Heartbroken But Grateful

I don't even know where to start—

I guess I'll start by saying my life abruptly stopped in its tracks and remained on hold for the good part of about two weeks or so, while the rest of the world carried on as normal. I never made mention of anything, but rather clung on to my own strength—what little I had left in me. 

I knew over a month ago that something was wrong. I had a deep feeling in my gut that was unsettling. I don't want to say that I ignored it, because I most certainly didn't, but maybe I downplayed it too much. Maybe I was just so annoyed hearing, "he's fine" for the 100th time. But he wasn't though. He wasn't fine. I reached out to our vet because the concern was starting to create more worry. But I didn't want to feel like I was over reacting or being that crazy helicopter mom that everyone hates. We are the worst! 

My worry finally took over though. The gut feeling I had—just became a real life nightmare. To make a long story short, if you don't want to keep reading, our dog was given a terminal diagnosis on a Monday and we lost him that Friday. Gone—just like that. The days leading up to that point weren’t any better. Sure I went through the motions—woke up each morning. Brushed my teeth. Had my coffee—but that was it of my daily routine. I didn't write. I didn't work on projects. I didn't workout. Nothing! I totally withdrew from everything. If I'm being honest, I'm lucky I made it to work every day. Nick told me I was depressed. Ugh—

Go ahead and judge me, but I spent hours and hours, every day—just loving on my sweet Kelty! If he was out laying in the grass, I was too. If he picked a spot on the floor, that's where I was. If he wanted to eat his breakfast out of my hand, that's what we did. I don't feel shame for any of it. It's just what I did. 

Life up to this point was pretty normal for Nick. He's not a worrywart like me. I wish I could live with the mindset there is no sense in worrying until you actually know something is wrong. Even then—worrying doesn't change the situation, it just adds unnecessary stress. But that's just not my M.O. I WORRY!

I could tell Kelty wasn't feeling well and something was off with him. But he couldn't tell me what was wrong and even if he could, I doubt he would anyways. I finally caved and we took him to the vet on Saturday, hours before we were supposed to be at a wedding. It's always great timing, isn't it? We saw a vet that we don’t normally see, but it was emergent. The x-rays were suspicious and the bloodwork results didn't help our case. While we weren't given an official diagnosis at that time, the wheels were turning. I knew it wasn't going to be good news. Nick was still optimistic. I was not.

Fast forward to Monday—the ultrasound would provide us with the answers we needed, but surely didn't want. I remember waiting for that call. Although I don't have the vet's number saved in my phone, I have it memorized. Yes—that’s how often we pay them a visit. I heard the vibration, looked over and saw the number. My heart sank—this was the moment I have been dreading. On the other end, was such a soft and sweet voice. It was the voice of another vet in the clinic and one we've never seen before. As she delivered the news, it took every ounce of strength to hold myself together. Our sweet boy had hemangiosarcoma. I didn’t even quite understand but I understood enough to know it wasn’t good. The timeline wasn’t promising, but it was something. She could tell I was absolutely devastated and I could feel her heartbreak for me. Even though there was nothing to apologize for, she was so sincere in offering up her deep compassion and empathy. I asked a few questions, but really just wanted to know how soon I could come pick up my boy. 

As soon as I hung up, I was a wreck—as you can probably imagine. I think I would've handled getting my own terminal diagnosis much better. I didn't know what to do. I sobbed. I prayed. Nick was teaching so I couldn't call him to break the news just yet. So I called my mom. She was ready to drive to Kentucky right there and then, just to be with us and love on her grandpup. But I was convinced we had time. Other than being slowed down, Kelty seemed like he was doing ok. Scarfed down every meal. Barked all the time, at everything and nothing. Wagged his tail and greeted us at the door. All typical Kelty things. I have since learned that our dear pups will hide things from us—like pain and discomfort. They will carry on, until the very last moments, just for us. Talk about unconditional love!

We spent our time loving on our sweet boy, all while trying not to neglect the other two who needed us as well. There were endless tears. I already wasn't sleeping or eating and now I took it to the next level. My stress was off the charts. I reached out to our vet once again, the one who knows our babies so well—she knew already. I explained that we were going to let him live out his days as long as he was comfortable and not in pain. Although her response seemed content and understanding, I got a different vibe. I know not to read into text messages, but it seemed as if she was trying to tell me something and I wasn't putting it together. I told Nick I wasn't sure we were making the right decision. And if I've learned anything with all of this, it's to trust my gut feeling. At this point we had talked with three different vets at the same clinic, all of whom are amazing—but I felt like there were varying opinions on our situation. We didn't know what the right decision was, but we were willing to do whatever was best for our baby! 

