4 Hours

Monday evening we noticed Teddi’s breathing had changed. She didn’t seem extremely distressed but it was different. By Tuesday morning her breathing was more labored and we became concerned. She couldn’t get comfortable. She couldn't lay down. She followed me and sat next to me, looking up at me as if to say, “Can you help me?”

It just happened so fast. From the time I took her to the Vet at 9:30, then being sent to the ER to four hours later saying our last goodbye at 1:30pm. It was too much. Our brains couldn’t take it all in and our hearts couldn’t even come close.

When I got to the ER with her I was calm. I had done this many times with Koko and Kizzie. Go to the ER, get some tests, get some new meds and go home. So when the man at the front desk realized who we were (our Vet had called ahead to explain our situation) I heard “Stat!” and he asked the other people at the desk to be patient, we have a critical patient here.

Critical? Did he just say critical? And he was talking about Teddi? Teddi was whisked away, I was put in a room and the nerves started setting in. She’s critical? She’s critical.

I waited for what seemed like hours, but I’m sure it was less than 10 minutes. I realized they were doing a quick evaluation on Teddi. The Doctor came in, introduced herself, asked what I had noticed with Teddi, what medications she was on (five and I’m impressed I remembered all of them). I explained that Teddi has always had a little bit of a wheeze when breathing but it started getting substantially worse last night. Surprisingly she slept fine through the night so we thought maybe it was just temporary.

But this morning it returned with a vengeance. I knew she needed to be seen. The Doctor left to gather more information from the medical staff examining Teddi. The finance person came in to go over the 2-3 day hospital stay that was being recommended, the tests that most likely would be done. It was a hefty price and she asked if I wanted to think about it. Nope, here’s my credit card, do whatever needs to be done.

She asked if I would like to see Teddi before leaving. Of course I did. I sat on the floor and pet her confused little face thru a window to the oxygen “chamber” she was in. Despite being 10.5 years old she looked like a puppy. 

I left thinking – ok, she’ll be in the hospital for a couple of days, they will do tests, we’ll get some new meds and go home. So I was feeling ok. She was in good hands.

So when the Doctor called at 1:00 I was expecting just an update. I got one but it wasn’t what I had hoped for. First, her heart was fine. Whew, I felt uplifted. But… there was the but… The diagnosis is a blood clot in her lung. Can anything be done for that? No. Despite being at 60% oxygen (40% is on the high end) her breathing is worsening, her distress is worsening.

So you’re telling me it’s time.

Yes, and if you can get here soon…

I was in the little room again, but this time with Charlie, waiting for the Doctor. She came in expressing her sympathy, asked if we had questions. Only a couple that we already knew the answers to. She explained Teddi will be in a private room with an oxygen mask held up to her face to facilitate her breathing.

We were escorted to the room and saw our sweet little girl lying tummy down on a soft blanket. I recognized the iv portals in her arm, ready for euthanasia. I quickly glanced away from that. A very kind Technician was holding the mask of oxygen up to her nose. Teddi's breathing was shallow and slow.

We whispered soft, loving words, pet her, hugged her thru tears. I don’t know if she knew we were there. I looked at her perfect little body, the soft fur, the big brown eyes now vacant.

We told the Tech we were ready and she left to get the Doctor. The Doctor came, explained what she was about to do and we nodded. As the drug were administered I saw Teddi’s head lower and then land softly on the blanket.

The Doctor listened for her heart, no longer beating and said, “She is at peace.”

My head fell to the table. I embraced Teddi one last time and sobbed.

Not now, not yet, Teddi. But she was gone.

 

Twenty Days Without You

It has been 20 days since we said a tearful goodbye to our sweet, sweet Kia. The pain comes in waves and some days it is all I can do to keep my head above water.

I wrote this one night as I watched Kia in her little corner of the kitchen that had become her world. I had returned from a five day trip the day before and was saddened by seeing her decline. 

