"Grief only exists where love lived first."
This is the story of our girl, Boo.
In November 2007, Brandon went to the SPCA and adopted a very lively, wild mutt. "Lab mix" they said, yet in the years to come, we heard many things regarding what she looked like: pit, boxer, and beagle were the most frequent comments. B and I went over several names, disagreeing on most as we walked along the beach one night, until we came to "Boo." Actually, Boo Berry (like the cereal).
I wasn't sure what to make of Boo at first. She was super cute, but STRONG and that scared me. I had spent most of my life with cats, minus some dogs in my early childhood years. Needless to say, we all bonded and loved each other deeply. I'll never forget bringing Boo home from her Oma's house (Brandon's mom) after the birth of our Ayla. She was so good around the baby. In fact, if the baby cried and we weren't there instantaneously, she was at our heels whining, as if she were saying, "The little human needs you."
Boo was wonderful, but she was exceptionally anxious. She could never be crate trained, despite doing things by the book. To make a long story short, no matter which type of crate we tried, she'd find a way to break out, hurting herself in the process. Before we bought our house, in the transition of B moving after college so we could be in the same town, Boo lived with her Oma. She was great...until she was alone. Her separation anxiety caused her to destroy large pieces of furniture. Even when we moved into our house, she would run into the closet and hide when we had to leave for work. Since she couldn't be crated, we kept her in the mud room while we were away. She chewed up the moulding, somehow scratched up the very top of the door, and even managed to turn off the light (accidentally I'm sure) a time or two. One time, we came home to pee on top of the washing machine. How she got up there and what she was thinking- who knows? This led to us adopting a second dog, Oscar, in spring of 2010. Amazingly, her anxiety dissipated the instant we got Oscar. She even tolerated the new puppy we brought into the mix in the fall of 2017.
Boo loved playing in the sprinkler, attacking water from a squirt bottle, and chasing the occasional squirrel. She loved fleece blankets, snuggles, and lounging on the furniture, especially the off-limits recliner. She was always healthy and happy, with few exceptions. She had bouts of tummy trouble a few times a year, a swollen leg once that turned out to be nothing, and 1 UTI. Over the last year, she seemed to be slowing down, more tired and thin- typical aging dog stuff.
In the early midnight hours of August 23rd, as I was finishing my final NCLEX prep test, Boo seemed to be quite uncomfortable. She was restless, panting on and off the rest of the night. I stayed up with her, laying by her, trying to calm her, and thinking she must have another UTI with this strange behavior. When we woke up and got ready for the day, she laid in one spot on the floor and didn't want to even get up to go outside. I was worried, and we discussed calling the vet to get her in. I got home from dropping off Ayla and found Boo in the same spot we'd left her. The vet was able to get us in that evening, but things took a turn for the worse quickly. A dear friend stopped by with a graduation gift, and shortly after she left, Boo's eyes looked bright white and "off." She actually started to defecate on the couch, and I prompted her, "Outside." She stopped, but she didn't look okay. I was panicked at this concerning behavior, and I called hubby at work to tell him we needed to get in earlier. I called the vet, and they moved us up to an 11:30 appointment. Not long after that, I looked over and Boo's gums were stark white. I started crying, called Brandon to get right home, and called the vet to tell them we were rushing in. Brandon carried Boo to the car, and she was fading fast. He raced to vet, as I held her in my lap telling her to hold on. I thought we were going to lose her right there and then.
The vet techs brought her in rapidly on a stretcher. The gave her oxygen and did an ultrasound. Dr. Dan came in and told us she had an abdomen full of blood - her spleen had ruptured due to a splenic tumor. He rattled on about some rule of two-thirds. I was keeled over, sobbing, so I didn't get what he was saying. What I did hear: "We need to look for further signs of cancer. If we see more in there, we would recommend humane euthanization." The next minutes felt like a lifetime. I sobbed and laughed at the same time,, telling Brandon, "Of course this would happen two days before my boards." My wonderful sister-in-law brought both kids to the vet, as we didn't know what was going to transpire in the coming moments. The vet came back, much to our relief, with news of no signs of additional tumors. He felt she was a good candidate for surgery, and frankly, it was our only other option. She was hemorrhaging. The kids arrived, and they brought Boo in on the stretcher to see us before her surgery. She was very relaxed, thanks to the pain medication. These amazing vets and vet techs saved our girl. One of the techs so generously brought in her own dog to be sedated in order to take a blood donation to transfuse our girl with. I will never forget that.
