Sometimes I worry that this blog is getting too depressing. But some people seem to like reading it, and writing it helps me. There has to be a place where it's OK to communicate about the hard stuff. I usually write these posts as events unfold, and then let them sit a few days so I can edit them before posting. This time I'm combining the events of 3 days into a single post... so it has a happy ending.
Jan. 20, 2008
Today I cried real tears for my dog. “I can’t take care of my Winston!”
This after he had diarrhea all night and all day, and me cleaning it up every few hours. With his advanced hip dysplasia, he can't move fast enough to get outside when the diarrhea hits. It’s a HUGE mess. My muscles ache. Honestly I don’t know where I found the strength. Musta been angels.
Dillon responded to my tears by fixing me lunch. A hamburger and a nap refreshed me for the next round of stinky mess. Dillon did the clean-up that night.
----
1/21/08
Could this day get any worse? (Part 2)
Today was another dismal day at the vet after a hard night.
Winston’s diarrhea got worse -- and bloody, too. So last night we had to have him sleep in the bathroom, the easiest room to clean up. It’s too cold for him to sleep outside. It was lonely not having him sleep near our bed, but I did sleep better and he didn’t cry, howl or whimper. Maybe it’s a preparation for the coming separation when he dies. But it was awful to open the bathroom door to a wave of stink and find him laying in his own filth.
Dillon and I took him to the vet in the morning. The “Walkabout” harness really helped Dillon lift him into the car.
“So he has diarrhea?” the vet asked innocently as he tried to insert a rectal thermometer -- provoking what he called “projectile diarrhea.”
The problem was painfully obvious to all. The vet thought it would be a good idea to move Winston to a clean exam room, where he tried again with the thermometer -- with the same result.
“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed.
“Literally,” Dillon piped up.
“Could this day get any worse?” I asked. That phrase from a previous blog has become a favorite for me and Dillon. “It probably can,” I added.
And it did. When the vet sent us home with more medicines, we discovered that the battery on our car had died! As we waited for AAA to give us a jump start, Dillon said, “It helps me to know that this will become a funny story on your blog.”
Finally we got home and I coaxed Winston into taking most of the prescribed pills. Then at sunset he vomited it all up, undigested. I called the vet, who said to try again tomorrow.
At dinnertime Winston refused to eat -- that’s never EVER happened before. My dog has always had a huge appetite.
A friend wrote a beautiful thought to me today about dogs: “I think it is better for us to outlive them because they would mourn too much were it the opposite.” I never thought of it that way before.
---
Jan. 22, 2008
Oh, happy day!
Last night I coaxed Winston into eating his antibiotic pill by putting it inside some hamburger meat -- and the diarrhea stopped.
Today he’s eating again, too.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Winston walks his socks off
Today the vet tech Jose suggested that I could protect Winston’s feet on walks by putting my socks on his feet and then TAPING them to his fur so they wouldn’t fall off. I slipped one sock over his worst foot (left hind foot) for a trial run. The first time I tried it, the sock fell off before we even got out the door. I tried it again with more masking tape, and we were off! We had gone past a few houses when I realized that I had taped it onto the wrong foot the second time! Fortunately I had brought along a band-aid for emergencies.
But dragging that sock along was hard for my poor old Winston in his weakened condition. He quickly wore a hole in it. The sock stayed on, but seemed to weigh on his foot. He started to poop and then collapsed in the street with a shocked, ashamed, horrified look in his eyes. The sock seemed to prevent him from rising again.
I petted him til we were both calmer, then managed to get the sock off and the poop into a bag. Winston got back on his feet and made it home, but was literally dragging his butt on the sidewalk for the last few steps leading to our gate. I’m not going to try to walk him that far alone again. (And it wasn’t far… maybe 5 minutes at a normal pace.)
Last night I had a Winston nightmare that was bloodless but sad. I cut off Winston’s two hind feet, and then Audrey cut off his two front feet. In the nightmare, Winston was calm and his feet detached easily without blood.
I got a new camera so I can take some good photos of Winston at this point in his life. He’s still beautiful, especially his face. He has a new look on his face lately. Both Dillon and I have notice it. He often looks like he’s really THINKING about something, with a kind of noble expression.
But dragging that sock along was hard for my poor old Winston in his weakened condition. He quickly wore a hole in it. The sock stayed on, but seemed to weigh on his foot. He started to poop and then collapsed in the street with a shocked, ashamed, horrified look in his eyes. The sock seemed to prevent him from rising again.
