Bringing Stella Home

I have spent the past three and half years of my life making a hobby of sneaking into Death's yard and snatching trespassing puppies of his front porch.  So it is with great remorse and sadness that I found myself today on Death's front porch, tears streaming down my face, beloved canine soul in my arms, ringing his doorbell.  Stella had led me to his front gate, but not before I had rung every single neighbor's doorbell, pleading with everyone, to help me save this dog.

Thursday afternoon, I got the final confirmation of Stella's test results: everything looked the same.  In essence, Science had beaten Hope.  There was nothing more that could be done, I was told.  And I again, stubbornly refused to believe it.  But time was running out.  Stella had been off meds for a full week.  The green gook was coming back full force.  She coughed all through the nights.  If I was going to get this girl better, a different approach needed to be found.  I called the vet's office, picked up her vet records, called and emailed everyone I knew to find a top notch vet that would not only take into account her dismal blood tests, but also her soaring spirit that had not faltered.

I was referred to one holistic vet, and I thought this was perfect.  I left a message, and even an email, and still to this time, have not received a call back.  Very, very, bad karma.  I go off instinct when it comes to making a choice like this.  My instinct was okay with two different vets: one in Beverly Hills and one in Burbank.  I didn't want to automatically take the one in Burbank just because it was convenient, so I called the one in Beverly Hills first thing Friday morning.  I was not impressed with whoever answered the phone, and although one shouldn't judge a vet's ability about his or her staff, I didn't like the idea that appointments were fifteen minutes long, whether you were a walk-in or scheduled, and that was that.  I needed more than fifteen minutes to make a life or death decision.  I wanted a vet who would exam her, look at the test results, see if there was anything else that could be done.

I called the second place, told them my situation, and they could fit me in at 5:40.  It would be at least a twenty minute appointment.  They ran appointments at twenty to half hour increments.  This was better.  I felt good about it.

But when Stephanie called to give them the credit card info, she found out the place was not only not rescue friendly (no discounts), but they are one of the most expensive vets in the valley.  Stephanie said she loved the place she uses in Malibu, and in an instant, I instinctually said, fine.  It's forty miles away, but I needed someone to see Stella.

I had two hours to pick up Stella's x-rays, make it across town and then up the PCH.  It's not an easy feat, but the universe was on my side.  I made it there with twenty minutes to spare.

The front area was inviting and the staff seemed very nice.  When Stella decided that she'd rather wait in line at the reception desk than go to the exam room with me, the kind vet tech came over and picked her up.  He placed her back down in the exam room, and given the slippery floor and Stella not having traction on the pads of her feet, Stella slid herself down to a laying position--blocking the door.

The vet came in and I showed him the info and he asked if the x-rays were explained to me.  I said "I was told white was bad, black was good, and there's a lot of white." 

He proceeded to show me the x-ray with a bit more information: "See that tree-branch formation in the lungs?  That's inflammation.  She has severe pneumonia.  If a patient of mine had severe pneumonia, I would hospitalize her.  But..."

I knew the "but."  She wouldn't make it through another hospitalization.  She was having a rough morning.  When he went down to listen to her lungs he tried to get her to sit up at which point Stella enacted her ragdoll impersonation and collapsed in his hands.

"See, she's so weak, she can't even stand."

I shook my head and explained that we had just been walking around outside five minutes ago.  Stella has no traction on her feet.  She can't stand on this floor.  "Strong dogs can stand on this floor," he replied.

I was slowly losing respect for this guy.  But I think the kicker came when he said, "You're attached, aren't you?  I mean, it's okay if you are."

Holy crap.  Really?  My love has matured enough that even though I care about this dog, I can still see that she looks like shit.  But I also can see her will to fight--which at the present moment, she wasn't showing him.

Three minutes.  I think that's all I got with this guy I had driven almost two hours for.  He said he'd call Stephanie and discuss "options." 

Fuck.

I know what "options" means.  It's like "going to the farm."  Don't be condescending.  And don't say this dog should be put down because you looked at her paperwork.  The second opinion I needed was from a man not of pure science, but of science and also behavioral psychology.  Tell me Stella doesn't want to live, and I'll accept it.  Tell me she can't live, and I'll fight you until I prove you wrong.