Boo came through the surgery, and she remained stable for the two nights she was hospitalized. She came home the afternoon on the same day I took my boards. It was a damn good day. Our girl was home. As I told the kids, "Every day with her is a gift." The vet was hopeful that because her tumor was so large, it could turn out to be benign. The thinking behind that is that if the tumor could grow that large without rupturing, that was more behaviorally consistent with being benign versus a malignancy. Unfortunately, when the pathology came back, it showed she had hemangiosarcoma (HSA)- cancer originating in the blood vessels.
I had been researching HSA since I heard the word the day of her surgery. Two-thirds of masses on the spleen are malignant and two-thirds of those are hemangiosarcoma. Now the rule Dr. Dan described to me was fully "clicking." I am beyond grateful I found a group on Facebook of over 3,000 members who fought HSA, some with incredible outcomes. It started as a very small group, doing their own research, changing diet and using supplements to save their dogs. Digging beyond what most vets will tell people because honestly, many straight out suggest euthanasia. Among the mix were stories of dogs who went on to live 3 years post-diagnosis, while others lost their battle right away. This group gave me knowledge, it gave me hope, and it gave me such support. We initiated several supplements- graviola, turkey tail mushroom, yunnan baiyao, and milk thistle. We tried metronomic chemotherapy. Because I started training for my nursing job, I'd be gone during the day opposed to the nights I was used to working, which meant Boo would be home alone. I bought a video camera with an app so I could check in on her throughout the day. We bought her a new collar with bumblebees on it, reminiscent of her puppy Halloween costume. We took family photos, all 4 of us plus 3 dogs (and a very patient sister-in-law photographer). Every single day, we watched Boo diligently, medicating her, loving on her, and I rushed home from anywhere and everywhere to be sure she was well. We had a scare with her abdomen being rock hard along the incision after it had healed, and we feared a bleed (the main complication of HSA), but were lucky that it turned out to likely be swelling (although now I wonder...)
At the end of my first 4 weeks of nurse training, we went out for a celebratory breakfast. Afterwards, we had a code blue training to go to. My nursing sisters couldn't go to the hospital right away, so I decided I might as well run my leftovers home. I came home to Boo, with that look in her eyes and wobbly legs. 7 weeks post-splenectomy, October 12. I gave her the emergency pill from the yunnan baiyao rectally because she wouldn't eat. She chose to lay in the very same spot she had the day her spleen ruptured. We rushed to the vet, where they confirmed she was having a bleed. She ended up staying overnight for two nights. When we'd check in with them or visit, she seemed SO happy and to be doing SO well, despite her packed cell volume continuing to drop. I asked that the vet aggressively give yunnan baiyao, and he agreed. In fact, aside from monitoring, that is all they did (and were able to do, really). The second night she was away, I cried out of guilt to Brandon that if these were her final days, she was away from us. They sent her home to us on hospice/palliative care that Sunday. We took her out for a hot dog at our local dog friendly restaurant. I missed my first two nights of on the floor training at the hospital because I could not be away from her. Thankfully, my bosses were kind and good and gracious to me. A day after she came home, we had her packed cell volume rechecked and miraculously it came up from 18 to 22. The vet had warned us that when it drops to 15 it is a rapid decline, as 35 is what is considered normal. Over the next week, the only real issue we ran into was getting Boo to take her supplements. She was never a good pill taker, but now she was refusing them wrapped in cream cheese, which was the ultimate disguise that she didn't reject- even when she saw the stinky herbal pills go into the cheesy little squares. Our next attempt was to wrap them in butter, at the suggestion of Dr. Danielle (who happens to be married to Dr. Dan). Her cell volume remained 22 at her follow up a week later.
In the early midnight hours of October 25th, Boo and I were hanging out on the couch. She didn't seem to be feeling well, and I had to stay up so I could sleep the next day before my night shift. We eventually moved back to the bed, but she was so uncomfortable that she didn't lay her head down for several hours, even as Brandon lay beside her on the bed in her very favorite spot. That morning, I gave her a pain pill- the only one she ever needed, and she seemed more comfortable. But something was different. She was having shortness of breath, she wouldn't get up to go potty, and her belly was distended. When she got up to get a drink, she collapsed twice in a row. Brandon came home, and we kept an eye on her for awhile. I slept, something I still feel guilty for, as I was supposed to work. For the first time since her spleen ruptured, Boo could not get enough to drink. She was bleeding internally again, drinking to try and correct her low fluid volume. It was time...
