Grief and Such

Luci, Pre-Obesity

About 4 hours ago, at 5:45, I woke up. My door had been knocked open by my Grandma's fist. As if that wasn't enough to scare me shitless, I could hear her crying. I got up to see her bent over petting Luci, our 9 year old mutt. Luci hadn't eaten in 6 days. She had a large tumor that "felt" benign (we didn't have the money to shell out for an x-ray) on her left side. She'd been limping recently, and two days ago getting up became difficult for her. She hadn't drank any water in 12 hours, and hadn't urinated in 24 hours. All she'd do was lie around, and even then she'd whimper.

Yesterday she vomitted a small puddle of liquid. My grandma cleaned it up and said that it looked like bile. I took her word for it, because I don't know what bile looks like. This morning she vomitted again. She tried to get outside, but had to stop at the threshold of my mom's door. She couldn't walk anymore. Her hips weren't working correctly.

My grandma woke me up to try to help Luci get outside; she thought that Luci had to pee. So I did. I picked her up in front of her hips, and she got started. She did this awful, side to side swaddle; clearly pulling more with her front than her hind legs. After 5 or 6 steps, I couldn't watch it any more, and decided to carry her outside. I put my right arm behind her legs and my left arm under her chest. I lifted all 68 pounds of her and carried her down the hall, out the front door, down the steps, and to the lawn. I sat her down on the grass, hoping she'd pee. She looked at me for a second, and then laid down. She surveyed the yard, and then put her head down.

Last night, Nanny and I were sitting outside talking. We spoke about God, Carlie, Luci, and Euthanasia. When we started talking about Euthanasia, she started crying. My Grandma blamed herself for not having the money to spend on saving Luci's life. I told her that no amount of wishing, hoping, or money would be able to reverse all of what was wrong with Luci. I likened it to driving a car in deep mud. We'd be spinning our tires, but we'd be getting nowhere. All we'd be doing was unnecessarily prolonging her suffering, and wasting precious money.

After that conversation, I went about my business. I hung out with Aaron for a few hours; then I came home and watched TV. I thought about what I'd be like if we had to put Luci down, and I realized that I didn't think I'd cry. Not because I'm some Macho alpha male; but because I wasn't sad. Luci was in pain. Clear and obvious pain. She wasn't eating. She was exhibiting all of the signs of a dying dog. I took solace in the fact that if she had to be put down (which I was hoping she would be), that there'd be no pain. She'd be blissfully unaware. She'd feel drowsy, look at the world one last time, feel warm and tingly all over, and then sleep - forever.

After getting her in the car, we drove to the Vet. It's only a 10 minute drive. Normally she's whining and whimpering and running back and forth across the back seat, but today she just lie still. She sat up three or four times to look around, but plopped back down onto the seat cushion.

We got to the Vet at 6:58 am, 2 minutes before it opened. Mom and I sat there, turning around and petting her. I looked at her eyes and I knew that she was ready to go. They opened up, and Mom went inside while I waited in the car with Luci. After 2 or 3 minutes, I got in the back seat with her and just petted her and told her that myself and everyone else loved her. She just laid there while I knocked hair after hair off of her coat. I took her collar off, and for the first time in almost 2 years, I cried.

Eventually I wiped my face and went inside to see what was taking so long. Apparently the Vet opens at 7 am, but that doesn't mean that there will be a Veterinarian there. They told us that Dr. Leonard had to put her son on the bus, and should be in at 8:30, but in the mean time - they'd like to look at luci. So I walked outside with one of the Vet Techs following me. I had to roll her a little so I could get my left arm up under her butt and behind her legs, but I finally got her. I carried her through two glass doors and into the lobby of the Vet. Then I walked through another door and put her on a metal table. They took her temperature and checked her gums. They then asked me to put her in a cage with a "Comfy" blanket.

I went back into the lobby after telepathically telling her that I loved her and sat down next to my mom. Another Vet Tech came out and said that Dr. Leonard wanted to take a look at her, and would be in at 8:30. If we wanted, we could wait, or Dr. Leonard could call us with what she thought was best for Luci when she got around to it. Mom wanted to say goodbye, so they let her. I went and sat in the car.