While he was gone, Stella got up, wandered around, and then sat back down next to me while I asked her why the hell she couldn't be so inquisitive and lively ten minutes ago.  When he returned many minutes later, he said Stephanie was on line two for me.

Fuck, again.

Granted Stephanie had spent more time with Stella last week than this vet had right now, but I still don't think someone who doesn't see her good and bad times has the right to decide to snuff out her life.  There were three choices, Stephanie told me.  First, hospitalization, but we all knew Stella would die alone in a cage if we tried that.  Second, antibiotics that would most likely do no good at all, but we needed to be realistic about when suffering with this condition was just too much for her, and thirdly, end her life right here and now.  The third option was not an option for me whatsoever.

Stephanie tried to persuade me to that third, and when she said, "As of Monday your life is changing," I think I might have actually yelled, "Fuck you! That is NOT fair!" or something of that sort.  This dog was not going to die because a new foster couldn't be found and I had to go to work.  No one was going to do that to me.

That might not have been what she was implying, but at that point, I wasn't listening anymore.  I was crying, I had used this vet's exam room for over forty-five minutes, and he needed to see more patients.  Through my tears, I said to Stephanie, "I promised Stella I would take her to the beach.  I'm taking her to the beach."

She said okay, and to call her afterward.  I think she assumed I would take Stella to the beach and return in an hour.  Fuck that.  Again, not relying on one person's three minute half-evaluation of her.  He didn't even see her perk up.

When the doc came back in, I told him I couldn't do it.  He said, fine, but when she stops eating, it's time to consider this again.  I could wait outside while he got the meds ready.  He was worried that she might have distemper--which she was never tested for--and he didn't want that spreading.  Here was the most disheartening thing: she had never been tested for anything except bacterial infections.  People ask, why should it matter?  Because it does.  Just like test results matter, not just the condition.  If I knew she had cancer or distemper, which is a death sentence, I could accept that she was terminal, and I would really examine how badly she was suffering compared to how much joy she had.

With antibiotics in hand, I left, knowing I was not coming back.  Instead, I drove north up PCH, to a dog beach Stephanie had mentioned.  (She, however, failed to mention the twelve dollar entrance fee, but whatever).

It wasn't quite a bucket list, but it was a beach--probably a place this inner city dog had never been.  And apparently not one she wished to be at. 

When I finally convinced her to get onto the sand, she turned her back to the ocean and stared up at the parking lot.  I was trying to have this spiritual moment with her, and she wouldn't even look at me or face the same direction as me.

I caved in: this was her time, and she liked the parking lot. 

So we wandered around the parking lot for some time.  She had to use the bathroom, but couldn't figure out where she should go.  There was no grass, just pavement, sand, and bushes.  She actually walked up to the people restroom building and sniffed the door.

"Honey, you can't go inside.  Your bathroom is everywhere but inside.  Pick a spot and go."

She seemed befuddled.  She searched around and finally, she led me around the back of the restroom building, and there she squatted.

We walked around the parking lot some more, and my thoughts still came to the same conclusion: I was not putting this dog down because I had to go to work on Monday, and I was not putting this dog down based on the advice of someone who saw her for three minutes.  I needed someone else to see her, someone who could unbiasly, but thoroughly, examine both the science of her condition, and the condition of her life.

I texted Katya to ask her to please come over.  She needed to see Stella.  And I needed to see Katya to find out more about how Stella was when she got her.  So I drove the two hours home, knowing that finally someone who deeply cared about Stella and knew her well, could give me an honest opinion.

I had brought a can of dog food on our outing, in case Stella wanted to eat by the beach, but she didn't.  Now that it was 6:30 at night, she wanted it.  I fed her, she wagged her tail, all was well.  She then lay down to digest.  It was then that Katya knocked on the door.

I was on the phone with the Burbank vet that had been too expensive earlier in the day.  Fuck it, I was going to pay for it myself.  I don't like wasting money either, but I needed to keep fighting.  Stella wanted to fight.  And I promised her I'd fight until she didn't want to fight anymore.

Katya sat with Stella, who much like when Linda and Stephanie visited, didn't move.  She wagged her tail in hello, but didn't get up for a formal greeting.  Katya said that she planned on coming over to tell me that she would take Stella Tuesday when she got back from her engagement out of town for work.  But when she saw Stella, she had something else to say.

