Goodbye, my sweet little Elsie Girl

 

She is gone.

My precious little girl passed away in my arms.

We took her to the Vet this morning. He had a look at her and noted that she seemed well. It was our choice whether we chose to do it now or later. And made no guarantees that either way would be better. He didn't know whether she would simply fade away one day, or if it would suddenly turn sour once her liver stopped working.

Wolfieboy expressed his feelings about how it seemed like she was simply waiting. The vet said that while she wasn't feeling acute pain, she would feel in general, a sense of overall crappiness. i.e. She knew that something wasn't right.

Deep down I knew that this was the right decision, but it was hard.

I held her close as the needle went in. I hugged her close and whispered to her how much she was loved. And with a graceful breath, she was gone.

I regret that I cried holding her head as it happened. I wish that perhaps her last moments alive were simply with me whispering sweet nothings in her ear, rather than have those words cut up with a few heaves and suppressed sobs here and there.


I picked wolfiepup up and got her to give Elsie a cuddle and a kiss before it happened, and Elsie made the point of turning her head around and acknowledging her, like she knew, and was saying goodbye in her own way.

It is so hard to say goodbye to loved ones. She was part of the pack for the short time that she was around.

We are putting her up on the hill in a sunny spot overlooking the valley. She always loved the sun, and always loved being up high. So I think she will appreciate it. The sun came out for a second as we started to put rocks on her cairn. Wolfiepup helped us put it together, and whenever we go for a walk, we will make a point of adding one more.

The spot where she is buried is also close enough that we'll always pass her by as we go for our walks, and when we sit down up there on the hill, we will think of her.

She was the sweetest thing I have ever met. She had her princessy ways - given the chance she would always pick the most comfortable spot she could find. She loved the fire and would sit there staring at it all night, given the choice.

When she first came she slept in our room. Every morning when the sun started peeking out at 5am, I would be rudely awoken by a cold wet tongue licking my nose.

She was notorious about showing us her lady bits. Elsie, always the lady, we used to joke.

She loved food with a passion, and I still recall with amusement the time she nearly ate my entire breakfast - which I had silly-ly left on the coffee table. Scrambled eggs and mushrooms. I was lucky to have any of it by the time I got back.

Her pound photo

I remember the first time I saw her, and how I uhmmed and ahhed about it at the time. I never regretted taking her home. She was so thin and scrawny. Skittish at anything and everything. And so hungry. Almost like she wasn't sure when her next meal would come.

You had the sweetest nature. Even the people at the pound swore that she was the sweetest dog they had ever seen go through their kennels.

She blossomed though, and settled into our routine nicely. She loved playing chasies, and would always harrangue Fred to chase her. Often she would be found quite a ways down the track behind us as we walked, sniffing out roo poo. When our calling for her finally penetrated, she ran like the wind to catch up with us.

She loved to run, and she loved the water.

She loved her creature comforts. I still remember the time we went to a Field Day and she suddenly decided she'd had enough, and just lay there in the middle of the aisle. Refusing to get up because she'd had enough. She tried it once on our walk too, but I wasn't having a bar of it, and insisted she get up and follow.

You were my little escape artist. Every once in a while I would come home to find you had jumped the pen, leaving poor Fred alone in there while you went wandering. Actually, I think you just chose to sit on the Verandah instead and root through the recycle bin.  So many times you'd spend the night outside after one of your forays. We never did find how you got in and out of the pen.

She hated kidneys. For a dog that adored roo poo, we found it amusing that she refused to eat them. Fred would gobble all of hers up. She was such a dainty eater. Taking her time, eating neatly. Or perhaps that was the cancer doing its job. I don't know. We'd noticed a few signs here and there, on and off for the last few months, but nothing to raise significant alarm bells.

There was nothing we could have done though. It was terminal. The choice was always going to be, take her now, while she's still lucid, appreciative and happy (ish), or take her later when her cognitive functions were gone.

I thank you so much, Elsie, for hanging in there. For having the stamina and the will to stay with us for longer than the Vet said. For giving us those few more precious days.

For going on that long walk with wolfiepup and I on Friday. It took it out of you, didn't it? You had me so worried and guilty that Saturday night, watching you breathe heavily.

We did the right thing, saying goodbye before it got too hard. You had a gentle, graceful and peaceful passing. But it doesn't make it any harder for us. The ones who have to stay behind.

Fred already seems a little lost without you. He gave you such a licking to, this morning. To the point where you got up as if to say, 'alright, enough already.' He loved you. You two were the best of mates. My pigeon pair.