After just a couple more days and increasing concern, I again contacted our vet and mentioned that Kelty's abdomen seemed to be noticeably larger. We certainly did not want to wait for his spleen to rupture, which we knew was likely to come. So, we leaned on our vet, as we often do. She's incredible and one of the very best humans I know. Out of respect for her and her privacy, she will remain nameless, however. I could not be open and honest about this experience if I did not include the huge role our vet played in all of this. Honestly if you asked me to describe her, this is what I would tell you—She is the person that would give the Patagonia sweater off her back to someone and when they thanked her and explained how much it helped them—her reply would be something along the lines of, "yeah, Patagonia makes really good stuff"! Takes ZERO credit but deserves ALL of it. We love her so very much! 

I was putting all of our trust in her to help guide us in making the right decision—not for us, but for Kelty. It was probably wrong for me to do this, but she is who I turn to when I'm just not sure. I know that she is honest and sincere and will always lead us in the right direction. With her guidance and expertise, we decided that we needed to euthanize our sweet boy. He deserved to have a graceful exit from this life. This was Thursday evening and we were making the call first thing in the morning. 

The rest of the night was the most agonizing experience I've ever had. Nick had been so strong through all of it and held himself together up to this point. He was our rock! He was the epitome of what every good man and husband would be in a difficult time. As I lay in bed, already in my own tears, thoughts and prayers, just like every other night—I look over and see him on the floor, snuggling Kelty on his dog bed. I could hear the crying and feel the pain. It was killing me. I knew there was nothing I could do to take that pain and sadness away. It was so real. It was so raw. It's a moment I will never ever forget! A dad and his boy, his hunting partner, his companion, his everything! He knew and I knew we were losing a piece of us that we would never get back. The love we had for our sweet boy was endless, but it seemed like it was ending prematurely. 

When the final moment came Friday morning, our vet was right there at our side, just as she said she would be. She made it the most comfortable experience it could have possibly been. I know it was hard for her. I can't imagine having to endure that pain and be a rock at the same time. She loved on us and our sweet boy. As we endured the hardest decision and deepest heartache of our lives, I could feel the pain and sadness our vet was also experiencing. But she remained so strong for us. I wish I could give her all the credit she deserves because she'll never know just what she means to us. There are not enough words to properly thank her. The love, care and compassion that she graced Kelty with over the years, is unmatched. She literally pours her heart and soul into being the best she can possibly be. It's so evident. 

The rest of Friday was incredibly hard. We left the vet's office shattered and just—empty. I don't know how else to explain it. We sat in the parking lot for a few minutes to gather ourselves. There was no taking back what we had just done. It was over. Thirty minutes prior our dog walked into the clinic on his own power and now we were leaving without him. We knew we made the right decision but that did not take away the immense pain we were feeling. I can honestly say, for the first time in my life, my heart was broken. Now I know what a broken heart truly feels like. The pain is indescribable.

We broke the news to family and friends. It was rough. Very rough. The outpouring of love and support was amazing. We felt every bit of it and needed it so much. So thank you, to everyone who reached out to us! And in case you're wondering, which at one point I asked my mom—it is possible to run out of tears. It's called getting dehydrated. It just means your eyes hurt really bad as you try to cry but tears aren’t coming out. As soon as you rehydrate however, they come rolling out once again. Ask me how I know!

As I sit here and type this, with tears streaming down my face yet again, today is exactly one week of losing our sweet boy. It hasn't really gotten easier, we are just adjusting. We have two four-legged babies at home that need us. We have no choice but to move on. Kelty's ashes sit on a shelf in our living room—anxiously awaiting for the Fall to arrive. We will spread him on our next hunting trip. It's what he loved. It's what he lived for! He was unstoppable in the field. 

Kelty—we love you so much, sweet boy. You are irreplaceable. We will never forget you. You will remain in our hearts forever! 

To the vets that played a role in the timely diagnosis and care for Kelty—we thank you, from the bottom of our hearts! To our #1 vet—there just aren't enough words. I'll just leave it at—Hallelujah Even Here!