"I didn't want to tell you this before, but Stephanie and I have been discussing this for some time.  The thing is, and I know this sounds crazy, but when I got Stella, that first night, I swear, she told me... I put down her food and she was so happy, so appreciative, but it was a 'Thank you so much. I am so glad I'm not in the shelter.  But just to be honest, I'm not going to be here much longer.  Thank you, though.  Thank you.'"

Katya had never had an experience like that.  When she met Stella she knew Stella was a special girl, and she had to take her in.  But after what Stella had told her with her eyes, she wasn't sure if maybe her purpose was to give Stella a place to be peaceful before moving on.  Every time Katya entered a room, she was worried she would find that Stella had passed away.  And when Stella was adopted, she was hesitant, wondering if maybe Stella was ready to go elsewhere.

When Stella got sick, and was in the hospital, Katya really did think that home care would make her better.  Maybe Stella had had a rough life, and after that first meal at Katya's she was like, "Okay, cool.  This is all I needed.  There is goodness in the world," and she could pass on.

But then I said yes to fostering her for a couple of weeks.  She got a bonus round she wasn't ever expecting.  And she got another person besides Katya who loved her, someone she loved back.  Maybe dying wasn't what she needed to do right now after all.  This life was worth fighting for.

And so she fought.  I have no doubts that she wanted me to fight for her.  And in fact, up until that point, I had not given her "the talk," the one you give a dog permitting them to leave if they have to, letting them know that it'll hurt like hell, but you will carry on because knowing them and loving them has made you who you are.  I didn't have that talk with her because I didn't want any negativity. 

After Katya told me about her time with Stella, which was five days actually, I looked over at Stella, and I burst into tears.  She gazed into my eyes, and confirmed what Katya had said.  Stella had told her she was ready.  But this had been too awesome to give up. But now, now she was ready.  She hadn't wanted to disappoint me.

I told her she could never disappoint me, and that if she was ready, she was ready.  But it wasn't because I had other things to do, or because I didn't love her.  If she wasn't ready, she could stay as long as she wanted.

Katya stayed for quite some time, and we discussed how to go about doing this.  All this week, and even in that day, science was telling me I had to do the humane thing: I had to let Stella go.  But I don't listen to reason.  I listen to emotion.  I knew that everything Katya was saying didn't come from bloodwork or x-rays; it came from her heart.  Stella had told Katya she was ready to go, but now I had to allow Stella to go.

Katya had to leave town for work, but she thought she had the morning free.  So with Stephanie on speakerphone, it was decided: I would take Stella to the vet's in the morning, and Katya would meet me there.  Katya and I, the two foster moms Stella had, would be by her side on her journey to her permanent forever home.

After Katya left, I had my talk with Stella, my crying, sobbing, nonsensical talk with her.  I told her that I didn't want to decide.  I didn't want to do it.  I wanted her to decide.  I wanted her to let go on her own.  But I would be there for her.  I would stay with her, be by her side.  And I would be okay.  She could go.  I would miss her, and I loved being her bonus round in life.  She deserved it.  But she would get worse from now on.  It would get harder and harder to breathe.

In fact that night I prayed that Stella would go on her own in the night.  I would be with her, and she would die peacefully in my bedroom with me by her side.  But then I took it back.  Suffocating, drowning in her lung fluid: that is not a peaceful way to die.  She deserved a better transition than that.

Stella, though, gave it her all for me.  I believed she tried with all her might to stop breathing, to let her heart rest, but Death was too busy to stop by last night.  I slept on the floor with Stella, and she let me cradle her as she slumbered and dreamt her expressive, lively dreams.  I kept whispering to her that she could go, that she could let go, that I loved her with my whole heart, but she could go.

At 6:30 in the morning, I had to get up and get ready to go.  I had to meet Katya at 8:00.  I whispered to Stella that she better not go while I was in the shower.  I thought for sure she didn't want me there.  My cell phone on my dresser had started to die some time in the night, and as I lay with Stella, I kept hearing the low battery warning go off every few minutes.  I didn't want to get up to turn it off.  I didn't want to let go of Stella.  And I kept wondering if when the low battery alarmed finally ceased and the battery went dead, if Stella, too, would be gone.