 You were wonderful with wolfiepup. Always patient and gentle.

I remember the first time you got hit on the head by a little child holding a stick and you just sat there and took it, never minding that the mother was scolding the girl. You sat there with a look on our face as if to say, "it's ok! it's ok! really, I'm fine!"

When I was pregnant, we used to huddle together in front of the fire. Somehow or other you would manage to weasel your way into my lap and Fred was left behind.

 

You'd fall asleep in my lap with your ear against my tummy listening to the baby's heartbeat.

You had the most beautiful soulful congac brown eyes with black mascara rims.



That could give you the death stare or make eyes at you like nobody's business. I loved that all your paws were white tipped, that you had a white patch on your nose and you could see freckles on your tummy.

And I loved that when you got wet, you looked like a drowned rat. We joked that you were our own little Splinter.

Thank you, Elsie. For everything. The laughs, the frustrations, the time spent together, the love that we shared.

You were a good girl.

My girl.

I will miss you so so so so much, my darling girl.

You were my sweetheart.

This is Love Beside Me...

We made the appointment. 10.15 tomorrow morning.

I was always gunning for Wednesday if it had to be this week at all. But I've been watching her breathing, and feeling her heart beat double time. I fed her her pill this afternoon and noticed her usually dark pink gums were practically white. And at one stage almost looked yellow.

The vet had said last week she'd looked jaundiced. And it was a sign that there's something going on with her liver.

And I think to wolfieboy's relief, I finally agreed to tomorrow.

She was still trotting out to breakfast happily this morning. And when I let her out this afternoon for a pee, she spent some time sniffing the wind.

We haven't gone for a walk today though. The temperature has plummeted, and the wind is icy. We have spent the last two days cuddling in front of the fire.

I don't know if I'm doing the right thing or not. But my suspicion is that the drugs are keeping a band aid on the problem, making it appear that things are ok, when in fact, world war III is breaking out in there, under all that fur.

There's lumps and bumps everywhere. Her tummy feels not quite distended. But there's sharp protrusions or something similar. I just want her to enjoy life while she still can. And not have to have another decline before I change my mind.

If you had tried to tell me that yesterday I would have refused. In my mind, all I wanted was for her to stay. I wanted to respect her wishes to be normal, and give her every waking moment she could. I don't know what changed this afternoon. She's been sitting beside me or near me all day. Although there were a few times she went elsewhere.

Wolfieboy says that she doesn't look as happy as she did before. I can't really tell.

But either way, I made the call. It's 10.15 tomorrow.

10.15.

Oh, my precious, precious, girl....

making the right choices

She struggled yesterday.


We went for a big walk on Friday. I was so pleased to see her come along of her own volition. But yesterday she chose to just sit around the house and let us do our thing.

I had to go to a family function yesterday, so came back a few hours later than usual to give her her afternoon meds. I think the combination of the late meds and the big walk from the day before helped exacerbate everything, and that evening she started breathing super heavy.

It was very hard to watch her struggle to breathe. It made me regret not saying goodbye on Friday. But then I reminded myself that she had been improving since Thursday afternoon, and she had wanted to come with us.

I was relieved to see the breathing is easier today, but when I put my hand on her, I can feel her heartbeat, and it’s irregular. We spent today sitting side by side as I did my work and she chilled out beside me.

She also made lots of effort to roll onto her back so I could give her tummy scratches.

I think seeing her suffer like that last night with big heaving shuddering breaths really rattled wolfieboy. I certainly felt guilty. Wolfieboy has suggested we make the appointment tomorrow.

I don’t really want to, to be honest. When she looks well. So you think to yourself, hey, she wants to stay with us…

She’s eating all her food. She’s got the pills down pat. Her body’s adjusted to the steroids and she’s stopped peeing in the loo.

So after all that, why should I let her go away?

Because at the end of the day she’s slowly going away in front of our eyes. Her tummy feels bloated. There are lumps and bumps along her rib cage that shouldn’t be there. That third eye lid is still half closed. She has bruising along her shin - you can see it through the skin from where they shaved it for the IV drip. She flops down on the ground with a lot less grace. She no longer runs around, bounding through the bushes and egging Freddy on for a run. She lies beside you and you can hear her breathing in short breaths. Her heartbeat is irregular.

It can’t be fun. She doesn’t know to ask for help. She just knows that she’s not well.

Dinner is currently being offered, and she happily trots off to the door. Whereas last week before the meds kicked in she would just lie there forlornly looking at us. And when you offered her food she would just half heartedly sniff and then look at us forlornly.

