By: Revanche

Living in the time of pandemic: COVID-19 (204)

April 29, 2024

Year 4 of COVID in the Bay Area.

Year 5, Day 26: Last week, I was eagerly anticipating the arrival of my seeds today for planting the front yard and the garden. Not only are they still in Florida today, throwing my planting schedule into a shambles, I’m anticipating a terrible conversation with the internist about Sera’s prognosis. She relapsed over the weekend and was hospitalized for lifesaving care. After going through half a box of tissues and putting a cool washcloth on my eyes, I did some grasping at straws research. None of it did any good. Her prognosis is bad. She’s already on the best possible treatment plan and it’s still failing. The other treatment options aren’t truly options, they’re desperate attempts to prolong life without regard for quality of life. We’re bringing her home for doggy hospice for as long as she still feels good. If she relapses again, when she relapses again, it’ll be her time. It would be deeply unkind to force her to go through this over and over.

It’s a good thing that I did a lot of work on the weekend because I’m fit for nothing today.

But she felt better enough from the overnight care to have a laugh at me.

Trying to shift her for her last walk of the night at 945 pm: Sera. Sera. Sera. (Gently shake her shoulder) Come. Sera come. Sera, come. Seraaaaaaa come. (Start worrying she’s relapsed again the past hour) Sera. Sera. Serraaaaaa? Ok fine, you leave me no choice. Open the wipes packet to get a wipe. (To wipe her down because she IS still a bit grubby from the hospital but I’m not going to make her have a bath now.)

She pops up like a jack in the box.

AH HA YOU WERE JUST IGNORING ME.

We finally went out and instead of going right back in like normal, she took me on a jaunt to sniff the ALL sniffs. She still doesn’t want to eat much of anything but her energy is much better than it’s been in days. I don’t know how long this will last but we’re going to make the most of what time we have left.

Year 5, Day 27: I can feel the depression gloom creeping in. I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to talk to most people, I want to be left alone with Sera to just be quiet together. I hand fed her boiled eggs this morning, she was strangely excited about it so I boiled some more for her. Of course she then decided she was done with eggs. I’ll have to think of something else for her dinner. Several cries later, I got some work done, listened to her snore, cuddled with her a bit, and then she took me for the longest walk in the recent history of walks. She was either feeling her oats or taking her farewell tour, or both.

We were both fairly wiped out but there was still the usual stuff to do so I went through our usual routines: “I’m going to pick up JB now, you can stay here and nap”, then “we’re going to run an errand now, we’ll see you when we get back”.

And she was here when we got back and she was coddled some more with hand feeding and head rubs. JB wistfully says, now and again, I wish she could get better.

Me too, kid.

She was hospitalized overnight and part of one day and the house positively echoed with her absence. It’s going to be so much worse when she’s gone.

Year 5, Day 28: Sera woke me before 5 am trying to get out the door because she had the Tummy Troubles and we didn’t get out in time so the first hour and a half of this predawn was spent scrubbing the carpet, the floors, her tail and bum, and washing blankets and towels. That was a lot.

She seemed fine the rest of the morning so I decided it was more important to get some calories into her around lunchtime than to go the full 24 hours of withholding food. This proved to be a Big Mistake. She frantically (for her, this just looks like a tense body and an intense eyeball) got me to take her out at 6 pm and had a real mess before we got across the street. I had to get some warm water and wash her up. She smelled of Mango Tango for about ten minutes before she continued to have Tummy Troubles a few more times. Oh well, good effort.

I camped out on the sofa so I could get to her quickly during the night if she needed to go out urgently again. She did. Every single hour until 5 am. But not for Tummy Troubles, half the time she needed to pee, half the time she was asking for water. I’m grateful I didn’t have to clean up but am ever so tired.

Year 5, Day 29: Just in case, I’m switching her to morning meds only. I gave her the steroids she’s been on for months last night. I’m not sure whether it was the steroids or if it was because I camped out and she was thrown off by the light and relocation. Thankfully no tummy troubles since 7 pm but I am whipped and it’s only 7 am. Another 12 hours of water-only and tiny amounts of rice to be safe.

