So our dog died. Specifically, we had the vet put her to sleep. She was thirteen years old, diabetic, blind, had cancer tumors all over her belly, bladder stones, a UTI, had turned her back on God, and couldn't eat any more because of ketosis - or so the vet said after having spent three days and close to $4,000 keeping the poor thing alive on two IVs stuck in her little paws. At that point, the vet also said euthanization would be a "reasonable" decision.
What a clear-eyed assessment of the situation.
Of course, as the dog had been MW's only constant companion for these last thirteen years, it was a ridiculously hard decision for her to make. Understandable. Now let's run those emotions through the filter of early onset dementia caused by HD and you're set up for some good times. At the vets office, it was almost a comedy routine with MW handing the dog over, then snatching it back; handing it over, snatching it back.... Eventually I gently, but firmly, dragged MW from the room - sobbing uncontrollably.
Right, I know, that's not abnormal behavior. Losing a beloved pet is hard. This happened at an emergency pet hospital (hence the high, high price tag) so we saw lots of weeping people biding their four-legged companions a bitter last farewell. I don't fault MW at all for that.
It's what happened next that is costing a heavy toll.
We gave our dog peace on Saturday morning. MW immediately got on the Internet, found a breeder in Dallas, and arraigned to go pick up another dog. I advised against it; explaining that we needed grieving time, but really just trying to buy more time to get the house back in order after having lost those three days of maintenance to the doggie death watch. No joy. She had to get a dog. We had to drive to Dallas. Four hours there; four hours back.
MW spent those 8 hours on the road fluctuating between wailing tears and talking about the mysteries of death. She talked a lot about her mom - her father having had made a similar decision to pull the plug and euthanize mummy after she contracted HD's favorite killer, pneumonia - and how unfair death was. She started in on how much her mother had wanted to live and how she would never have done what her father did. She informed me that I should do everything in my power to keep her alive no matter what. Oh, and also? I should never put her in a nursing home. She would hate that.
She asked me what I thought about it and I side stepped the issue. What she doesn't know is that I've already drawn up a Medical Power of Attorney, give that responsibility to my brother; then sister (not MW) and explicitly specified NO RESUSCITATION! WITHHOLD ALL LIFESAVING MEASURES! I'm looking for death with dignity even it it's just a goddamned hang nail.
Or a hernia. Driving four hours straight, no breaks, played holy hell on my hernia. Gave me a righteous headache too. MW drove some of the way back, but I insisted on taking over when she started bursting into tears going 80 down I-45. All in all, a very painful experience.
And at the end of all this? We now have a new puppy! Yay!
Except not so much yay. Puppies are a lot of work under the best conditions. Now put a puppy in an HD house where the dementia is making itself known primarily through hypochondria and germaphobia. Since Saturday I've lost five pounds and haven't had anything to drink. I suppose the not drinking might be a good thing, but the weight loss is pure stress and sleeplessness.
The puppy is a teacup MalteePoo. Smaller than my foot. But I'm not allowed to pick it up from under it's belly because I might get pee on my hand. The puppy can never be left unattended on the floor because it might pee somewhere. Also, it might eat something bad that MW has dropped on the floor. (MW is always dropping things on the floor. She knows this; hence the rule about the dog's paws never touching our floor. You might ask why she doesn't just pick whatever it is up when she dropped it.... It would be a good question.) When we're not directly supervising the puppy, he must always be either in its kennel or playpen. The puppy, naturally, doesn't like this so it whines constantly. CONSTANTLY! Not one moment of peace in the house since Saturday night.
Puppies have accidents. Every time our puppy has an accident, something expensive get thrown away - a carrying case; a blanket, a towel. Whatever got pee on it. Pee can't be cleaned, you know. It has to be destroyed! You may ask why we don't use those pee pads? Well I suggested it; but those are no good. They just allow for the pee filth and germs to have a home. No. We have to use blankets and towels and they have to be thrown away with prejudice once contaminated.
And this is just a sample of the germaphobia. Let's briefly touch on the hypochondria, shall we? Since the puppy has been in our house, MW has been anxious about catching ringworm, tapeworms, and that one disease dogs can get that they pass on to humans (I have no idea what this could be, but MW knows what it is; she just doesn't know the name of it).
Here's a sample of how it has been around Casa Muncie these last five days:
I'm sitting outside with the dog. This, I admit, is good. Weather is fine this time of year and it is always fun watching a puppy romp - catch leaves, tugging flip-flops twice his size around the yard, getting in fights with pill bugs and losing because he's so small.... Then MW calls for me to do something in the house. I pick up the dog and go in. NO! I can't hold the dog! Now I have pee on my hands! So I try to put the dog in his playpen. NO! The playpen is wet because the dog spilled water! So I try to use my free hand clean up the water. NO! If the dog stepped on pee earlier, the water in the playpen is full of pee, too! I'll have to use a glove. But I can't put on gloves while holding the dog; and I can't set the dog down, so I'm stuck. Then, angry, MW comes over to clean the playpen. Finally I can set the dog down. Once down, the dog immediately starts whining, loud. So loud, I can't hear MW as she continues to ask me to do things as she's storming around the house. I follow, asking questions, which just pisses her off more. She's yelling, the dog's whining, the house is in shambles because I haven't been able to clean anything. On and on.
I'm exhausted; even more so than usual. The only thing I can do is constantly remind myself that this will, most likely, be MW's last dog. Have to make the best of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment