Frank died 6/7/19.
I'm still in pain.
I knew it would be bad, he was my best friend. He was my patient. He was my dog.
I was his person.
Making that decision was hard, but I decided that day it was going to happen. I still begged the doctor to check to make sure I was making the right decision. Part of me wanted the vet to say, "He has a few more days in him, don't do it yet." But, the vet didn't say that. The vet said it was a good time.
I hurt inside. I feel guilty for not trying to wait it out a bit more. Frank was the comeback King. He would be doing bad, and then magically he would get better. Maybe, deep down I knew he wasn't going to get better. I also knew, although he wasn't in pain while at the vet, the night before was awful. It hurt me to hear and see my dog struggling to catch his breath and stop coughing. I knew it hurt him. I couldn't chance him having another awful gut wrenching night like that again.
Regardless, it still feels sad to think about that day.
It hurts to come home to nothing.
It was the worst day of my life. I love him so much, I'm having a hard time coping. Sure, I have good moments. I also "try" to do things. Otherwise, I just lay around and sleep (or try to sleep).
AB says its still new. He says its just been one week. That little booger was my soulmate. I wish I could have him back. I wish I could tell him again how much I love him. I wish I could pet him and hold him again. The loss of a loved one is not easy. I never knew how hard it was going to be.
And now, i'm crying again over it.
I just wish I can gain entrance into heaven one day so I can meet up with my Frankie again.
I promised I would be a better person so I can see him again. I must keep that promise, he means the world to me.
Monday, June 17, 2019
Sunday, June 9, 2019
The loss of my best friend
For those who read and follow this blog, the last 20 months of my life was devoted to taking care of my puggle, Frank.
He was diagnosed with congestive heart failure October 2017. He passed away on June 7, 2019.
I had to make that decision. He was getting worse, and we kept giving him more meds to help stabilize the cough, but they weren't working that great.
Thursday afternoon I took Frank to see his vet. The doctor did not respond in his normal fashion when he listened to Frank's heart. He seemed worried. He asked me to increase some meds and call on Saturday morning to let him know how Frank was doing. That night, Frank coughed for hours straight. He would cough until he couldn't breathe or catch his breath. He would run circles and try to find a comfortable sitting or laying position, only to start coughing again seconds later. I knew in my heart Frank was exhausted and sore, even in pain. He finally fell asleep that night, around 1 or 2 am...and when he woke, he didn't want to move. His neck was all stretched out, and he looked not himself. I knew it was time, and I made that decision. My boyfriend was sad, but I know he agreed.
We went in at 11 am. Right before, he was finally feeling better. I took him to his favorite park, and he walked a bit, but he didn't want to leave. He was walking slow, anyway, and breathing hard. We only stayed for a few minutes, and I had to carry him back. In retrospect, I wish I would have let him lay down outside for a few hours out there.
I asked doctor to let me know if I am making the right decision, and to please listen to him again and see if this was necessary. He said it would be a good time, it was only going to get worse. When Frank was first diagnosed, Dr warned me that the dogs don't usually pass in their sleep, and this disease is a hard, painful death. I knew I would have to put him to sleep, but I didn't ever want to. I didn't want him to experience death in fear or in pain, either.
It was a good experience, for euthanasia, I guess. Dr explained the process, and both of his assistants were present, and they all loved Frank. They all kissed him and pet him. I was able to hold him most of the time. He even snored a bit before the final injection. He went quickly, and even though I am crying now, I am happy it was done at the doctor's office instead of the emergency room in the middle of the night. I couldn't let him go through another night like that again. That might have been selfish of me to want to make sure his final breath was surrounded by his own doctor, nurses, and me. We were blessed with a long journey, longer than anyone thought we would get. We also were blessed to have Frank as long as we did. Again, I am selfish, because it wasn't enough time. I hope God knows I am grateful for every second. Every trying second. I hope he knows the amount of money we spent-- the frustrations with all the laundry, the carpet getting little piddles that needed to be cleaned up, the food, the attitude when he wasn't feeling well...it was all something I would do again in a heartbeat if I could. None of it mattered. Frank being comfortable, Frank healthy enough to keep going, and Frank living was all that mattered to me.