I’ve cycled through all the stages of grief in the past few days and I’m sure when the clock really starts ticking I’ll be cycling through them again a few more times. But for this moment I’m finally in a brainspace of trying to just be in the moment with her, whatever that moment contains.

I’m mentally (and photographically and sometimes here) recording her maybe-lasts. Tonight, she came to Smol Acrobat’s room and laid down nearby when they started to tantrum, following Seamus’s tradition of going TOWARDS the alarming and loud screaming. They never interfered with the yelling, they would just be nearby radiating support. She followed me out of the office yesterday afternoon to see where I was going, like she used to do all the time. I’m trying to commit these all to memory. Smol Acrobat cuddled her face gently tonight. It breaks my heart that they’re not really going to remember her. They’re still too young to remember this year on their own, outside of pictures and stories. I hope we have a good night tonight, maybe a good day will follow that.

Life is still inexplicably going on around us. We’re scheduling the final review of the will and trust. I marked up my first round of edits and sent those back already. This week I marked up a second round of clarification questions to be sure I know how some of these details work when we brief our new executors/trustees for our meeting. Then it has to be notarized to be official. That’ll be one giant important thing off my list. Then we need to make sure all the relevant people have a copy of the paperwork and understand our wishes and our thinking.

My seeds are still in transit. I’ve been itching to plant them and have something good to look forward to, to do something that’s positive and not sad.

Year 5, Day 30: Starting at midnight, she kept coming to fetch me to go outside every hour, then half hour, then quarter hour. She threw up everything she’d eaten yesterday evening, and it wasn’t that much to begin with. It tore my heart up trying to support her as she heaved.

It’s been almost seven years together and she’s only now communicating clearly to me. Each time she comes to get me, I know she wants me to take her out. Maybe it’s less about clarity and more about consistency. Most of the time, prior to her illness, she didn’t need anything, she was just keeping me company. I’m just slow and sluggish on my third night of this, having had no sleep, day or night. She settled on the kitchen bed, instead of coming back to the bedroom like usual. She wanted to stay near the door. We went outside seven times by 330 am and I was absolutely beat. I begged her quietly to sleep for a while. We both needed it. I was dizzy and no longer seeing straight. Miraculously we got three whole hours of sleep before she fetched me again and out the door we went.

I wondered how much longer we could keep this up. She was still interested in food, she was still ambulatory, but she wasn’t going to get better. The disease had progressed too much. And I was getting delirious.

I sat and held her paws for a long while, crying and contemplating what we could do to make her more comfortable. I wondered how we’d make the decision. I wondered how I could let her go. I don’t want to. She’s come so far, we’ve tried so hard.

But by mid afternoon I had my answer. She was crashing again. She had always jumped up for her midday walk. Today, she didn’t even try to get up. She just looked at me. It took such coaxing and encouragement and helping her up to get out the door. Once out, she was fatigued and unsteady. Not nearly as bad as when we took her to the ER but we already knew that we could not let her get that bad again. When we returned, and I offered her baked salmon, she’d only take slivers. Nothing like enough to sustain life.

She sat nearly in my lap as I hugged her and snuggled close to me for a while. That was a first, and last. She’s never, not once, been a lap dog like I’d hoped she would become. Seamus certainly was and he had 30 lbs on her. It’s like she was checking every last box this week except the one where my dogs are on 20 year contracts. But she was telling us it was her time, so we called the vet, got the kids, and brought her to say goodbye. We were with her every minute, telling her how much we loved her. I felt like the world’s worst traitor. She trusted me and I tried but I failed her. And now …

The vet was as kind as could be. She pointed out that Sera’s 🐶 body condition showed it was time and reminded us that we’d done everything we could do. She talked the kids through what was going to happen and gave us time to say our goodbyes.

This has been one of the most painful days of my life, having to make this decision because of a disease, before her time. She deserved more years, more pets, more cuddles, more love, more treats. Everything feels terrible and unfair and awful.

Frankly I don’t remember how to exist with my dog. She’s been a constant companion, day and night, and everything in between. She’s my officemate, snoring and running in her sleep while I gripe at the computer. Sometimes stinking up the joint with her toxic farts. When your heart breaks, you hug your dog. What do you do when your last dog is gone?

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