April 19, 2018  (She lived 19 more days.)

I watch you tonight - as I have all day. Dozing. Standing. And when you move you lose your balance. 

I don’t think you know where you are. I don’t think you know what to do.  I think you react - out of instinct.  But you don’t know why.

You are still beautiful. You are still loving. 

You want to drink water but don’t seem to know how. 

You are slipping away from me and it hurts.  My beautiful girl. I know that saving you at 12 years old was a blessing for you - but most of all a blessing for me. I know the time is drawing nigh. I’m just having a hard time pushing the button.

But I don’t think you are happy here now. I think you are confused.  I think you are hurting in some way.

Think of the five things that make your cat, your cat.  When three of those things are gone, it’s time.

1.  Kia is affectionate - she likes to be on my lap or next to my pillow at night.  She likes to be in the studio with me.

2. She’s independent when it comes to the other animals.  She likes her space and doesn’t interact with them much.

3. She’s beautiful and takes care of her beauty.

4. She eats well and uses her litter box

5. She really, really loves me.

Right now she’s at 0 of 5.  

In retrospect – I think she really loved me to the very end. So 1 out of 5. She left this world purring and surrounded by so much love.

The Beatles said, "Love is all you need." If love was all Kia needed to survive she would still be snuggling in my arms, happy and thriving.

 Sadly it is not. Health is what you need.

Adios 2013. You Were Quite the Ride...

Before we are too far into 2014 and I tell myself I don't have time for this because there are 10 other things I am "supposed" to be doing ~ I want to reflect for a moment on 2013. Most of it was as unlucky as one might expect with the number 13 involved...

I think it all started with Boda.

When my son moved to Austin in May it wasn't in the cards to take Boda Kitty with him so The Mister and I happily welcomed her into our family. Four days later after our Vet discovered cancer and a large mass on her liver, we said an extremely tearful goodbye to beautiful Boda.

My son leaving and moving out of state was emotional for me as well. After college he had opted to live near home and for the first time in my 22 year relationship with my husband, we had no children in town. We were truly empty-nesters. Not that any of that is bad; it was just an adjustment. 

June, July and August brought biopsies and ultrasounds and diagnostic tests to see if, indeed, cancer was roaming around my body. I'm the lucky one; it wasn't. But the whole summer was fraught with stress, anxiety and fear.

September rolled around and we knew that our time with our beloved 16 year old dog, Simba, was coming to an end. Our girl just wasn't there anymore. Our Vet suspected a brain tumour as messages from her brain just weren't getting thru. She couldn't remember how to go up steps and eventually she couldn't remember how to eat. On September 3 we made one of the most devastating decisions we have ever had to make and said a final goodbye to our sweet girl. The grief was overwhelming and consumed us for days. We didn't know how - or why - the world kept on spinning...

For some reason ~ who knows why except maybe The Universe thought we deserved a break ~ things took a turn for the better near the end of September. We took a trip ~ one that had been planned for months but the timing was perfect ~ we needed new scenery and a reason to celebrate. And celebrate we did! We, and 100 of her closest's friends, celebrated the life of someone so dear, so loved ~ my Mom, happy and healthy, as she turned 95.

The clouds started clearing and the sun broke thru after that. Life began to look a little happier. That is probably what led us to almost instinctively and on auto-pilot stop by the local shelter one evening and walk thru the dog kennels. We didn't speak of it but we both knew -- we were not leaving without a dog. And indeed, it was Kismet.

And in that moment, life changed. Everything changed. Joy came into our lives as she jumped deep into our hearts, settled in and opened up shop.

A month later the puppets I had shed blood, sweat and tears (literally!) over from January thru March came to life in the form of an Apple iPad App called Puppet Play. And there was my name for all to see. Wow.

Later that month my Austin son made a visit and our time together was like putting on old slippers and wrapping a warm blanket around us.