It’s different when they eat. Why would you want to say goodbye if she’s eating? A key sign that they’re wanting to hang around. You don’t want to die if you’re eating, right?

But today she seems so much better. Just resting. Recuperating.

It is such a hard decision to say goodbye.

We will see what the Vet says tomorrow. I don’t want to rush it. At the same time, I don’t want to make the wrong decision either. Wolfieboy keeps reminding me that this is now for our benefit, not hers. It’s easy to say, but not so easy to process. And seeing what last night was like, is a harsh reminder.

grateful for the little things

Elsie rallied yesterday and started eating.

After watching her refuse raw steak and cat food for two days, I started crying as I watched her wolf down poached chicken and rice soup. It still makes me tear up as I watch her eat. I am trying to offer her small sized portions every few hours. And she seems grateful for the food. Comes up to me afterwards as if to say, 'thanks for that.'

Sweet Elsie girl.

Last night when I came home, she seemed to keep asking for cuddles. She even managed to half roll over for a tummy rub.

I spoke to the Vet yesterday afternoon and he said we could keep her for the weekend and reassess next week.

So instead of us all going down today, Wolfieboy will be going down at 4 to get more drugs for her.

When I asked the Vet to clarify about his decision, he explained that most time dogs with lymphosarcoma don't make it past a week. But there are always exceptions to the rule. I am hoping she is one of those exceptions and I am grateful that she has the capacity to stay with us for a little longer.

I have taken the day off from work today to stay with her. She is currently lying in our living room while we go about our day. It doesn't help that today is rainy. But yesterday was lovely and warm, and I think she enjoyed spending the day outside in her pen. Nothing like routine for a dog to make them feel comfortable and safe.

Either way, I have been warned that this cancer is terminal and that I should be prepared. I'm ok with that. Well, I'm not, but I have to be. But in the mean time, I am grateful for every additional moment that I get to spend with her.

I love you, Elsie.

my precious little girl

My beautiful Elsie girl is not well.

We went away on holiday for a week and Fred and Elsie spent it at my mum's.  Halfway through, my brother messaged me to tell me that she hadn't eaten for 3 days. At the time I didn't think much of it, because she had been on and off her food a few weeks beforehand, but had gone back.

We came home late on Tuesday night, but on Wednesday evening noticed she had a red dot in her eye and it looked quite swollen. Her inside eyelid was half covering it.

Work has been a bit crazy, so we weren't able to take her to the Vet's until Saturday. Upon which the Vet found two lumps behind her head which he was very concerned about. The initial conclusion was some kind of infection, although he did mention the possibility of a lymphoma, a cancer in the lymph system. The eye he said was probably due to a bump somewhere and nothing to be worried about.

He gave us some antibiotics, sent us home, but said to come back on Monday. He also gave us some different food and suggested I get some cat food.

Brought her home, offered her food and she perked up. Ate all her food, and did 2 more rounds through the day. Things were looking better.

But come Sunday, her appetite started to wane again.

Took her in on Monday, to a very unhappy Vet, who wanted to keep her overnight to get a biopsy. She also started to bleed watery discharge through her nostril, which was very scary to see.

The Vet ended up not taking a biopsy as she started to get jaundiced, but took some blood tests instead.

Tuesday came with the verdict that she was Not Well.

This is what her final results say, according to the Vet:

"Elsie is suffering from a lymphoproliferative disease, either lymphoma or myeloma or lymphosarcoma. We are awaiting the results of electrophoresis to try and better interpret which possibility it is. The prognosis is guarded to poor for Elsie although imaging of the long bones, chest and abdomen will provide answers as to whether or not the neoplastic disorder has metastasised from a central tumour or directly from the bone marrow. Elsie is being sent home with symptomatic treatment to make her comfortable only. If there are any issues please do not hesitate to contact the clinic. I would advise that Elsie be given quality time if the decision is not to pursue further workup, and the decision to euthanise be made with her continued dignity in mind."

Suffice to say, I am very unhappy with the results.

The next step was originally an MRI, and possibly chemo based on what the oncologist would say.
We refused the MRI. But the Vet admitted that all it would most likely do would be to make our decision sit easier with us. He didn't fight us when we said we wouldn't go down that route. He didn't even say that much. When I picked up the phone yesterday, he merely said, the results are in. Let me just read them to you. And proceeded to read the litany of problems that she is suffering from. Hoping in some passive way that the blood results would speak for themselves. He admitted that this was the worst list of results he'd ever seen. And that basically there was hardly anything in her system that didn't have something going on.