We picked up the kids, Boo in tow, and headed to the appointment I wish I never had to make. The vet confirmed that her belly was full of blood, that we were making the right choice. The room was dimly lit with a water bubbler, a beautiful painting of waves on the wall, and a soft bed for Boo to lay on. We laid beside her, feeding her a bag full of treats after the vet gave her an injection of a sedative. She drifted to a comfortable rest, laying her head down, on top of and surrounded by her favorite blankets. The vet came, and we were by her side as she went to the Rainbow Bridge. I laid my head on her, hearing her final heart beat, feeling her final breath. We told her in those moments before she left us over and over that she was such a good girl, the last thing she'd hear us say. Our hearts were completely broken in that moment, but I am so grateful it was a perfect, peaceful, loving moment. There was no suffering or struggle. I smelled her sweet ear one last time and kissed her sweet face before taking the kids to the car. Even when they came to move her, so Brandon could collect our blankets, they held her gently and spoke softly to her- they knew her so well by that time.
We miss her tremendously, Brandon, the kids, myself, and the dogs (especially her lifelong partner Oscar). She is home with us now, after the loving care and cremation done by a very special local pet loss center. This grief is like waves, as my dear friend described it. They came initially one after another, pounding us mercilessly. Now they ebb and flow. Some days I feel okay, which feels like a betrayal- like I am not grieving enough, while others I feel so lost and worry- what if? Did we do the right thing? The kids continue to express their thoughts and feelings, and I know that even though this is hard beyond hard, they are learning about grief- the price of love. We are getting through this together, moment by moment, day by day. We love our girl, and we carry her with us. We know she is with us, and we are grateful for the signs she sends us along this grief journey. I will continue to speak her name, and I will share her story. I remain in the HSA facebook group to carry others through this, as they carried me and reassured me even after Boo was gone. My final thoughts are- time is precious, a priceless gift, and it escapes us more quickly than we think. Snuggle your dogs a bit closer tonight in honor of our Boo girl.
In November 2007, Brandon went to the SPCA and adopted a very lively, wild mutt. "Lab mix" they said, yet in the years to come, we heard many things regarding what she looked like: pit, boxer, and beagle were the most frequent comments. B and I went over several names, disagreeing on most as we walked along the beach one night, until we came to "Boo." Actually, Boo Berry (like the cereal).
I wasn't sure what to make of Boo at first. She was super cute, but STRONG and that scared me. I had spent most of my life with cats, minus some dogs in my early childhood years. Needless to say, we all bonded and loved each other deeply. I'll never forget bringing Boo home from her Oma's house (Brandon's mom) after the birth of our Ayla. She was so good around the baby. In fact, if the baby cried and we weren't there instantaneously, she was at our heels whining, as if she were saying, "The little human needs you."
Boo was wonderful, but she was exceptionally anxious. She could never be crate trained, despite doing things by the book. To make a long story short, no matter which type of crate we tried, she'd find a way to break out, hurting herself in the process. Before we bought our house, in the transition of B moving after college so we could be in the same town, Boo lived with her Oma. She was great...until she was alone. Her separation anxiety caused her to destroy large pieces of furniture. Even when we moved into our house, she would run into the closet and hide when we had to leave for work. Since she couldn't be crated, we kept her in the mud room while we were away. She chewed up the moulding, somehow scratched up the very top of the door, and even managed to turn off the light (accidentally I'm sure) a time or two. One time, we came home to pee on top of the washing machine. How she got up there and what she was thinking- who knows? This led to us adopting a second dog, Oscar, in spring of 2010. Amazingly, her anxiety dissipated the instant we got Oscar. She even tolerated the new puppy we brought into the mix in the fall of 2017.
Boo loved playing in the sprinkler, attacking water from a squirt bottle, and chasing the occasional squirrel. She loved fleece blankets, snuggles, and lounging on the furniture, especially the off-limits recliner. She was always healthy and happy, with few exceptions. She had bouts of tummy trouble a few times a year, a swollen leg once that turned out to be nothing, and 1 UTI. Over the last year, she seemed to be slowing down, more tired and thin- typical aging dog stuff.