I hope Frank forgives me, and I hope he knows how much I love him. Forever. I just need to prove to myself and God I am worthy enough to see that little boy again. I was bonded to him. I feel like my heart is missing a chunk. That little boy was there for me when I was sick. He was the reason (I am sure) that I lived. I could not die because I could not abandon him. I rescued him, and I promised him I would be there for him, forever. It hurts. It hurts so much. It hurts to put his stuff away and it hurts to decide what goes to a shelter and what stays. It hurts to look at it if I leave it where it is. It hurts to be home alone. It hurts to think its time to take him potty or give him pills. I would work in my home office all day, and talk to that little dude ALL DAY. Carry him up and down stairs, take him potty, take him to the doctor, pills 4x/day. Water all the time. Treats, his special diet. My life was wrapped up in Frank, and when he napped, I napped. I loved feeling him stretch out and press his little body against my leg or cuddle himself up in a ball in my nook by my chest. One of a kind.
It hurts.
He was diagnosed with congestive heart failure October 2017. He passed away on June 7, 2019.
I had to make that decision. He was getting worse, and we kept giving him more meds to help stabilize the cough, but they weren't working that great.
Thursday afternoon I took Frank to see his vet. The doctor did not respond in his normal fashion when he listened to Frank's heart. He seemed worried. He asked me to increase some meds and call on Saturday morning to let him know how Frank was doing. That night, Frank coughed for hours straight. He would cough until he couldn't breathe or catch his breath. He would run circles and try to find a comfortable sitting or laying position, only to start coughing again seconds later. I knew in my heart Frank was exhausted and sore, even in pain. He finally fell asleep that night, around 1 or 2 am...and when he woke, he didn't want to move. His neck was all stretched out, and he looked not himself. I knew it was time, and I made that decision. My boyfriend was sad, but I know he agreed.
We went in at 11 am. Right before, he was finally feeling better. I took him to his favorite park, and he walked a bit, but he didn't want to leave. He was walking slow, anyway, and breathing hard. We only stayed for a few minutes, and I had to carry him back. In retrospect, I wish I would have let him lay down outside for a few hours out there.
I asked doctor to let me know if I am making the right decision, and to please listen to him again and see if this was necessary. He said it would be a good time, it was only going to get worse. When Frank was first diagnosed, Dr warned me that the dogs don't usually pass in their sleep, and this disease is a hard, painful death. I knew I would have to put him to sleep, but I didn't ever want to. I didn't want him to experience death in fear or in pain, either.
It was a good experience, for euthanasia, I guess. Dr explained the process, and both of his assistants were present, and they all loved Frank. They all kissed him and pet him. I was able to hold him most of the time. He even snored a bit before the final injection. He went quickly, and even though I am crying now, I am happy it was done at the doctor's office instead of the emergency room in the middle of the night. I couldn't let him go through another night like that again. That might have been selfish of me to want to make sure his final breath was surrounded by his own doctor, nurses, and me. We were blessed with a long journey, longer than anyone thought we would get. We also were blessed to have Frank as long as we did. Again, I am selfish, because it wasn't enough time. I hope God knows I am grateful for every second. Every trying second. I hope he knows the amount of money we spent-- the frustrations with all the laundry, the carpet getting little piddles that needed to be cleaned up, the food, the attitude when he wasn't feeling well...it was all something I would do again in a heartbeat if I could. None of it mattered. Frank being comfortable, Frank healthy enough to keep going, and Frank living was all that mattered to me.
I hope Frank forgives me, and I hope he knows how much I love him. Forever. I just need to prove to myself and God I am worthy enough to see that little boy again. I was bonded to him. I feel like my heart is missing a chunk. That little boy was there for me when I was sick. He was the reason (I am sure) that I lived. I could not die because I could not abandon him. I rescued him, and I promised him I would be there for him, forever. It hurts. It hurts so much. It hurts to put his stuff away and it hurts to decide what goes to a shelter and what stays. It hurts to look at it if I leave it where it is. It hurts to be home alone. It hurts to think its time to take him potty or give him pills. I would work in my home office all day, and talk to that little dude ALL DAY. Carry him up and down stairs, take him potty, take him to the doctor, pills 4x/day. Water all the time. Treats, his special diet. My life was wrapped up in Frank, and when he napped, I napped. I loved feeling him stretch out and press his little body against my leg or cuddle himself up in a ball in my nook by my chest. One of a kind.
It hurts.
Monday, August 20, 2018
Ruff Last Night
Frank had a rough night last night. The coughing started around midnight, after a potty break.
From there, he coughed every half hour or so into morning.
