MWG Writes on Q
March 2015
Heart to Heart
hours when he was younger…” I gave him extra cuddles to let him know I loved him, no matter
what.
I started his antibiotics. That evening, Max wanted another stroll, but it was raining. “If it’s nice
tomorrow, I’ll take you for a walk”, I promised. I was so worried about his low appetite and relieved
to see him finally eat some food.
“Mom, tonight, I’ll sleep on the couch,” my daughter offered. Gratefully, I went upstairs and
crashed. Early Wednesday morning, my daughter shook me awake saying Max had vomited and
there was blood in his vomit. I rushed down and saw the horrifying evidence. “Oh, no! He must
have bleeding ulcers from all the meds!” Max grew restless, his breathing more labored and his
tongue started turning blue. My husband got the car started. We called the hospital and asked them
to have a gurney waiting. We got Max into the car, stretched out on the back seat gasping, his head
cradled on my lap. How many times Max sat on the back seat of this same car, heading out to the
dog park, in happier times! I stroked and comforted him, while crying and banging my fist,
frustrated at the slow traffic, while life was ebbing from my beloved pet. And I felt powerless to stop
it.
At the hospital, Max was loaded onto the gurney and rushed inside. We went in and filled out forms.
It looked bad for him. The hospital gave us a private room to wait in. We cried, knowing what was
coming next. After about ten minutes, the vet came in. “Max’s condition is bad, we couldn’t get a
blood pressure. There’s some massive internal bleeding and his vital signs are going down. He’s
suffering. It would be kinder to just let him go.”
We understood Max was not going to make it alive from this blow. There was really nothing to be
done, except end his suffering. We said we were ready, consent forms were signed. Then Max was
wheeled in. I just rested my head on his body, sobbing, stroking his fur and softly talking to him. I
told him how much I loved him and will miss him forever. The vet inserted the needle as I lovingly
held my boy one last time. A few seconds later, the vet said “He’s gone now,” and left us to have
some quiet moments with Max. After several minutes, I tore myself away from his still body, paid
the bill and left, numb with grief and hopelessness.
We reached home shocked and silent. It felt like all the joy had been sucked out from me, leaving an
empty, sad shell. How did all this happen so suddenly just when I felt he was improving? A world
without Max seemed meaningless. I read some comforting poems from a pet loss website. I wished I
could get some evidence that Max was fine in whichever realm he had gone to, then I can recover. I’ll
miss him, but I’ll at least accept his loss, in the hope we’ll reunite sometime, somewhere over the
rainbow.
Last walk