I petted him til we were both calmer, then managed to get the sock off and the poop into a bag. Winston got back on his feet and made it home, but was literally dragging his butt on the sidewalk for the last few steps leading to our gate. I’m not going to try to walk him that far alone again. (And it wasn’t far… maybe 5 minutes at a normal pace.)
Last night I had a Winston nightmare that was bloodless but sad. I cut off Winston’s two hind feet, and then Audrey cut off his two front feet. In the nightmare, Winston was calm and his feet detached easily without blood.
I got a new camera so I can take some good photos of Winston at this point in his life. He’s still beautiful, especially his face. He has a new look on his face lately. Both Dillon and I have notice it. He often looks like he’s really THINKING about something, with a kind of noble expression.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Reflections on pet euthanasia
Most dogs with hip dysplasia end up being euthanized. That’s the most sobering fact that I learned from the holistic vet. He seemed to think that my hope that Winston would die naturally was unrealistic. “The legs go before the heart goes,” he said, explaining that most dogs with this condition are euthanized when they become incontinent or can’t walk anymore due to paralysis.
Sometimes I can’t bear thinking about euthanasia for dogs. At other times I feel compelled to seek out info on how others think about it. I keep thinking how nobody talked about killing me when I was almost bedridden, even though I myself didn’t really want to go on living and to me my prospects for improvement seemed dim. So why should Winston, who loves life so much, be killed? I know he’s an animal and I’m not, but he’s my best friend and he’s entrusted to my care.
Anyway, I found some interesting Buddhist perspectives:
Best Friends Network
An animal communicator asks the animals, who usually choose release over suffering longer in their bodies.
Buddha Chat
A vet tech wonders if euthanasia denies the creature the chance to prepare for its own death.
Sometimes I can’t bear thinking about euthanasia for dogs. At other times I feel compelled to seek out info on how others think about it. I keep thinking how nobody talked about killing me when I was almost bedridden, even though I myself didn’t really want to go on living and to me my prospects for improvement seemed dim. So why should Winston, who loves life so much, be killed? I know he’s an animal and I’m not, but he’s my best friend and he’s entrusted to my care.
Anyway, I found some interesting Buddhist perspectives:
Best Friends Network
An animal communicator asks the animals, who usually choose release over suffering longer in their bodies.
Buddha Chat
A vet tech wonders if euthanasia denies the creature the chance to prepare for its own death.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Holistic vet gives advice
I talked on the phone last week to a holistic vet. He had a lot to say. Some points that stick in my mind:
--Western medicine doesn’t have much to offer for nerve degeneration, but homeopathy, herbs and acupuncture do help.
--It’s NOT clear to know if and when to euthanize a dog. I heard it was “really clear,” but he said it wasn’t, that dogs have good and bad days, and different people have different limits.
--Get booties now to try to prevent sores from developing on the feet from being dragged. Once the sores start, they are almost impossible to heal.
--Walking is good for a dog with hip dysplasia and nerve degeneration. Don’t worry about it injuring him further -- it won’t. Walk him as far as he will go.
--Regular pharmaceutical medicines speed up the dog’s demise.
He prescribed 2 herbal formulas and 2 homeopathic formulas -- one of each for arthritis and one of each for his spine/nerves. I started giving him the new remedies 2 days ago.
And all this effort is paying off!
He’s been acting like he can’t feel or move his hind legs at all, but today he yanked his hind foot away when I was trying to pull a Band-Aid off his toe! I know it seems like a small victory, but it could be a sign of more to come. I know that all this is colored by my own experience of losing a lot of my walking ability, using a wheelchair, and bouncing back. It makes it impossible for me to give up on my dog the way that I probably would if I had always been an able-bodied person, or as we say, a TAB (“temporarily able-bodied”).
--Western medicine doesn’t have much to offer for nerve degeneration, but homeopathy, herbs and acupuncture do help.
--It’s NOT clear to know if and when to euthanize a dog. I heard it was “really clear,” but he said it wasn’t, that dogs have good and bad days, and different people have different limits.
--Get booties now to try to prevent sores from developing on the feet from being dragged. Once the sores start, they are almost impossible to heal.
--Walking is good for a dog with hip dysplasia and nerve degeneration. Don’t worry about it injuring him further -- it won’t. Walk him as far as he will go.
--Regular pharmaceutical medicines speed up the dog’s demise.
He prescribed 2 herbal formulas and 2 homeopathic formulas -- one of each for arthritis and one of each for his spine/nerves. I started giving him the new remedies 2 days ago.
And all this effort is paying off!