We went out again around 4:30, where he did his business, coughed some more, then came in. I gave him a benedryl and cough pill. After a treat from being such a good boy, he laid down.
He coughed more, until about 6:00 am, and fell asleep.
I had to wake him at 7:30 for morning pills and another potty.
Less coughing, which is good. I'm thinking we need to take the cough pill a bit more frequently again.
This is so hard for him, it hurts to see him in pain when he coughs that much.
My window for taking new appointments at work is very small--I need to be home for him. With that, I am dealing with a small amount of clients right now, and I am okay with it...its tough. I am just finally getting back my energy, but being up every few hours in the night makes it hard to be awake during the day.
The street department is doing stuff in front of our house this morning, and its really got Frank's attention. I'm happy to see him curious about what's going on. He isn't moving, just laying down, looking out the window. He is not happy with them, though, and that makes me smile.
From there, he coughed every half hour or so into morning.
We went out again around 4:30, where he did his business, coughed some more, then came in. I gave him a benedryl and cough pill. After a treat from being such a good boy, he laid down.
He coughed more, until about 6:00 am, and fell asleep.
I had to wake him at 7:30 for morning pills and another potty.
Less coughing, which is good. I'm thinking we need to take the cough pill a bit more frequently again.
This is so hard for him, it hurts to see him in pain when he coughs that much.
My window for taking new appointments at work is very small--I need to be home for him. With that, I am dealing with a small amount of clients right now, and I am okay with it...its tough. I am just finally getting back my energy, but being up every few hours in the night makes it hard to be awake during the day.
The street department is doing stuff in front of our house this morning, and its really got Frank's attention. I'm happy to see him curious about what's going on. He isn't moving, just laying down, looking out the window. He is not happy with them, though, and that makes me smile.
Saturday, August 18, 2018
what its like to see a loved one dying.
So, Frank was diagnosed with Congestive Heart Failure in October 2017. Its been about 10 months.
Frank is my dog, fyi.
Frank is one of a kind, as are most dogs whose owners spoil them.
Frank is up to about 20 pills/day at this point. He takes benedryl 2x/day, hydrocodone 2/day, Vetmedin 3.5/day, prilosec, sildenafil 2x/day, Lasix 4x/day, Enalapril 2x/day, Spirolactin, and a muscle relaxer or pain medicine if needed (he hurts his back a lot and we think has arthritis, too).
Mornings are the worst. I thought going potty 2-3x/night was rough, but no longer.
Waking him up, hearing him cough with every movement is the absolute worst feeling. I hurt for him, and there is nothing I've found that helps ease that pain. He hates to eat breakfast anymore.
He fights every morning pill.
But, by afternoon, he is usually doing better. He can't go on walks anymore because he starts to cough as soon as we hit the street. The weather really messes with him, too.
I try to take him for little car rides through the subdivision, and he sees his vet about once every 2 weeks. If he gets excited, he coughs. If he runs around and plays with his toys, he coughs.
The worst is knowing its not going to get better. Each day is going to be better than the next. That is horrible.
He was originally given about 6 months, maybe a year. We are at 10 months. We've had a lot of good days. I won't let him suffer, and I don't think he is suffering other than his cough and the morning routine.
Usually, by dinner time, he takes his pills, eats food, wants to play and wants treats. So, he feels better as the day goes on. Some of this is normal aging, I'm sure. He's at least 10-11 years old, but he could be older. Some days, he still acts like a puppy. The pills make him tired, he hates when I stuff them down, but I hope he knows I only do it to help him feel better.
Its a guilt and a pressure like no other. This is about him, but I am selfish and I mourn on how this sickness affects me. I mourn on how we don't do what we used to. I mourn on the future of being alone during the day without him, and it hasn't happened yet.
I mourn for him, too. I don't want to lose him, and I keep telling him to go when its time. I don't want to have to put him to sleep. Who does??? really, who does, ever?? But, I won't let him think I ever abandoned him---I was too scared I was going to die in the hospital before and he would think I left him. I will be there for him, no matter what. It just sucks. sucks. plain and simple.
Frank is my dog, fyi.
Frank is up to about 20 pills/day at this point. He takes benedryl 2x/day, hydrocodone 2/day, Vetmedin 3.5/day, prilosec, sildenafil 2x/day, Lasix 4x/day, Enalapril 2x/day, Spirolactin, and a muscle relaxer or pain medicine if needed (he hurts his back a lot and we think has arthritis, too).
