10/21/18 – 11/4/21
My little Elmo.
I gave Elmo everything I had to give. Every ounce of effort. Every minute of my time. Every loving beat of my heart. All I wanted was to love him and care for him the best I possibly could and make him as happy as he could ever be. Elmo brought me immeasurable love and joy. Just watching him sleep or enjoying the sunshine made me smile. I was in constant awe of his pure innocence, contentment, and incredible resiliency. But it was also so completely overwhelming at times, I felt like I was going to have a total breakdown – juggling 2 jobs, (and looking for a new job for the past several months), and all of life’s other stressors and drama, in addition to round the clock care for this little creature I called Elmo. Basically, I am a single mom of a severely special-needs child with no back up. It’s all me. 24/7/365. I hate when I am weak under pressure. I hate that I became impatient with him at times. I hate that I ever had a negative thought when it came to him. But I am only human. And I admit that I am weak at times. I hate how cranky I was the other night thinking horrible things as I was getting in and out of bed with him again and again and again and again in the middle of the cold night, wondering why he was not wanting to sleep as usual. The frustration of getting him to eat (although baby food became our saving grace … THANK YOU GERBER!) Or when he would eat and then spit up his baby food everywhere over and over again. Everywhere. On the floor. In the car. On my clothes. On the furniture. Washing his blankies that were covered in spit up. All part of the evil nature of kidney failure.
My first dog, Emmy (she was literally my alter ego in the form of a dog) died of kidney failure at 17+ years of age. She left on her terms, while napping at the hospital where she was receiving IV fluids to flush her kidneys. She did me the favor of taking her exit into her own hands, and for that, I will be eternally grateful.
My beloved Elliott had bladder cancer but the tumor basically overtook his kidneys so, symptomatically, he died of kidney failure and his last few weeks were rather similar to Elmo’s. Eerily similar. Although Elliott’s passing was anything but peaceful and will always haunt me.
Knowing that Elmo has had a myriad of health issues crop up over the last 1-1 1/2 years – a collapsed trachea, chronic lung disease, heart condition, seizures (or so the neurologist thought) on top of kidneys that were starting to show signs of failure – I knew every day of the last year or more was precious, borrowed time with him. I know he hated all his (liquid) meds but he took them without fail (thank God for the compounding pharmacy here in Redondo Beach). He had extremely life threatening events that landed him in the hospital several times, where survival was questionable, yet he always pulled through. And somehow I had this crazy, (more like insane) fantasy that my love would bring him through this crisis as well. He has had collapsing episodes (cardiologist said they were heart related/ neurologist swore they were all actual seizures – although I agreed with the cardiologist 100%) for the past 2 years. And at this point, they don’t totally freak me out any more like they used to.
So yesterday, while I was in a Zoom meeting, he started convulsing on the blanket next to me. I was almost in disbelief wondering is this just a normal collapsing episode (?) because it seems to be quite different and thought, ok hopefully it’s just another “episode”. And then after like 2 minutes (the other ones were very short) I realized he wasn’t stopping. And that’s when I knew something was seriously wrong. On top of the fact that he had been VERY weak all day and literally couldn’t stand up and was twitching (??) but his family vet said oh he’s just got low blood sugar from not eating for a day or so. Just feed him his baby food with a syringe. So I did – before this episode happened on the couch next to me.
Sadly, it was more than just low blood sugar. Starting to panic, I left the Zoom meeting and scooped him up and called the vet and they said to take him to the ER right away at ACCESS hospital in Torrance. They texted me the address, sent over his medical records so the hospital would be prepared for his arrival. They all have been so incredibly kind at Redondo Shores. They love Elmo so much.
I was pretty hysterical on the drive over through afternoon traffic. My friend Anna talked to me the whole way there so I wouldn’t crash. They met us at the car and said he was having a grand mal seizure and took him in right away for treatment. He had bitten down on this towel that was near his blanket and would not let go and was seizing all the way to the ER which was a 20 minute drive. I wanted to just get there, but at the same time I didn’t want to get there because I was scared that would be the last time I got to hold him. They gave him 2 doses of diazepam to calm him down and at that time they thought ok, we will have the neurologist look at him in the morning and once he stabilizes, maybe we will just add phenobarbital to his long list of daily meds to control the seizures better. There was nothing else I could do at this point, so I told them I would call to check in every few hours, but to call me if anything came up. I called our awesome pharmacist at Pill Box pharmacy and asked for his input on phenobarbital. He reassured me it’s a very normal course of action to add phenobarbital to a medicine regimen and not to worry. It will help control the seizures when layered with his keppra. I called the hospital to make certain they knew the dosages of all his current meds and asked how he was doing. She said he’s just sedated and resting. Ok. I had faith that he would somehow recover from all of this.
