A Matter of Perception

My dog Noodles had slipped discs, a very common ailment of dachshunds.  She had back surgery and then spent a month in the hospital recovering.  However, she didn't really recover.  When she came home for Christmas, as I had requested, I couldn't see how much pain she was in.  The pictures of her from that December are evidence of just how powerful emotions can cloud vision.  I didn't see her arching back in pain; I didn't see her atrophied muscles.  I couldn't see that because I only saw my best friend who was back home with me which is all I wanted.

When I picked up Stella, I didn't have such cloudy vision.  I saw what appeared to be an old dog suffering from malnutrition and pneumonia.  Her spirits were high so she didn't seem to be in pain, but dogs have a very high pain threshold.  I saw Stella for the ailments she had.

Now that she's been with me for a couple of days, I can see how one can overlook her ailments and brush aside her appearance.  I have somehow even convinced my eyes to see a little less hipbone protruding out of her back and a slightly larger torso.  Even though I haven't gotten to know her much, I'm now invested in her and my emotions are coloring my perception.

Emotions are indeed running high for me.  I'm terribly stressed out about being a failure.  I spent a good amount of time yesterday using one of Stella's old needles on a pillow to get the hang of how to do this quickly.  I didn't do well Friday night administering the injection and yesterday morning ended with Stella shrieking and me in tears.  The pitch a dog cries out when in pain is the most heart-wrenching sound I know; and when I'm the one that caused that pain, well, I have a very hard time dealing with that.  I didn't want to admit failure.  This was supposed to be easy.  It should be easy.  So why can't I get this?

Last night when it was time for me to give her the injection I psyched myself up to do it quickly.  The vet said this was key.  However, having used the pillow to practice, I accidentally stabbed myself and it hurt like hell--and I didn't even draw blood.  So I knew I had to guard myself against the sound of Stella's shriek.  It was going to hurt; I just had to make it quick.  However, in my quickness and trying to avoid the shriek of pain, I pulled the needle out too quickly and her expensive, hard-to-come-by medicine went all over her neck.  I tried to remain calm, got another vial, and tried again.  This time she shrieked loudly, and now that her coat was wet, I had no idea if the second injection went in or not.  Then I didn't know if I had underdosed her or overdosed her since perhaps some of the first injection might have made it in.

That was it.  I was done.  I had to admit failure.  Non-compliance of medicinal routine is the major cause of failure to kick a disease.  And if Stella didn't get better, the idea of putting an end to her suffering was going to be a reality.  There's no way I can live with myself if I fail her.

Stephanie spoke with me almost an hour, calming me down, and talking to me about Stella.  I found myself giving Stephanie my colored perception of Stella:  how she seemed more vibrant more often.  She appeared to be not as weak as before.  She got up and walked around, not just to go out to the bathroom.  There was still that spark in her eyes.

Stephanie believes in humane euthanasia.  I believe in it for people because we can state our case and be responsible for our own lives.  We were pushed unwillingly into this thing called life; if we want to take ourselves out of the game, I think it's perfectly acceptable.  It can be shitty for those who love you, but well within your right.  But Stella can't tell me if she'd like to call it quits.  I know the rescue is relying on me to be Stella's advocate and tell them what I see, but what I feel affects what I see. 

I've been lucky; I didn't have to make a choice with either of my dogs.  They went on their own and I thank them for that.  Stephanie said when she had spent time with Stella at the vets she had wondered if perhaps the reason she was rescuing this dog wasn't to give her a new life in a new home, but to give her last remaining days some love before letting her go. 

A week ago I had seen a posting asking if someone would do hospice care for an 18 year old German Shepard that had been surrendered to the LA Animal Shelter.  The person who sent the plea didn't want this old dog to be euthanized at the shelter; she wanted someone to give this dog just a few days or weeks of love and then, if necessary, humanely euthanize him if it looked like he was still in pain.  I had considered it, thinking my heart would be strong enough.  Now I know it's not.