He’s been acting like he can’t feel or move his hind legs at all, but today he yanked his hind foot away when I was trying to pull a Band-Aid off his toe! I know it seems like a small victory, but it could be a sign of more to come. I know that all this is colored by my own experience of losing a lot of my walking ability, using a wheelchair, and bouncing back. It makes it impossible for me to give up on my dog the way that I probably would if I had always been an able-bodied person, or as we say, a TAB (“temporarily able-bodied”).
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Scooby-Doo Bandaids don't work for real Great Dane
Every time I take Winston for a walk, I have to put a Band-Aid on his outside left hind toenail to keep it from bleeding as he drags it along. I tried using our cute Band-Aids with cartoons pictures of “Scooby-Doo.” That didn’t work at all, with the Band-Aid ripped apart before we even crossed the porch. But “Flexible Fabric” Band-Aids last all the way around the Circle. I was a bit upset by the whole Band-Aid drama, but Dillon helped me see the humor in it. “Scooby-Doo Band-Aids don’t work on Danes!” she laughed. “That’s funny!”
I’ve been treated very kindly by all the many people who have been helping help me at the various vet clinics and dog supply places. I’d say that I’m being treated better than when I deal with medical folk about my own health. Somehow fighting for my own health comes across as obnoxious or irritating, whereas fighting for my beloved dog’s health seems to evoke more compassion. Or is it just that veterinary care is more personal and less driven by the insurance industry?
I’ve been treated very kindly by all the many people who have been helping help me at the various vet clinics and dog supply places. I’d say that I’m being treated better than when I deal with medical folk about my own health. Somehow fighting for my own health comes across as obnoxious or irritating, whereas fighting for my beloved dog’s health seems to evoke more compassion. Or is it just that veterinary care is more personal and less driven by the insurance industry?
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Back in the saddle
Jose, the vet tech, has started making house calls twice a week to give Winston his Adequan shots. He’s a big guy, and he says he can identify with how Winston feels. “I’m on my feet all day, and sometimes my bones just begin to ache.” This will continue for 3 weeks.
On his second visit he brought Winston’s new “Walk About” harness for his hips. Jose said he uses this type of equipment all the time to walk dogs after surgery. He was quite adept at putting it on and using it to hold Winston’s rear end up while he walked. Winston was thrilled when it enabled him to up and down our front porch steps again.
Winston was NOT thrilled that night when Dillon tried to use it with him. It’s going to take practice to make it work. Also, they ordered extra large size. Winston does seem larger than life, but it’s a bit too big.
On his second visit he brought Winston’s new “Walk About” harness for his hips. Jose said he uses this type of equipment all the time to walk dogs after surgery. He was quite adept at putting it on and using it to hold Winston’s rear end up while he walked. Winston was thrilled when it enabled him to up and down our front porch steps again.
Winston was NOT thrilled that night when Dillon tried to use it with him. It’s going to take practice to make it work. Also, they ordered extra large size. Winston does seem larger than life, but it’s a bit too big.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Could this day get any worse?!
Taking Winston to the vet yesterday was a major ordeal, and yet we got through it with the kindness of the staff at the vet clinic.
I woke up with the bright idea of pulling the car to the curb so Winston could step inside without the challenge of having to go up a step. It sounded good in theory, but Dillon and I got in a fight about it after she parked her car at the curb in front of our house. A rim at the bottom of the doorway was still going to make it impossible for Winston to drag himself inside. Maybe my smaller car would be better? No. Maybe Winston would be able to move better if Dillon stopped yelling at me?
“Let’s just GO!”
With a huge effort, Dillon heaved Winston’s butt into her car and off we went. Later she told me that this trip is when it hit her how bad Winston’s health really is, bringing back unhappy memories of when I first needed a wheelchair. On the way to the vet, we were both thinking that we can’t take Winston to the vet twice a week for shots. We had reached our limit.
“I’ll go in and see if a tech can give him his shot in the car,” I offered.
“Good idea!” Finally Dillon and I were in agreement again.
The vet’s receptionist, a young pregnant woman, readily agreed to send a tech out.
“We can’t keep driving him here twice a week. Our dog weighs more than 100 pounds and he can’t get into the car on his own! Do you make house calls?” I asked in desperation.
The answer was yes -- but we would have to pay for the remaining three weeks of shots upfront.
I don't know what got into me, but here’s what I blurted out: “Will we get a refund if he dies before then?”
The receptionist focused on me in a new way, with a look of deep kindness.
“Is it really that bad?”
“Well, he can’t walk! When I tried to walk him a few days ago he dragged his foot until his toenail started bleeding”
She listened while I described more of the horror. Then she arranged for a tech to come to our house to give the injections, assured me that it was too soon to tell if the shots would help, promised a refund on unused shots if Winston died, and offered me stronger pain pills (Tramadol) for Winston at a discount. I was reluctant to accept the drugs.
