak. Sleeping all the time. Her sore was festering despite all the medicines.

On Wednesday, May 27th, I took her to a vet in Baltimore. We talked about her age and some options for care. And I cried. A lot. The vet changed the medication for her sore, gave her some fluids, some special food, an anti-nausea medicine and something to stimulate her appetite.

That was the first night I wasn't able to get any of her meds in her. I was treating and bandaging her head. Offering her bland food. And carrying her up and down stairs and in and out of the house to go to the bathroom outside. Then helping her stand up long enough to actually use the bathroom when we were outside. She couldn't really walk.

Thursday, May 28th, was a long, exhausting day. I stayed at Courtney's house all day. Sitting with her. Holding her. She was limp and tired. It had been a full week since she had eaten a normal sized meal, and several days since she had eaten anything at all. She stayed in her crate at all times and to get her out of it I would have to drag her dog bed out far enough (with her on it) so that I could reach in and lift her. I stayed up late that night. Watching her. Waiting. Just waiting.

I woke up on Friday morning and called the vet's office again. They fit me in one hour later.

I wrapped her up in a beach towel and carried her out to the car. I placed her in the passenger seat and headed to the office.

Lea died on the morning of May 29th.