What Do You Say When the Unthinkable Occurs?

This morning, our wonderful and beloved Sally died. Just two weeks ago, I took her to the vet as she was out of sorts. Blood tests came back normal and we thought it was probably a back or neck strain from all of her jumping around, especially as dachshunds are prone to back problems. As the days progressed, her symptoms were minimal in the mornings, when she pranced around like her old self, but would come on more as the day progressed. The afternoons would find her sacked out on my bed, sleeping, with some tenderness and discomfort if you tried to move her.

Monday afternoon, when out in the yard to pee, she seemed to be experiencing a higher level of pain than I'd seen before. On her way back to the house, she stopped walking a few times as if it was quite painful for her to continue. Tuesday morning, she was extremely sensitive to any kind of motion, either her own or mine. That afternoon, I took her over to the Tufts animal hospital, which is a high-powered veterinary teaching hospital about an hour from here. We went there when our now-deceased dachshund Sadie needed back surgery. I thought we were in for back surgery in Sally's instance as well. The vets that examined her thought that likely too, as her symptoms were consistent with a herniated disc in her neck. They said she'd get a CT scan on Wednesday morning to confirm the diagnosis.

Sally needed anesthesia for the scan. About half an hour after the anesthesia was administered, she stopped breathing on her own. They breathed manually for her for about an hour, but she never took over breathing for herself. They put her on a respirator and set her up with fluids to help flush out the dye used for the scan, in case her problem was due to an allergic reaction. They also began treatment for her real malady, meningitis, that was identified as a result of the scan. But, as the day progressed, her status remained unchanged and the prognosis grew more dire. By early evening, we decided there was not really any hope for a recovery but had the hospital keep her on the respirator through the night. That way, I could go to the hospital in the morning and, assuming no miracle occurred, would be able to say goodbye and be with her when she died.

Two dear friends drove me over early this morning while a third stayed with Skip. When we arrived, the vet neurologist told us that Sally's situation had further deteriorated overnight as she was no longer able to control her electrolytes or blood sugar. Clearly, the condition was unrecoverable. We went in to the ICU to see our little Sally girl, stroke her, give her a kiss and cry while we said our goodbyes. They gave her the injections to euthanize her and, poof, in a moment, she was gone for good.

Goodbye, Sally, we will miss you more than you could possibly imagine!