Blog post by Amber Quann KPA-CTP, CPDT-KSA

This isn’t the project I am supposed to be working on right now.  That’s the funny – and frustrating - thing about grief.  One minute you’re getting ready to knock some stuff off the to-do-list, and the next minute you are on your knees with no way up. 

But it’s Pet Cancer Awareness Month in November. So of course I’m thinking about the best friend that I lost to cancer just four months ago.  I haven’t really shared much about the specifics of the last period of Roo’s life.  Looking back, it seems like a blur, from diagnosis to death.   Here it is, to the best of my recollection. Maybe it will bring comfort or solidarity to those of you working through similar trauma with your own loved ones.

clicker-expo-roo-dog-training

Last January, we road tripped to Portland for Clicker Expo.  We had the best time together. Roo was an angel every step of the way.  

During the trip, his ability to jump into the car deteriorated very suddenly. All of his life, hopping into the crate in the back of my SUV was a breeze.  Suddenly, in January, he stopped wanting to do that at all. I had to lift him up and down every time. (Interesting note, after ONE chemo treatment and getting started on prednisone, he was back to jumping in the car willingly and accurately every time. Lesson: Listen to your dog. Seeing him decline to jump in the car so suddenly was one of the big reasons I knew we needed to get into the vet so quickly.)  

After the wrap-up night of ClickerExpo, we had just gone to bed when Roo started coughing like he was . . . going to explode. I don’t know how else to describe it. He had been coughing occasionally for several months (for which we had been to the vet for and had a different working diagnosis), but this was different.  It is so crazy to me that it came on so suddenly – he didn’t do anything like this at all on the trip until that last night. 

We had a two-day drive home from Portland to Colorado. The whole time, it was obvious that he didn’t feel well.  He couldn’t lie down in his crate without coughing, so he spent most of the 17-hour drive sitting up.  I called the vet and made an appointment for as soon as we got back into town at the end of the second day of driving. We drove straight there. 

roo-vet-visit-cooperative-care

The next three weeks are kind of a blur.  Chest radiographs.  Suspicious looking shading in his chest.  Referral for an ultrasound-guided needle aspirate. Biopsy sent to CSU. Lymphoma diagnosis. Referral to an oncologist. 

We drove to our oncology appointment in the middle of a blizzard in February. We got out of the car and Roo almost immediately had a seizure in the parking lot.  Bloodwork. Leukocyte counts off the charts. Leukemia/lymphoma diagnosis. Additional tests ordered from CSU. First chemo dose administered. Prognosis good because it is very likely “chronic” lymphocytic leukemia but we need to wait for test results from CSU. 

 

I went to Germany that weekend. It was a trip we’d already had planned for months, supposed to be three weeks in Europe around my husband’s work. Up to that point, one of the most agonizing decisions I’ve ever had to make. Roo stayed with a very capable pet sitter, and we planned to continue treatment when I got back. Five days into our trip, test results came back from CSU – it’s acute lymphocytic leukemia, not chronic.  Prognosis one month – treated or untreated, I asked?  That’s the average of both. 

Europe can wait. Got the next available flight that I could, flew home, another round of chemo as soon as I got back.  

hiking-with-dogs

Then we hit status quo for a few months. We hiked. We camped. We road-tripped.  We managed a few seizures here and there. We slowed down a little but definitely not a lot. I kept a hiking journal for the first half of the year – Roo and I did 30+ hikes together between January and July.  What a trooper. 

After finishing the last chemo treatment, we had about a week and a half before we saw him going downhill again.  Basically, no remission for Roo.  We maintained on a higher dose of prednisone for a little over a month after that.  

And then it was time. 

The hardest, most agonizing decision I’ve ever had to make. Ever. 

I laid on the bathroom floor next to him in the middle of the night. We’d just cleaned up vomit filled with blood. He’d been laying in the middle of that puddle when I woke up and found him.  The next morning he had three seizures, every time he went outside and walked more than a few steps.  

I’d like to say “oh his eyes said it was time” or “I knew for sure he was ready to go.” But I can’t say that. 

The truth is I knew he was in pain but that he would keep going if I asked him to.  Because that was him, to the core. He was the dog who would keep playing ball with four scraped paws without even a limp.  He was the dog who would keep running helter-skelter through the snow with ice balls hanging from every hair on his body.  He was the dog who on the last day of his life asked to play in the sprinklers right after being flat on the sidewalk from a seizure (and then had to lay down again right after playing in the sprinkler to fight off another seizure).

grief-pet-loss

So, my little red dog, you would have kept going for me. I know you would. But I couldn’t ask you to do that anymore. You gave me so much of yourself. You helped me with so many decisions.  I’ll take the burden of this one off of your shoulders.  

Run fast and bark loud, my little red dog. 

 

 

 

Pet Grief Resources

For those of you struggling with the loss of a pet to cancer (or other cause), here are some resources I have found helpful:

 Do you have a grief resource that has helped you through loss?  Please comment below! 

Hugs to you at whatever stage of this journey you are on. 

 - Amber