But Stella pulled through.  When I got out of the shower, she was still sleeping in the same spot on the floor.  I ate a little cereal; I felt nauseous.  How could I do this?  I hoped Stella wouldn't perk up, that she wouldn't give me a single reason to doubt my decision.  When I went to dry my hair, Stella rose from her slumber and went to the front door.  By the time I got there, she had left a little puddle.  Very unlike her.  Maybe she was shutting down.  I didn't yell at her; I just took her outside and she finished peeing.

I packed up her favorite (and cheaper) dog bed and super-soft blanket and a box of Kleenex.  At 7:30 I told Stella we were going out and she made it out the door, but then circled to go back in.  I got her to go to the parking lot.  She then sat down.  Not facing me.  She was having doubts, and I allowed her to take us back to the apartment.

She walked in and immediately went straight to the couch, hopped up, circled three times, and lay down.  I called Katya.  Through tears, I told her I couldn't do it.  Last night, Katya had said if I believe in a higher power then I should ask for a sign that what I was doing was right.  Indeed the sign did come on my final walk with Stella last night: on the brick column at the end of the driveway Stella loved so much sat a single tealight, burning bright.  I don't know where it came from, or why it was just right there and nowhere else and now one around.  But when I saw it, I had burst into tears.

Katya had her own signs that night.  She knew this is what was best for Stella.  I trusted her, but I didn't want Stella to go fighting.  I couldn't do it then.  I told Stella it had to be her decision.  Perhaps it still was that she was ready, but she just wanted the couch just one more time.  Katya suggested I tell Stella to say goodbye to the place, to have her farewells.

I talked to Stella, told her that she had been ready, and this was already so hard for me, so please, please, come.  I told her I was taking her home. So she hopped down off the couch one final time.  As we walked to the truck, I kept thinking, this is her last walk, this is the last time she'll see any of this.  This is her last moments on earth.

When I put her in the car, she collapsed into the soft blanket, and I don't know if she was weak or just accepting of it all.  But she didn't move, even to help me get her leash off.

It was a beautiful morning.  Puffy white clouds dotted the blue sky.  It was an easy, short drive, and I tried not to cry, but I did.  I cried a lot.  In fact, I still haven't really stopped crying even now. 

I pulled in, and Katya came to the passenger side door.  She said hello to Stella, who looked more pathetic than ever.  I hoped it wasn't that she truly was suffering, but that she was confirming that I wasn't making a mistake.  The fact was, Stella probably wouldn't make it until Monday.  Mia, the receptionist who had given Stella a toy, also came over to say good bye.  Stella was going to see everyone who cared about her one last time.  It was what I wanted for her.

I carried her in wrapped in that soft blanket, and Katya carried the dog bed and box of Kleenex.  She lay the dog bed down, and I placed Stella on top of it.  She didn't squirm, or try to get away like she does at vet appointments.   She had even sat serenely on my lap while we waited for the exam room to be ready.

It was so surreal.  All this life, to be ended in only a few minutes.  Just a second: one second her soul would be here in this well-worn furry body, the next gone.  I had my time with her, and allowed Katya her time with her.  Katya had never had to do this either, so we were both new to how this worked--physically and emotionally.

I couldn't do for Noodles.  I couldn't.  I told Stella what I was giving her was something I couldn't give my own dog.  And maybe that's what she was here to teach me: how to love that much to let go, and not just let go, but lead them down the pathway to end their suffering.

I didn't know it was just one shot.  I thought one put them to sleep, literally a sedative, and the next would stop their heart.  The vet said he could give her a tranquilizer first and Katya and I agreed to let her have it.  We didn't want her to feel it.  We don't know if they feel it, we only assume they don't. 

But I didn't realize a tranquilizer doesn't put a dog to sleep.  It just relaxes them.  Katya and I pet Stella, and she graciously accepted our petting and love even though we had tear-streaked faces and used more Kleenex in ten minutes then we had in five days.

When her eyes got red, Katya called the vet back and it was time.  Again, I know if my heart, I could not be a veterinarian.  I just can't.  Nor can I be a vet tech that assists.  I think while I was petting Stella, I almost accidentally poked the vet tech in the eye as he was holding her so she wouldn't move.  Luckily he was wearing glasses.