It is so hard to let her go.

My little girl is only 4. It seems only yesterday that I found her on the pound website and went to see her. It seems only yesterday I brought her home, reeking of flea detergent, scrawny as can be, and skittish at just about everything. She has blossomed into a beautiful confident self assured dog, gentle as can be, with an underlying streak of Princess.

She has bonded with my daughter, and I have many photos of them playing together, spending time together, and even one of wolfiepup sitting on Elsie's back singing row your boat.

My heart aches to think about it. She is currently on steroids and drugs to make her feel more comfortable, and it shows. Looking at her, you think, hey, you're ok. What am I thinking to let you go?

But then you notice she refuses food. And you are reminded that she really is not well. For a girl who used to eat so fast when you fed her, terrified her next meal was never coming, to suddenly to be faced with one who just turns her head away when offered raw steak and chicken... I still remember the time I left a plate of mushrooms and eggs on the coffee table, but had to rush off to the loo. When I came back, I was lucky to get any eggs at all - she had snuck over and eaten half my breakfast!

It is heartbreaking to see her like this and to know that in a few days she will no longer be with us. Her time with us has been so short. It is sad to think that the relationship she has begun with wolfiepup will soon be over.

This picture always comes to mind, when I think about the two of them. I had such high hopes for them to grow together. She tolerates wolfiepup so well. Whereas Fred merely suffers her and walks away the minute he's given a chance, she acts more like Mother, and stays with her.

Wolfiepup said goodnight to her tonight, in a cheerful voice: "goodnight Elsie!" And my heart broke again to think that this would be one of the last times she would be able to say it. That in a few nights time there would be no Elsie to say goodbye to. It is too sad and terrifying to think about.

It is so sad to see her like this. You keep on telling yourself that she will get better. But blood results don't lie. Her cholesterol is nearly at zero and the Vet was saying it's probably leaching out of her intestines. Her liver has crazy counts and her red blood cells are barely regenerating. The way he read those results out, it amazed me that she was even moving.

And when wolfieboy went to collect her from the Vet, she made the huge effort to jump into the car. My heart breaks just thinking about it.

My beautiful, beautiful, little girl.

I am sad for me, for the loss of a sweet dog. I am sad for her, for the life she won't be able to continue with us. I am sad for my wolfiepup, for the lost chance to spend more time with her companion. I am sad for Fred, for the loss of his playmate.

I am just sad.

We will say goodbye to her on Friday and put her in a sunny spot on the hill. She's always loved to be up high. And she's always loved the sun. In the winters she would sit in front of the fire, staring and praying to her fire god.

I will miss her so much.

She's only 4. She's hardly begun her life, and it's already coming to an end. It makes me want to back out, cancel that appointment and just keep on keeping her comfortable. But the Vet had warned on Tuesday that we shouldn't let it go on too long, and that it was definitely inadvisable to do it over the weekend.

My poor, poor, precious girl.

I don't want to say goodbye to you. I want you to stay with us. Please don't go. Please don't leave us.

It makes it harder, because it is our decision to make. Playing god isn't easy. Who am I to say who lives and dies? She seems ok at the moment. Maybe she still has months in her. Is it bad to say that I wish the decision was taken out of my hands? That she could just to sleep quietly? Is that cowardly? Am I strong enough to be there and watch those soulful trusting eyes look at me one last time as I give the nod for that needle go in and watch as that beautiful life passes away? I don't know if I can do it. But as wolfieboy points out, it's no longer about us. It's about her.

If it's about having a good life, then you can argue she's had one with us. Bush walks in the afternoon, sniffing roo poo every morning. Spending time inside with us when the weather is bad, and getting lots of cuddles and attention. I do feel a little guilty at how much I have neglected both her and Fred since my wolfiepup was born. But as one friend pointed out, it's just been 'life.' She's been part of the pack.

It just such a heavy burden to bear.

I always thought Fred would be the first to go. He's already 7. But that we'd have years to come with Elsie.

It's just been so sudden. One minute we were going in just to see what was wrong. I was worried it would be heart worm as I had forgotten to feed her tablets. It doesn't matter where we live, but up in Sydney, it does. And I hadn't had time to remember. So while I was reassured that that wasn't the problem, in no way was I prepared for cancer. And such an aggressive one as this. "Don't let it go to the weekend" were the Vet's words.

Wolfieboy wonders if perhaps the Vet was being dramatic. Or perhaps that the drugs he has given her have simply masked the problem. It's not like Elsie can talk and tell us what the problem is.

My beautiful, beautiful, little girl