The Mister and I closed out the year alone - together - doing our favorite things ~ watching movies, making delicious food ~ relaxing and taking time off from our crazy, hectic work lives.

And then there was the surprise of the year ~ losing 28 lbs (and counting). All due to giving up dairy, chocolate, eggs, most gluten and most soy. Who knew? 

So a year that ~ for the most part ~ sucked, it turned out alright. My faith in love and luck and laughter has been restored. Gratitude for good friends and a loving family in place. Even though my sons, now adults, recognize I am flawed, they like me anyway. The Mister is still my best friend and confidant. My love for my little dog is ridiculous. Now two days into 2014 I am still pondering where I want to go in this brave new year, who I want to be. 

So that post is on hold for the time being.  Adios 2013. It was a ride.

Re-entry.

Yesterday I took my first walk in the park since Simba has passed. In the past few months she wasn't up to the mile long walks ~ wasn't really up to walking much past the mailbox a couple of blocks away. So I although I missed her on those walks, I always knew she was waiting at home for me. 

So walking yesterday - knowing that she wasn't waiting at home for me - weighed heavily on me.  I had my Canon and shot the sun as it was coming up

and caught the Canada geese and other migrating birds as they flew overhead

I gave creativity and a rubber duckie photo shoot a shot

but ultimately I just didn't have it in me. I wasn't feeling it.

I was missing my buddy.

It will be awhile before we are ready to bring another dog into our family. Simba is still here at every turn. But a friend made a really good suggestion ~ volunteer at a local shelter/rescue for awhile. It will give me the connection I need with dogs and brighten the days of a few lonely pups. Of course, my problem right now is time; but it is something I intend to do. I never thought I could ~ knowing that the dog I walked yesterday may not be there tomorrow; but another wonderful friend once told me, "I know it would be hard, but think of the joy you gave that dog for even one day."

Today started out as my favorite kind of day

cloudy and cool.

Time for tea (especially the Chinese kind that is supposed to lower blood pressure)

And the day stayed cloudy and cool. I don't like summer heat and I love Autumn and I love days like this. As much as I'm still mourning, it was time to get back to work. So I filled Etsy orders

and worked on shop orders.

In between I did a few loads of laundry. And in doing so, came across the shirt The Mister was wearing the day we said goodbye to Simba. It was covered in her fur. I held it close, I cried, I inhaled her scent, I cried some more ~

and then I let it go.  

I thought I heard her raspy breathing this afternoon ~ the breathing I used to hear from the bed behind my desk.

A-choo the Cat has been acting weird all day. It's almost like she sees Simba and Simba is taunting her like she loved to do.

We are receiving cards full of sympathy and love from friends - actual snail mail cards. Family members are donating to shelters in Simba's name. It's overwhelming. And lovely. And makes me cry.

Who knew one little 35 lb. ball of fur could touch so many lives? She was one of a kind, our girl. And her legacy will live on.  I love you, Boo.

Baby Steps...

As I was editing images this morning I thought, "Life goes on" and felt like maybe I was making some progress. The Mister and I have, despite our deep sadness over losing Simba, had some smiles in the past few days.

We [almost] had to force ourselves to celebrate our 20th Anniversary two days after Simba passed. Having made one of the hardest decisions of our lives on Tuesday, by Thursday neither of us felt like making decisions. So the Jeep just automatically steered us to Hillstone for sushi

and comfort fries.

And because we already had tickets and reservations, Friday found us at Lucy for dinner and Comedy Works for Kevin Nealon.

As we do, we did some retail therapy at IKEA on Saturday and the rest of the day was spent assembling our new entertainment center. (Or rather I watched; The Mister assembled.)

While he did that, I experimented making a pizza we could eat with our new food restrictions. We discovered our restrictions aren't as restricting as we thought.

I had forgotten about my little garden, so did some harvesting this morning.

With which I made chunky guacamole

and peach, mango, tomato, cucumber, cilantro, onion, jalapeno, garlic salsa.