Probably like Stella, this dog was loved a great deal at one time.  But perhaps his owners no longer could provide for his care, or they themselves either couldn't afford to financially or emotionally, put their animal to sleep.  Stella had a home in her life.  She's far too loving and gracious to have lived her whole life on the streets.  We don't know her full story though.  Stephanie believes perhaps her owners couldn't afford to pay for her care, and left her in the schoolyard hoping someone would take her home and care for her; they did what they could.

Stella is a good dog.  She's a great foster.  I even went out last night for five hours; I've never left a houseguest of mine alone before for that long.  I needed to de-stress, and I'm sure she appreciated a few hours of rest without my negative, frazzled energy around.

When I returned, she was exactly where I left her on the couch.  She nicely allowed me to take her out for a final pee of the evening and then head to bed.  As with all dogs, I am amazed at their ability to know exactly where I want them to be and their willingness to be anywhere but there.  As you can see from this picture, Stella has her own pillow and towel--half the bed, just for her.  And since I have the pet blanket down, really she can sleep anywhere on the bed, dribble snot, and I won't care.  So where does she go?  My spot--the one spot without snot-protection.

Emotions aside, I do think she is doing a little better.  I wipe her nose less often and the tinge of green and yellow has become more white and clear.  It still kicks up when she gets stressed--like this morning when I tried yet again to give her an injection.  She twisted and turned, I lost hold of the needle, only got half the fluid in, and it took far longer than if she just sat still.  But I only have two hands.  I don't want to blame this on being alone.  I want to be able to do this by myself.  For goodness sake, she's not a cat.  She's a 28.9 pound dog (I know this because I took her to the vet this morning to get the rest of the injection and to watch a professional administer it).

The doctor explained that she cannot get the medicine any other way.  He really is very patient and understanding.  When I told him I lost a whole dose his response was, "Okay.  Calm down.  It's not gold.  We'll get more."

When I told him she shrieks, he said, "Okay, so she shrieks.  Just do it fast.  Make it as painless as possible."  Then he gave her the rest of the injection and she shrieked.

When I told him I was worried that I could be the cause of her not getting better because I couldn't do it properly, he replied with, "You can only do the best you can do.  If it's not every 12 hours, that's fine, but it has to be twice a day.  If you don't get every single drop in, you don't get every single drop in.  Just do the best you can."

I know he's right, but a life is on the line.  Stephanie is seeking volunteers to meet me twice a day to either perform the injection, or at least be there to help me, so I can feel more confident and they can distract Stella.  I want to give her the medicine as it was intended to be given to her.  If she didn't have this bacterial infection, she would simply be a scrawny old dog with hair loss--conditions that don't seem to bother the old girl at all.  She might never gain the weight, but she's okay with that.  I do see a bounce in her step more.  But I also see her eyes half-closed as she struggles to breathe when her nose is clogged.

My dog Dutchess had good days and bad days as a senior dog.  She had good moments and bad moments.  The same can be said of any old dog.  Stella has good moments and bad moments.  Right now she has been sleeping on the couch for over two hours, and there is a little stain of dried up snot on the pillowcase where her nose has been running.  She doesn't look well at all.  I find it wholly unfair that a microbe has the possibility of ending this majestic creature's life.  Does she want to keep fighting?  I don't know.  I'm sure she has doubts as probably many people do when they face a hard sickness.  Some give up; some keep fighting.  But it's always the person's choice.

I'm not making that decision for Stella.  I can only do the best I can do and keep fighting for her.  If Stella was rescued to get better and then live a few more years in a loving home, then she'll get better.  If Stella was rescued so she wouldn't have to spend her last few days on this planet behind bars, but curled up in a loving home, then I am honored to be that home.  I won't make any decision in either direction.  I need Stella to decide, and I need to trust that the universe will give me the strength and direction to support and accept whatever she wishes.