In the early midnight hours of August 23rd, as I was finishing my final NCLEX prep test, Boo seemed to be quite uncomfortable. She was restless, panting on and off the rest of the night. I stayed up with her, laying by her, trying to calm her, and thinking she must have another UTI with this strange behavior. When we woke up and got ready for the day, she laid in one spot on the floor and didn't want to even get up to go outside. I was worried, and we discussed calling the vet to get her in. I got home from dropping off Ayla and found Boo in the same spot we'd left her. The vet was able to get us in that evening, but things took a turn for the worse quickly. A dear friend stopped by with a graduation gift, and shortly after she left, Boo's eyes looked bright white and "off." She actually started to defecate on the couch, and I prompted her, "Outside." She stopped, but she didn't look okay. I was panicked at this concerning behavior, and I called hubby at work to tell him we needed to get in earlier. I called the vet, and they moved us up to an 11:30 appointment. Not long after that, I looked over and Boo's gums were stark white. I started crying, called Brandon to get right home, and called the vet to tell them we were rushing in. Brandon carried Boo to the car, and she was fading fast. He raced to vet, as I held her in my lap telling her to hold on. I thought we were going to lose her right there and then.
The vet techs brought her in rapidly on a stretcher. The gave her oxygen and did an ultrasound. Dr. Dan came in and told us she had an abdomen full of blood - her spleen had ruptured due to a splenic tumor. He rattled on about some rule of two-thirds. I was keeled over, sobbing, so I didn't get what he was saying. What I did hear: "We need to look for further signs of cancer. If we see more in there, we would recommend humane euthanization." The next minutes felt like a lifetime. I sobbed and laughed at the same time,, telling Brandon, "Of course this would happen two days before my boards." My wonderful sister-in-law brought both kids to the vet, as we didn't know what was going to transpire in the coming moments. The vet came back, much to our relief, with news of no signs of additional tumors. He felt she was a good candidate for surgery, and frankly, it was our only other option. She was hemorrhaging. The kids arrived, and they brought Boo in on the stretcher to see us before her surgery. She was very relaxed, thanks to the pain medication. These amazing vets and vet techs saved our girl. One of the techs so generously brought in her own dog to be sedated in order to take a blood donation to transfuse our girl with. I will never forget that.
Boo came through the surgery, and she remained stable for the two nights she was hospitalized. She came home the afternoon on the same day I took my boards. It was a damn good day. Our girl was home. As I told the kids, "Every day with her is a gift." The vet was hopeful that because her tumor was so large, it could turn out to be benign. The thinking behind that is that if the tumor could grow that large without rupturing, that was more behaviorally consistent with being benign versus a malignancy. Unfortunately, when the pathology came back, it showed she had hemangiosarcoma (HSA)- cancer originating in the blood vessels.
I had been researching HSA since I heard the word the day of her surgery. Two-thirds of masses on the spleen are malignant and two-thirds of those are hemangiosarcoma. Now the rule Dr. Dan described to me was fully "clicking." I am beyond grateful I found a group on Facebook of over 3,000 members who fought HSA, some with incredible outcomes. It started as a very small group, doing their own research, changing diet and using supplements to save their dogs. Digging beyond what most vets will tell people because honestly, many straight out suggest euthanasia. Among the mix were stories of dogs who went on to live 3 years post-diagnosis, while others lost their battle right away. This group gave me knowledge, it gave me hope, and it gave me such support. We initiated several supplements- graviola, turkey tail mushroom, yunnan baiyao, and milk thistle. We tried metronomic chemotherapy. Because I started training for my nursing job, I'd be gone during the day opposed to the nights I was used to working, which meant Boo would be home alone. I bought a video camera with an app so I could check in on her throughout the day. We bought her a new collar with bumblebees on it, reminiscent of her puppy Halloween costume. We took family photos, all 4 of us plus 3 dogs (and a very patient sister-in-law photographer). Every single day, we watched Boo diligently, medicating her, loving on her, and I rushed home from anywhere and everywhere to be sure she was well. We had a scare with her abdomen being rock hard along the incision after it had healed, and we feared a bleed (the main complication of HSA), but were lucky that it turned out to likely be swelling (although now I wonder...)