And as I was cleaning up the kitchen I heard the familiar jingle, jangle, jingle of our girl's tags on her collar. Startled, I spun around fully expecting to see her. Of course she wasn't there. But it sent me into a funk. Life goes on, but not for her.

We have felt so many arms around us this week. A multitude of kind and comforting and loving words have come our way. 

My son and his wife sent this beautiful plant with a lovely note. 

Our Vet Clinic sent a card telling us a tree was being donated in Simba's name in Superior National Forest in Duluth, Minnesota.

Family and friends are making donations to animal shelters and rescues in Simba's name and we will do the same.

It's all so loving and warm and wonderful.

But when I wake at 2 am and feel her presence right next to me on the bed where she slept... I lose it all over again.

Baby steps...

Until We Meet Again, Sweet Girl...

This is the post I have been dreading ~ but knew the day would come...

We said goodbye to our girl yesterday.  She made it to her sweet 16, but didn't last much beyond that.

In birthdays past she chomped on homemade peanut butter dog cookies

and homemade Pupcakes

She was a traveling dog from her early days and quickly adapted to long drives.

She made several trips to Iowa and was a good little hotel guest.  She traveled to the Bay Area in California and enjoyed a stop in Las Vegas on the way home.  She went to her first (and only) funeral in Peoria, Illinois and she loved downtown Chicago and the Omni Hotel and the North Shore.  On little "staycations" in Denver she was an honored guest at the Hotel Monaco (a blackboard in the lobby welcomed her) and she was a favorite at "Second Home" bar in the JW Marriott in Cherry Creek North.

She loved her Grandma

And visited Grandpa when she could.

Her neck would get tired - from holding up her big heavy brain - when she was "driving" (such a back seat driver) so we instinctively took turns helping her out.

And she was always happiest when we were on our way home.

She liked the mountains a lot.

And she liked being near the water

But not so much in the water.

And bridges - particularly swinging bridges  umm... nope.

She loved the park and knew every inch of our favorite trails.

She loved her Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Dick's Iowa farm because she could run wild and free off-leash.

She wasn't a fan of cold and snow ~ probably because I dressed her in warm coats.  I told her she was a fashionista.  Her Dad told her she looked ridiculous.

Her Aunt Christine (who she loved very much - and she showed this love by snarling at Christine every chance she got) gave her winter boots to protect her little toes.  She hated them.

It may have been why she snarled at her. 

She didn't like the rain much either.

She was half basenji and half blue heeler.  That translates to a feisty, whip-smart dog who sheds (basenjies don't shed), barks (basenjies don't bark) and yodels (basenjies do yodel).  

She liked the holidays and thought every present was for her.

And she loved her Grandpa and Gram - who were like second parents to her.

She tolerated her feline sister

And even liked her sometimes...

From the very start, she loved her Dad most of all.

And it was a love affair that would last her whole life.

She was funny

and beautiful

and full of surprises.

She was curious

and sniffed every blade of grass.

She was my every morning walking partner, my supportive studio mate, my sweet, sweet girl, my buddy. On September 11, 2001 while I sobbed watching the World Trade Center Towers fall, she sat right next to my feet all day to comfort me.  She didn't leave my side. Every day after Dad took her out for her morning tinkle she would bound up the stairs to my studio for her morning treat. The box sits next to my desk still. I don't want to move it. If I leave it maybe it means it didn't really happen. If I leave her bed in my studio maybe I'll wake up and this was all just a really bad dream.

She and I spent just about every day of her life together. We understood each other and loved each other. Very much. Saying goodbye to her is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life. I miss her. I will always miss her.

The world is a little colder today and there are big holes in our hearts. She took a piece of both of ours with her...  Whatever will we do without our girl?

I like to think that she is wandering in lovely meadows chasing after bunnies and squirrels ~ free of pain and full of joy.  

I love you, Boo. Until we meet again...