My Dog's Life

In June this year, I noticed that my dog, Pearl, a big, slobbery, energetic German Shepherd/Boxer mutt seemed to have a small infection under her left eye lid, so I took her in to the vet.  Vet says, 'I think it's a sty...here's are some drops...lets see if we can clear that up.'  So, we used the drops and perhaps it was wishful thinking on my part, but I thought I saw some improvement.  I even took her back for a follow up visit and we decided, 'Yes.  A little better.'  But the vet did say, 'if you don't see it all cleared up in the next month, I want you to go to the veterinary opthomalogist, and she gave me the name and number.

August comes and I actually think her eye looks worse, so we go to the specialist.  My 11 year old daughter is with me and it's about a week before school starts.  Pearl gets a very thorough examination.  And notable silence from the doc.  After about 20 minutes, he sits down and says (in front of my daughter),

'This is not good.  What you have is not an eye problem.  What you have is a skull problem and what is happening is an inoperable tumor which is growing up into her eye on this left side and down into her nasal passage on the left side.  This is not curable and not really treatable.'

 I am aware of my daughter's presence.  I am aware of my hospice background.  I am also aware of the cost of veterinary interventions.  Lots is happening in my head at this moment and I say, "Well, what about radiation?'

He says, 'You could do radiation, but it could cause more discomfort without enough added benefit.'

'So doc,' I say, 'I worked in hospice for almost 7 years.  I know about extraordinary measures and quality of life.  If we did radiation, how much time do you think?'

'Even with radiation, less than a year.  And I wouldn't recommend radiation.  There are secondary issues.'

My daughter and I left the appointment with the dog.  She'd been stoic the whole time, but I know her.  Even at age 5 playing soccer, she was proud.  She would not cry on the field if she got hurt, but wait until half time and then come over to the sideline with me and her dad and cry very quietly, wipe the tears, and get back on the field.

Once in the car, she sobbed.  'I just don't think we should do extraordinary measures,' she wailed.

Me too.

I want to tell you about me and Pearl.  We had a rough start, in a way.  When we got her from the Humane Society, she was a 9 month old ball of muscle and energy.  She'd been turned in because she was ungovernable or some word like that.  But, she was so affectionate.  I'd told my then husband that I wouldn't get a dog until our kids were both out of diapers, because I was cleaning up too much poop as it was.  So, Pearl came to us when our daughter was just over three years old.

Pearl had to be walked at least twice a day.  She sometimes nipped my butt if I stood in the kitchen doing dishes and she wanted my attention.  She was cute, but frankly, she annoyed me.  I liked the cats better - quiet and non-demanding.  They pooped in a box.  So civilized.  Pearl also loved love and attention, which I was giving out like a maniac to everyone else in my house - being the mom of a 3 year old and 5 year old takes a lot of love, patience, and physical presence.  I kind of thought of the dog as belonging to those people, but not me  - I would walk and run her.  I would feed her.  And they could love and snuggle her.

And this very practical relationship lasted for years.  But, as many animals do, including humans, as she got older, she mellowed.  My life changed.  We moved.  I got divorced.  One cat died.  The kids got older.  We moved again.  Another cat died.  And the way Pearl and I did what we did together changed.  The way I was with Pearl changed.

I think I know Pearl in a different way.  I think I understand her quality of life.  Here are some ways we are alike:  We both love to run.  Few things are as pure as being outside in the fresh air and running.  In fact, we both love outside as much as we love running.  We look around and we smell the air.  Pearl smells everything.  And, we like to play - before we run we play a pouncing game, where we both pounce at one another and tease and chase.  I love her in a different way now.  She is not just one more thing that 'needs.'  I appreciate the ways we are alike.  I also appreciate her lovey-ness in a different way.  I see how much she loves everyone.  When children come to our house, she licks them in the face.  When adults visit, she jumps on them and licks them in the face too, if they let her.  She loves nothing better than when one of the kids lies on the floor with her and lets her be a lap dog.  And when she paws me as I sit on the couch (Pet Me! Pet Me!, she seems to say).  I'll love and pet her and when I say, "Go lie down", she does it.  Which I appreciate, too.

I think this phrase is interesting - extraordinary measures.  In bioethics, one way to define the term is when treatment will not cure or alleviate a disease process or when the benefits of treatment do not outweigh the burden of the treatment. 

So many times, we think we know what is best for someone else.  Often I see this when people talk with me about aging parents and their health decisions.   But, when we love someone, we need to ask ourselves, what makes them, them?  Are their decisions reflecting that?  It may not always be an attractive quality - maybe they are stubborn.  Maybe they are private.  If this is their nature, it might also be their quality of life. 

With the holidays approaching, I've had more folks to my house recently and when they see Pearl, they say, "Oh, poor baby I feel bad for her."  Pearl's tumor has covered almost her entire left eye now.  It's red and uneven and a little ooey-looking.  She looks like a badass, in a way.  She doesn't seem to have any discomfort now that she's gotten used to being blind in one eye. 

I say, "Don't feel sorry for her.  She is happy."  She runs just as much as ever.  She pounces more than ever.  She smells the wind and stays outside on an unseasonably warm day, if she can.  She loves her people just as much as ever. 

With an animal, it's poignant - they can't tell you what quality of life is, so you have to pay attention to them.  What makes an animal happy?  How have they enjoyed their time in life?

I am sad we will not have Pearl longer.  But I also don't really know how long we will have her.  I just want her time left to be full of these things that make Pearl, Pearl.  You know what I mean?

What is it that makes you, you?  What do you love?  What brings you joy? 

Spend your time this way.  And if you're unsure where to start, try smelling the wind.  And play chase with a dog now and again.