Registered: 1515784620 Posts: 1
His name was Colin, a gray toy poodle, and he was 12 when he decided to abandon me over a month ago. He was diagnosed with hepatitis at the beginning of May. He threw up for days, his eyes and skin were yellow, and he was weak. I rushed him to a vet 4 hrs drive from home and he stayed there for almost two weeks. Maybe he was old, or maybe he was too used to sleeping with me at night, he didn’t get better being left alone at the vet’s clinic and so I decided to take care of him at home with the vet’s approval. I started making adjustments to his needs, feeding him with specially formulated dog food 4-5 times a day using syringe (just because he never ate dog food and refused to eat it), feed him drinks every hour using syringe as well (the vet said he had to drink often), and gave him his meds after his meals. I had thought if he didn’t get better, at least I wanted to give him a peace of mind by letting him stay at the house instead of an unfamiliar place, but to everyone’s surprise, he got better. He returned to his normal self over a week after I nursed him. The first thing he wanted was a KFC’s chicken that I ate and that was the fist time he asked for food after his recovery! I took him to the vet once a week afterwards for his check-up for over six months, and we did blood test every month. I always prioritized him over my work and I dedicated my life to nurse him back hoping for a complete recovery. A month later, his jaundice came back after the vet decided to stop his antibiotics. We were back to square one, but I didn’t give up. I rubbed his belly when he threw up, held him in my arms when he couldn’t sleep, and he always managed to get better. This cycle repeated for a while and his recovery got slower every time his jaundice came back.
I didn’t know what I did wrong, I didn’t feed him just any kind of food. Hygiene was my number one priority and I only gave him high quality organic meats (beef and chicken) to supplement his food preferences, I never skipped his meds, and I gave him demineralized bottled water only. But to my own dismay, the hepatitis always came striking him two weeks after the vet stopped his antibiotics, right before we scheduled his next step of treatment. The last relapse maybe was too much for him to handle. He never returned to his old self anymore until he passed away later on. The last hepatitis stayed for almost a month before it completely took him away. He could barely walked, he was wobbly and tripped alot. He never barked anymore and he stopped playing with me. He still persistently following me everywhere and he got attached to me even more. I had to help him pee (he couldn’t stand steady to pee so I held him secure in his place), and I massaged his butt when he gave up pooping halfway just because he was constipated, I took him everywhere he needed to go, I held him sleeping soundly in my arms most of the time, and I couldn’t count how many times I wished for a miracle to bring back his wagging tail for me.
That day came when I was sleeping in the middle of the night and he wanted to pee. He woke me up, and I opened the door for him. One thing I regret until today, the thing that still haunts me the most after all this while, is that I left him to pee on his own while I decided to go to the bathroom myself. I should have known better that he had been strange for a while, that he no longer remembered the house’s layout, that he kept bumping into furnitures alot, and that his eyesight deteriorated so much because of the last relapse, but I left him alone that night and he fell from the second floor’s stairs’ railing. My heart sank when I heard the thump. I ran to the stairs and saw him tried his best to stand up. I was stupid, I was the most idiotic person ever lived, I had thought he was okay since he didn’t whine or show any pain from the fall. Little did I know, I was the one who killed him two days later.
Less than 24 hours after his fall, he showed even a stranger behavior. I knew that he could be listless for a while and kept walking aimlessly and the vet said it was normal for an old dog to behave that way, but he was strange that night. He slept only for an hour on my back (I put my bed on the floor so that it was easier for him to hop on and sleep with me) before he walked again restlessly. The morning came and he showed a new sign, he kept bumping his head to the wall, or anything he could push his head against. I panicked, but 4 hours drive was such a long time to bring him to his vet and I was afraid it was too much for him to handle with his condition. I called his vet, doubled his liver vitamin dosage, fed him, did anything I could to make him better, and he finally slept in the afternoon. That was the last time he was conscious. Hours later was filled with anxiety, tears, prayers, and hopeless wishes as I saw him violently jerking his body in his sleep every few minutes. Almost midnight that day he got his first seizure. It was 4 minutes long. 2 hours later he got his second seizure. The torture kept repeating itself for 8 times and it became more frequently each time until there was only a few seconds moment of peace before the next seizure. The 8th one got him. He stopped breathing, choked, and two minutes later his heart stopped beating. I wailed, I screamed, I called his name so many times begging him not to leave me, but maybe he got tired of me and decided to leave me forever. It was November 21st, 18 minutes to 4. It was still dark, but the night had taken him with it as the dawn came. My mom and my little brother were there, they let him go, but a part of me left with him that day and never came back again.
I stopped talking. I couldn’t eat without feeling nauseated.I cried. Everywhere I went reminded me of him and still does. Everyday feels like a torture. I feel stupid. I feel worthless. I am a failure. For 6 months I had dedicated my life for him from the morning until late at night. Family was number 2, work was number 3, and myself was number 4. That day I put myself first and I killed him. I couldn’t stop blaming myself. Being alone makes me mad with the thoughts of his last moments and I just wish I could die to see him again and apologize. I know I’m overreacting, people around me say so, but my mind always decides to have its own play button and messes me up. Am I gonna be okay? This seems like an endless torture I’m having...
Sorry for the long post, I think I’m overreacting again, or maybe I’m just being too wimpy, but it’s impossible to imagine living without him, I’m scared of my own thoughts...