That was, until they ran the bloodwork.
I was cleaning the apartment getting things ready for him to come home today and decided to take a long hot shower, as I rarely have the luxury to take showers because I don’t like to leave him unattended even for one minute.
When I really need to shower, I usually have my mom “babysit” via FaceTime so I can take a quick shower and know that he is being supervised. I even had my apartment maintenance man, Raul, babysit Elmo once during the day so I could take a quick shower. The things us doggy moms do for our babies.
So I figured since he was at the hospital being cared for, I would take an overdue, long hot shower. I thought about bringing the phone in to the bathroom but then was like nahh. Of course, as Murphy’s law always goes, I get out of the shower and I see a missed call from the hospital. My stomach dropped. The voicemail from the Dr said she had some “very concerning results” to go over with me and to call her right away. I called the hospital immediately and was on hold for probably 20 minutes, as she was on another call. My friend/hairdresser Chloe was kind enough to text with me while I was waiting to talk to the Dr.
The Dr finally picked up the line and she said that unfortunately, his kidney values came in “too high” to measure. They were literally off the charts (in a very bad way.) She went on to say his blood pressure was dropping. His heart rate was shallow and speeding up and his body temperature was dropping as well. Essentially, his body was shutting down and she felt that at this point he was suffering. She asked if I would like to come spend some time with him. Of course. So in a panicked stupor I got dressed, picked out his favorite blankie to bring with me, and drove to the hospital. Chloe talked to me the whole way there so I wouldn’t crash. I arrived, they brought me inside, and put me in a visiting room. A couple minutes later my phone rings and it’s the Dr asking where I was? How close? He started seizing again and his time was running short due to suffering. I said I’m here. Please ask them what room they put me in and bring him to me.
A minute later she brought Elmo in on a bed with a blankie over him. He was trembling and his eyes were glazed over. She said he was basically comatose due to the body shutting down from all the poison and toxins that the kidneys could no longer filter out.
I was petting him for just a minute before she started the injections. It was over so quickly. I was talking to him from the time I saw him, just in case he could still hear me. I wanted him to know I was there. Mommy’s here, Elmo. Mommy’s here.
She said I could stay with him for as long as I needed. So I curled up on the couch with him for about 2 hours. Just petting his head and his soft hair. Feeling each of his paws between my fingers. Just watching him and thinking what a perfect and precious little creature he is. As if he was just sleeping peacefully next to me.
I didn’t want to leave him. I really didn’t. I wanted to just stay in the room all night with him, but the room seemed to be getting colder and rigor mortis was setting in.
I signed some cremation papers and clipped a small tuft of his beautiful soft hair from his head (I had a whole baggie of hair that I clipped from him this summer, but had to have a little more). A tech came in and chatted with me for a few minutes and like a zombie, I left the building and got in my car for the drive home.
On my way home. Without Elmo. To no one. No more Elmo. That was the last time I would see and feel his little body ever again.
No more late night meds or the coughing from the bitterness. No more crazy medicine scheduling. No more spitting up. No more sub-q fluid appointments at the family vet. No more flea shampoos. No more shots. No more itching. No more kidney supplements. No more collapsing episodes. No more heart or trachea induced coughing. No more EKGs and no more blood tests. No more specialists. No more hospitals. No more counting his breathing rate to make sure his heart was doing ok. No more emails to numerous specialists trying to figure out how to treat all of Elmo’s conditions. No more running into brick walls and trees. No more freaking out about bad air quality days or high elevations and the dangerous effect they have on his heart & lungs.