I just got a call from Dr. Leonard about 30 minutes ago. She was saying how Luci doesn't seem to be in any pain, but she does seem to be weak. They found a tick on her. They said that they could probably get her "Happy and all better!" but that they would have to do bloodwork and get X-rays. After speaking with Nanny, I decided to call back and ask how much it would be. With an IV and Catheter, bloodwork and X-rays, it'd be about $300, with "Additonal treatment, extra." So I told her that I'd call her back.

Nanny was still wanting to do whatever she could. She was holding out hope that what she had was treatable. I was trying to tell her that we've already said goodbye - that if we didn't do this now, that we'd have to do it again in one or two years. Nanny wasn't hearing it. So I called back. Dr. Leonard had done bloodwork already, and answered the phone:

"I know what's wrong with her. She has addison's disease, which means that her adrenal glands have stopped functioning completely. And she has kidney failure. However, this is treatable. There's a drug, which will run you a bit of money, that we can sell you and you can inject on your own, that can potentially give her a normal, healthy life. I think after a few days of pushing intense IV fluids, that we can bring her kidneys back as well. There are no guarantees though."

The woman should work in alternative medicine. She kept trying to push this expensive false hope on us, after I told her that we really didn't have the money. I told her I'd call back, and she asked to speak with my grandma. I told her we'd call back in a few minutes.

I spoke with Nanny and she didn't want Luci to have to go through that. Now that she knew that Luci's kidneys were failing, she was at peace with Euthanasia. She didn't like having to do it, but she and Grandpa Kenn had a cat whose kidneys failed. Grandpa Kenn tried to save the cat, and in hindsight regrets having J.D. go through all of that pain and suffering for no reason. So Mom called Dr. Leonard, and Luci's going to be euthanized and cremated.

She lived a good life. She had more toys than most children. Hopefullly she'll go out peacefully, dreaming of peanut butter and steak.

While this entire ordeal hasn't been fun, it's been interesting to see how my family deals with grief.

My Grandma blames herself. She always has. She blames herself for my mother's problems, and she blamed herself for everything that was wrong with Luci. She tried everything. She tried forcefeeding her yogurt with a turkey baster, feeding her peanut butter (her favorite food), feeding her dog food, people food - everything. She drove herself ragged trying to get that dog to eat. And when Luci wouldn't, she blamed herself. And then she cried.

My mom is emotional. About everything. She was, however, uncharacteristically strong throughout all of this. Perhaps because we don't have that male figure in our life, she's had to take on a hybrid role as mother/father. She still cried at the Vet, but not in front of Geoff or Nanny. I know it's tearing her up, but she's trying not to show it. Perhaps it's not because she's had to take on two roles, perhaps it's the fact that her mother is crying and emotional - and she's trying to be strong for her. It's probably a combination of both.

My brother gets angry. I realized yesterday that what they've been saying for years has been true. He had seizures as a child and part of his brain doesn't work. He functions fine; but there's certain aspects of his personality that aren't up to snuff. They've always coddled him and treated him younger than he is, and I've always given them hell for it: "He's never going to grow up if you keep treating him like a child." I'm sure that it's not just the seizures, and it's not just the way he's treated. It's the interaction of both that make him the way he is. I tried talking to him last night about putting Luci down, but he wouldn't have any of it.

"Everybody's so fuckin' negative about Luci."

Geoff lets his emotions and best intentions get in the way of his decision making processes. I never realized it until last night. He could see all of the signs and symptoms that I could see, but he didn't want to talk about it. I asked him why he wanted to put it off. I told him that it wouldn't make it hurt any less tomorrow (today) if we had to do something. He just shouted and said,

"Oh, because you think that she's in pain, you want to kill her. Yeah, well I'm not fine with that. Okay? Now let's drop it. I don't want to talk about it."

So I did. I dropped it and rolled over. Lying there, staring at the wall, I realized something about myself that I didn't want to. I'm becoming this "Strong" male figure that we're taught to idolize as children. Out of neccessity, I'm maturing.

I'm able to sift emotions out of my decision making process. As such, this was an easy one for me to make. She's in pain. We don't have the money to make her life comfortable. So the next best thing is to just give her an easy exit; instead of a slow, agnozing death by kidney or other organ failure.

I'm not sure where I read this quote, or who this person is, but Kathleen Casey said the following:

"Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional."

I'm not speaking about Luci's suffering, but my grandma's, mom's, and brother's. They're all going to languish over this for a while. I just hope that they don't beat themselves up too much over something they had no control over.