I didn't know it would hurt.  I thought it would be peaceful.  I thought it would be easy, but the next thirty seconds (it felt like minutes, but Katya told me it was only thirty seconds), as the vet pushed in the life-stopping liquid, Stella shrieked and balked and all I could do was hold her head and cry out, "I love you!  I love you!  I love you!" again and again and again. 

And then it was done.  The vet tech released his hold on Stella, and her body dropped.  And I collapsed on top of her with my arms around her.

"Why did it have to hurt?  Why did it have to hurt?" was all I kept saying as I held her lifeless body and buried my face in her fur.

Katya, who I'm sure was also crying, remained strong for me.  "It would have hurt worse if she suffocated in your home.  And if we hadn't rescued her, she would have this same fate, except she'd be the fiftieth dog that day, and she wouldn't have been held and loved, and told how much we'd miss her.  This was the best thing we could have done for her."

"But she was scared, and it hurt," I said through my tears.

"No, she wasn't scared.  It hurt, yes, but she wasn't scared."

Katya was right, and it took me many hours to realize that.  Stella hadn't balked at the leash to come in.  She hadn't let loose a flurry of dander.  She had shrieked from the pain for an injection, something that had always hurt her.  And I learned later on, this often happens to dogs who are old or dehydrated.  The injection is painful.  I just wish that hadn't been a part of her final moments.

Katya assured me that of the thirty seconds, Stella only shrieked for maybe ten seconds, and that she did experience peace for a few moments. 

A while back I had written, and said to someone, that dying in your loved ones' arms is the best way to go.  I still contend it is, but it sucks to be that loved one.

I had written that Stella would teach me a lot, but I was expecting lessons like how to make a hollandaise sauce, not how to love someone enough to put an end to their suffering.  When we had first arrived and were waiting for the vet, Stella lay on the table and stared out the window.  Katya said, "It's like she's saying, 'Yes, I'm ready...but one more day.  Please.  Just one more day like this.'"

No matter when, we always ask for one more day.  But one more day could be more suffering.  I don't think Stella thinks I betrayed her.  I do believe she was ready to go when she was with Katya, but after experiencing such goodness between being with her and then being with me, she was up for fighting it for a while.  But eventually, it was just too much.

I don't know if it was cancer or distemper.  I need to believe she did have a terminal illness.  I need to believe I did what was right for her.  Katya said, "She loves you so much; you can see it."  But I didn't see it.  Stephanie had said that she could see the way Stella and I looked at each other, that there was a bond there.  But to me, that's what's always there, with any dog that enters my life. I'm going love them just as hard as I love any other, and I believe they love me back.

Death had been chasing Stella around the neighborhood for quite some time.  And Stella even had waited as his gate for a time, but when she met me, she felt like walking away; Death could wait.  She came with me, and I gave her hope and love and warmth.  But eventually, she returned to Death's front gate.  She could wait alone, but I would not let her do such a thing.  She could go in by herself, but it's a terrifying place.  And so, with all the love in my heart, I listened to, and fulfilled, her request.  I lifted her up, walked through the gate, up to the front porch, and rang the doorbell.

Stella was ready.  And perhaps by allowing Death this one, he'll turn a blind eye next time he sees me sneaking across his lawn.  Cause I'm not going to stop what I'm doing.  I'm still coming back to steal puppies off his porch; I'm still going to transport; I'm still going to foster; I'm still going to love with my whole heart and everything else I got. 

I wish Stella could have gotten better.  Perhaps with a different line of treatment a month ago, she could have.  But it was beyond repair at this point.  I didn't want to admit it, but Stella accepted it.  She had a fabulous bonus round.  She touched a lot of people's lives.  And now she joins Noodles and Dutchess as one of the dogs who has taught me how to love.

I cannot repay you enough, Stella.  I hope the last thing you heard was me telling you "I love you," and the last thing you felt wasn't pain, but the love I had--and will always have--for you.

May you find open fields to run in, and canine friends to play with.  May you rest in peace, knowing that even if it was for just a short time, you were in a forever home, my forever home, and you will forever be in my heart.

 Stella Isabella 

b. unknown

d. 11/06/10