No more walks around the neighborhood. No more sunsets over the ocean together. No more sunbathing or rolling blissfully in the grass. No more nuzzling his nose and napping in the grass while soaking up that warm sunshine. No more sitting in the sand and letting the sun hit our faces while smelling the fresh salty air. No more KFC thighs with rice for dinner. Or hearing the kids at the KFC drive thru window say oh it’s the dog lady!, upon hearing my order over and over again. “One thigh please.” And then all of them waiting at the window just to see Elmo. He was a celebrity. We were famous at the local KFC. No more Carls Jr kiddie patties. No more driving around town hoarding chicken and turkey Gerber baby food. No more cuddling on the couch together under our soft blankies. No more jumping in circles when he’s feeling feisty and playful. No more stopping at the edge of the bed or the couch waiting to be lifted up or placed on the floor. No more full body shake off each time I put his harness on, signaling that he was ready for his walkie. No more rubbing his face on a clean blankie or on one of his 4 beds, or rolling around to dry off after a bath. No more walkies, watching him trot that happy little trot with his tail swinging from side to side. No more digging and kicking dirt or wood chips all over the place. No more down-doggy stretches in the mornings after waking up. No more hanging out on our little lawns that I planted just for him to lay on while I work. No more scooting across the grass on his tummy while wagging his tail out of sheer joy. No more “jumping/flying” off of curbs. No more sharing my pita bread, cheese pizza, morning oatmeal, crackers, cucumbers, squash or muffins. No more road trips together to all sorts of fun places. No more feeding baby food with a spoon and Elmo letting me wipe his chin afterward. No more loving the sound of his little tongue lapping up the baby food from the spoon or water from his water bowl. No more visits to our bungalow in Denver and enjoying our own luxurious yard full of grass. No more watching him walk, run or prance toward the sound of my clapping. No more rubbing his perfect little face all the way down to the tip of his nose. No more nuzzling his head and face in my hand as he readjusts and plops back down to sleep. No more holding him in my arm while we walk, with his paw over my hand and wrist for support. No more midday and pre/post dinner walkies at the beach. No more waking up in the middle of the night just to watch him sleep peacefully. Oh he slept so beautifully.
This little one who saved me from myself, from the darkest depths of despair after Elliott died, is now gone as well. Many people told me I shouldn’t have gotten an older dog after losing Elliott. But when that girl brought in this itty bitty, scared, blind doggy who was bumping into walls and looked so thin and frail, with sparse hair, what was I supposed to do? I knew from the second she brought him in that he was coming home with me. Who needed who more? It’s a toss up. I just knew I had to take him out of that shelter and give him love. And boy did he ever flourish. He grew so much hair he was like a furry little monster. Put on 2 pounds and knew that I would give him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.
I saved him, but he saved me. I have never had quite this kind of love for either of my other dogs, whom I loved sooo deeply. But Elmo was just this helpless, innocent, completely content little creature, despite alllll the challenges, all the problems, all the scary things, and who knows what else before I found him at the shelter.
Emmy was my mini me. Fierce. Independent. Loved only me and hated everyone else. Did things her way until her very last breath.
Elliott, was like my husband and buddy. Totally outgoing. Social. Adventurous. Maniac. So loyal. Withstood 2 years of chemo and radiation and fought bladder cancer like a warrior JUST FOR ME.
And then there’s Elmo. This most innocent, helpless little baby doll who needed me 24/7. And I would have done it forever if I could have.
3 years was so short. Too short. Yet I’m so thankful I had the chance to love him and receive his love in return. And the mark he made on my heart is just as big as all the others.
The pain is so deep. I actually feel the pain in my heart. This entire apartment was set up for him. His beds. His blankies. The washcloths for his face. The washcloths next to the bed for when he spit up at night. The towel to dry his feet with after rinsing off when we came in from our walks. Special fragrance and chemical-free doggy wipes for his heiny. An air purifier to keep the air inside the apartment clean and safe for his heart and lungs. An air quality monitor to measure the air quality inside the apartment. The bags and bags of medicine in the fridge with labels and marked syringes so I didn’t accidentally overdose him in a fatigued or unfocused state of mind. An oxygen concentrator set up near the electrical outlet in case he collapsed or needed oxygen. Emergency oxygen canisters to take when we traveled in case he needed oxygen on a road trip. Anything and everything I could do to help this little one live longer and be comfortable.
Everything I did was for Elmo. And now, he’s gone. Just the memory of the sweetest and littlest doggy I’ve ever known and loved. As with my other babies, including my dear sweet kitty, Lumpy, there will never ever be another one like any of them. Nothing and no one will ever fill this void in my heart. I pray they are all in heaven together waiting for their reunion with mommy some day.
I love you Elmo, with all of my being. I just hope you know, without a doubt, how much you are loved and adored. My precious little Elmooooooo. Elmieeeee.
Finding Sally 