At the end of my first 4 weeks of nurse training, we went out for a celebratory breakfast. Afterwards, we had a code blue training to go to. My nursing sisters couldn't go to the hospital right away, so I decided I might as well run my leftovers home. I came home to Boo, with that look in her eyes and wobbly legs. 7 weeks post-splenectomy, October 12. I gave her the emergency pill from the yunnan baiyao rectally because she wouldn't eat. She chose to lay in the very same spot she had the day her spleen ruptured. We rushed to the vet, where they confirmed she was having a bleed. She ended up staying overnight for two nights. When we'd check in with them or visit, she seemed SO happy and to be doing SO well, despite her packed cell volume continuing to drop. I asked that the vet aggressively give yunnan baiyao, and he agreed. In fact, aside from monitoring, that is all they did (and were able to do, really). The second night she was away, I cried out of guilt to Brandon that if these were her final days, she was away from us. They sent her home to us on hospice/palliative care that Sunday. We took her out for a hot dog at our local dog friendly restaurant. I missed my first two nights of on the floor training at the hospital because I could not be away from her. Thankfully, my bosses were kind and good and gracious to me. A day after she came home, we had her packed cell volume rechecked and miraculously it came up from 18 to 22. The vet had warned us that when it drops to 15 it is a rapid decline, as 35 is what is considered normal. Over the next week, the only real issue we ran into was getting Boo to take her supplements. She was never a good pill taker, but now she was refusing them wrapped in cream cheese, which was the ultimate disguise that she didn't reject- even when she saw the stinky herbal pills go into the cheesy little squares. Our next attempt was to wrap them in butter, at the suggestion of Dr. Danielle (who happens to be married to Dr. Dan). Her cell volume remained 22 at her follow up a week later.
In the early midnight hours of October 25th, Boo and I were hanging out on the couch. She didn't seem to be feeling well, and I had to stay up so I could sleep the next day before my night shift. We eventually moved back to the bed, but she was so uncomfortable that she didn't lay her head down for several hours, even as Brandon lay beside her on the bed in her very favorite spot. That morning, I gave her a pain pill- the only one she ever needed, and she seemed more comfortable. But something was different. She was having shortness of breath, she wouldn't get up to go potty, and her belly was distended. When she got up to get a drink, she collapsed twice in a row. Brandon came home, and we kept an eye on her for awhile. I slept, something I still feel guilty for, as I was supposed to work. For the first time since her spleen ruptured, Boo could not get enough to drink. She was bleeding internally again, drinking to try and correct her low fluid volume. It was time...
We picked up the kids, Boo in tow, and headed to the appointment I wish I never had to make. The vet confirmed that her belly was full of blood, that we were making the right choice. The room was dimly lit with a water bubbler, a beautiful painting of waves on the wall, and a soft bed for Boo to lay on. We laid beside her, feeding her a bag full of treats after the vet gave her an injection of a sedative. She drifted to a comfortable rest, laying her head down, on top of and surrounded by her favorite blankets. The vet came, and we were by her side as she went to the Rainbow Bridge. I laid my head on her, hearing her final heart beat, feeling her final breath. We told her in those moments before she left us over and over that she was such a good girl, the last thing she'd hear us say. Our hearts were completely broken in that moment, but I am so grateful it was a perfect, peaceful, loving moment. There was no suffering or struggle. I smelled her sweet ear one last time and kissed her sweet face before taking the kids to the car. Even when they came to move her, so Brandon could collect our blankets, they held her gently and spoke softly to her- they knew her so well by that time.
We miss her tremendously, Brandon, the kids, myself, and the dogs (especially her lifelong partner Oscar). She is home with us now, after the loving care and cremation done by a very special local pet loss center. This grief is like waves, as my dear friend described it. They came initially one after another, pounding us mercilessly. Now they ebb and flow. Some days I feel okay, which feels like a betrayal- like I am not grieving enough, while others I feel so lost and worry- what if? Did we do the right thing? The kids continue to express their thoughts and feelings, and I know that even though this is hard beyond hard, they are learning about grief- the price of love. We are getting through this together, moment by moment, day by day. We love our girl, and we carry her with us. We know she is with us, and we are grateful for the signs she sends us along this grief journey. I will continue to speak her name, and I will share her story. I remain in the HSA facebook group to carry others through this, as they carried me and reassured me even after Boo was gone. My final thoughts are- time is precious, a priceless gift, and it escapes us more quickly than we think. Snuggle your dogs a bit closer tonight in honor of our Boo girl.
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