For those of you that know anything about euthanasia, there are 2 steps. The "calming" shot which relaxes them enough so that they can proceed with the final injection and so that everything goes as peaceful as possible. I was so adamant about not wanting Pete to be muzzled for either process (It seemed so much like restraining someone on death row) but for the safety of the doctors and vet techs we did muzzle him for a few seconds just so they could give him the relaxant. Honestly, he never moved and didn't fight it. Never fought the muzzle and never fought me putting it on him. Very "un-Pete-like". As soon as that part was done, I quickly took the muzzle off but he didn't even move his head. I don't think he really even needed the 2nd injection---I think he would have drifted off to sleep simply because his body could not process anything at that point and a strong sedative would have been enough. He was ready. He had been ready. I just wasn't ready and hadn't been able to do it. I am so sorry that I was not stronger for you, Petey.
Pete was not just any dog, this was my child with four legs instead of two, who taught me more about the importance of certain people/animals in our lives, as well as second chances, than any human ever could.
I didn't have the appointment scheduled as a euthanasia appointment. I knew all week that I had the appointment scheduled as a "consult" but I knew in my heart and mind exactly what was going to be said. We had been to so many specialists; We basically had tried everything but I just kept thinking that there was that one magic potion or therapy that we hadn't tried. It had come down to "quality of life" at this point. When Pete used the bathroom all over himself, fell out of the car and couldn't get up and the vets and vet techs watched, I knew exactly what I had to do. I still feel bad that I didn't do something "special" with Pete once I had scheduled that appointment that week--but honestly, just being together with him and him sitting outside in the sunshine were special. And he had long surpassed any walks on the beach or park. He couldn't even walk down the street anymore very easily.
I had become a hospice nurse for Pete the last 6 months or so of his life. Before you condemn me for not letting him go before, please know that he was at ALL TIMES on heavy doses of pain medication and physically, I do not think that he was suffering until right at the very end. He couldn't eat certain things because his kidneys were failing, he used the bathroom on himself and everywhere, standing up and sitting down required more effort than a triathalon. It resembled a young fawn learning to walk. This once proud chow was a bit embarrassed about wearing diapers but he did it for me. : ) I carried this once healthy, 60 pound chow/lab, who had now dwindled down to 40, up and down the stairs because I wanted him beside my bed every night. Honestly, I prayed that I would just look over and he would have peacefully died in his sleep. Sometimes I would have to get down on the floor just to see if his chest was moving because his breaths had become so shallow while he slept. Finally, when I realized it was time, I did start ordering him pizza and letting eat whatever he wanted because that was always his favorite food. : ) And it was between this and starvation at that point.
But I swear Pete would not give up. A part of me believes that had I not let him go peacefully, he would still be here. It would be an awful existence but I believe that is how much he loved me. I know why he wouldn't give up--it was for me. He knew that the loss of him would completely devastate me. Honestly, I think he knew better than I did. I knew it would be a devastating loss, but never in a million years could I have imagined that it would have been as devastating as it was.
I was in a severe grief coma for a good 6 months. For 2-3 months, I could not even function. Doctors had me on medication simply so that I could try and make it through the work day without a complete break-down and could wait until I got in my car to drive home to completely fall apart. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But it allowed me to continue to semi-work. Looking back, I honestly am not sure how I was able to do it as it had gotten that bad.
I tell you this story of my grief not for sympathy, but as a healing process for myself and more so as a tribute to Pete, how special of a friend he was to me and because I want others to know just how important an animal can be to someone. I want to educate others on the fact that the loss of a special pet can be just as devastating as the loss of a close family member or friend. Pete was not a pure-bred, show dog; he was a little fluffy stray picked up by his father tied to a tree without food, water or shelter. The very best kind. : ) You just never know where love is going to come from. And as bad as it hurt, not once would I ever take back having Pete in my life. I only wish it was longer.
So tomorrow I will sit in my closet with his collar that still has his smell, I will touch the pawprints that the funeral home so kindly made for me in clay, I will hug his "lambie" (his toy that I still sleep with every night) and I will cry my eyes out. I will cry because I miss him so. But I will also cry because I am so lucky to have experienced the unconditional love that Pete brought to my life. Thank you, Pete, for loving me more than anyone. I pray that you are in Heaven running and playing your huge heart out!!!
"I think God will have prepared everything for our perfect happiness. If it takes my dog being there [in Heaven], I believe he'll be there." -Rev. Billy Graham