“You seem upset,” she noted.
“Maybe I should take the pills.”
“You’ll feel better if your dog isn’t in pain.” True. I could always decided later whether to actually give Winston the drugs.
Pills in hand, I led the tech to the car. He was a big, jolly young Latino who had worked with Winston before. He introduced himself as Jose.
“Thank you SO much!” Dillon exclaimed when he came out to give Winston the shot. To our relief, Jose promised to come to our house for all future shots for a mere $20 per visit.
We all felt better on the ride home, but one obstacle remained. We still had to get Winston back out of the car.
Dillon pulled to the curb and opened the back door. Winston put his front feet on the grass and looked up at us, confused, as his hind end refused to follow. He was firmly seated on the floor of the car. Dillon tried to pull him out. No go.
Dillon brought some plywood boards from the garage to make a ramp for him. No amount of coaxing would even make him put his front paws on that contraption.
I went in the house to get some treats. Dillon reported later that she and Winston sank to a new emotional low while I was gone.
I returned with the treats and Dillon removed the boards, stepping in some other dog’s poop on our lawn in the process. Could this day get any worse?
Finally Dillon got in the car, pushing and lifting Winston from behind while I lured him forward with the treats. It worked. We were home free.
When we got back in the house, Winston and I both lay down to rest on the floor. He gave me a tragic look that I seemed to recognize from my own days in a wheelchair: “I don’t want to be a burden.”
I woke up with the bright idea of pulling the car to the curb so Winston could step inside without the challenge of having to go up a step. It sounded good in theory, but Dillon and I got in a fight about it after she parked her car at the curb in front of our house. A rim at the bottom of the doorway was still going to make it impossible for Winston to drag himself inside. Maybe my smaller car would be better? No. Maybe Winston would be able to move better if Dillon stopped yelling at me?
“Let’s just GO!”
With a huge effort, Dillon heaved Winston’s butt into her car and off we went. Later she told me that this trip is when it hit her how bad Winston’s health really is, bringing back unhappy memories of when I first needed a wheelchair. On the way to the vet, we were both thinking that we can’t take Winston to the vet twice a week for shots. We had reached our limit.
“I’ll go in and see if a tech can give him his shot in the car,” I offered.
“Good idea!” Finally Dillon and I were in agreement again.
The vet’s receptionist, a young pregnant woman, readily agreed to send a tech out.
“We can’t keep driving him here twice a week. Our dog weighs more than 100 pounds and he can’t get into the car on his own! Do you make house calls?” I asked in desperation.
The answer was yes -- but we would have to pay for the remaining three weeks of shots upfront.
I don't know what got into me, but here’s what I blurted out: “Will we get a refund if he dies before then?”
The receptionist focused on me in a new way, with a look of deep kindness.
“Is it really that bad?”
“Well, he can’t walk! When I tried to walk him a few days ago he dragged his foot until his toenail started bleeding”
She listened while I described more of the horror. Then she arranged for a tech to come to our house to give the injections, assured me that it was too soon to tell if the shots would help, promised a refund on unused shots if Winston died, and offered me stronger pain pills (Tramadol) for Winston at a discount. I was reluctant to accept the drugs.
“You seem upset,” she noted.
“Maybe I should take the pills.”
“You’ll feel better if your dog isn’t in pain.” True. I could always decided later whether to actually give Winston the drugs.
Pills in hand, I led the tech to the car. He was a big, jolly young Latino who had worked with Winston before. He introduced himself as Jose.
“Thank you SO much!” Dillon exclaimed when he came out to give Winston the shot. To our relief, Jose promised to come to our house for all future shots for a mere $20 per visit.
We all felt better on the ride home, but one obstacle remained. We still had to get Winston back out of the car.
Dillon pulled to the curb and opened the back door. Winston put his front feet on the grass and looked up at us, confused, as his hind end refused to follow. He was firmly seated on the floor of the car. Dillon tried to pull him out. No go.
Dillon brought some plywood boards from the garage to make a ramp for him. No amount of coaxing would even make him put his front paws on that contraption.
I went in the house to get some treats. Dillon reported later that she and Winston sank to a new emotional low while I was gone.
I returned with the treats and Dillon removed the boards, stepping in some other dog’s poop on our lawn in the process. Could this day get any worse?
Finally Dillon got in the car, pushing and lifting Winston from behind while I lured him forward with the treats. It worked. We were home free.
When we got back in the house, Winston and I both lay down to rest on the floor. He gave me a tragic look that I seemed to recognize from my own days in a wheelchair: “I don’t want to be a burden.”
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