Mornings are the worst. I thought going potty 2-3x/night was rough, but no longer.
Waking him up, hearing him cough with every movement is the absolute worst feeling. I hurt for him, and there is nothing I've found that helps ease that pain. He hates to eat breakfast anymore.
He fights every morning pill.
But, by afternoon, he is usually doing better. He can't go on walks anymore because he starts to cough as soon as we hit the street. The weather really messes with him, too.
I try to take him for little car rides through the subdivision, and he sees his vet about once every 2 weeks. If he gets excited, he coughs. If he runs around and plays with his toys, he coughs.
The worst is knowing its not going to get better. Each day is going to be better than the next. That is horrible.
He was originally given about 6 months, maybe a year. We are at 10 months. We've had a lot of good days. I won't let him suffer, and I don't think he is suffering other than his cough and the morning routine.
Usually, by dinner time, he takes his pills, eats food, wants to play and wants treats. So, he feels better as the day goes on. Some of this is normal aging, I'm sure. He's at least 10-11 years old, but he could be older. Some days, he still acts like a puppy. The pills make him tired, he hates when I stuff them down, but I hope he knows I only do it to help him feel better.
Its a guilt and a pressure like no other. This is about him, but I am selfish and I mourn on how this sickness affects me. I mourn on how we don't do what we used to. I mourn on the future of being alone during the day without him, and it hasn't happened yet.
I mourn for him, too. I don't want to lose him, and I keep telling him to go when its time. I don't want to have to put him to sleep. Who does??? really, who does, ever?? But, I won't let him think I ever abandoned him---I was too scared I was going to die in the hospital before and he would think I left him. I will be there for him, no matter what. It just sucks. sucks. plain and simple.
Friday, February 9, 2018
5 years since becoming a vampire.
This is a hard time of year for me. Its been five years since it happened. Its been five years since my life changed in what felt like an instant.
I refer to it (to myself, of course) as when I became a vampire.
Think about it. I was dying. I had maybe two days of life left in me. Then, I was rushed to a big hospital in a major area to be treated. I was given blood or blood products daily. I became very sensitive to light, sound, and my taste buds changed dramatically. My appearance changed, skin became pale and pink, dry, and I lost a ton of weight. Without receiving blood, I would die. My sleep patterns changed. Everything changed. I had dreams of being chased by vampires nightly in that hospital.
Sure, it might be a modern interpretation of an old tale. I'm one who has always been scared of vampires. Even after I realized I was becoming one.
To this day, I still think I am a modern day vampire. The sun and bright light gives me instant headaches. I wear prescription sunglasses even on cloudy days, and sometimes, in stores. My senses are so acute, it drives me and my boyfriend nuts (I almost said Batty, no pun intended). I get dehydrated easily, my blood sugar can fluctuate at odd times. My tastes have changed, I crave more meats than before. I sleep a lot...and take 2 hour naps during the day.
Hey, its 4 am and I am up. I will go back to sleep around 5:30 or so until 7 am.
Even though I don't require blood, I get my blood tested and I still am so concerned about my numbers.
Here is the other thing: I am ridiculously scared of death. I know we will all die. I don't like that, and I am so worried about what happens after you die. I will be faced with that eventuality, and I deal with those feelings and concerns daily, but I don't like it. I want to live so badly, I can't explain it.
I've also become more of an introvert now than ever before. I do speak my mind and possess a different confidence, but in a stand offish kinda way. Does that make sense? I'm not shy to speak my mind, and I'm not looking for friends. I keep to myself.
I thought this would be a happy time, but this week I woke with a sore inside my mouth and again thought the worst. I'm sure it was a cut from eating potato chips with my nieces the day before. Its healing just fine. That first day it was sore and noticeable, I was genuinely scared. I kept it to myself, but it consumed my thoughts that day.
So no, I don't drink blood. I look and feel the scar every day that became the entryway for me to receive my blood and chemo (my port scar). I can't handle sunny days or very light reflective days because my eyes are sensitive from 2 years of Tretenoin pills. My skin is crazy because I have allergies. My nose is sensitive because I lost protective linings in my sinus cavities as a result of chemo. I sleep a lot and at weird times because my body is tired and it gets tired faster now...when I was in chemo I would sleep 18-20 hours/day at times. But, sometimes I sure feel like a vampire, because I am scared to die.
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