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| Paul had an incredible zest for life |
The events that followed are still blurry to me as I have subconsciously tried to erase as much as possible from my memory.
Paul was shaky as we gently walked him into the office. Dr. M saw him and ran a whole slew of tests, none of which showed anything unusual. Paul was healthy, according to the tests, as he had been since the day we got him from the Humane Society of North Texas. We took him home perplexed at his ailment.
We continued to walk him slowly the next day but his condition deteriorated prompting our decision to take him to a 24 hour emergency veterinary clinic nearby in Lewisville. The emergency vet examined him and discovered that he was experiencing pain upon the examination of his neck. She took x-rays and consulted with the other vet in the clinic to come to the conclusion that Paul may have Wobbler's syndrome, a common degenerative disk disease. The only way we could know for sure was to get an MRI. The emergency clinic had a neurologist who would come in on Monday so we decided to call her and set an appointment for an MRI.
Unfortunately, the next week was when the biggest freeze in a century hit Texas. The neurologist's office was closed and we had to wait until the weather improved to schedule the appointment. That Friday, Paul's hind legs completely gave way and we rushed him to the emergency clinic again. The vets examined him and explained that we needed an MRI and the neurologist had a few spots reserved for emergency cases. We decided to keep Paul at the vet until Monday when the neurologist could get the MRI completed. We left Paul at the emergency vet and checked on him every 4 hours or so. He seemed to be weak but doing ok eating and drinking.
On Monday, the neurologist, Dr. L, sent Paul to the MRI facility.
That evening, we received a call from Dr. L and by the tone of her voice, a feeling of dread descended upon us. She calmly explained that while examining the images for disc issues, she found a large tumor in one of his brain cavities.
It took us a minute to digest that information. We found it impossible to keep our emotions intact as Dr. L started going over options but from the tone of her voice, we knew that it was dire. She explained that the tumor had almost filled the brain cavity that it was residing in and there was little that she could do. At our insistence she referred us to a local oncologist to get a second opinion.
The diagnosis explained the deterioration of Paul during the last couple of weeks. In between tears we scheduled the appointment with the oncologist for the first available slot, which was the following Tuesday.
Both Dana and I looked into every conceivable option and discovered that there were places around the country that were doing experimental treatments and surgery. We simply did not want to believe that there wasn't something we could do for
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| Paul loved blanket wraps |
Paul. One of the places doing cutting edge research was the Texas A&M vet school hospital, which was a little more than a 3 hour drive from Dallas. I called them to set an appointment for Paul, and the scheduler requested a referral and the MRI images to be sent to them before they could make the appropriate appointment with the specialist. We contacted Paul's neurologist and had the referral and MRI images sent to Texas A&M.
Meanwhile, Paul continued to deteriorate. He stopped voluntarily eating and we had to force feed him by hand. Later that week, he stopped drinking. If he thought that we were about to give up on him and let him go, he was wrong. What little hope we had was embedded in that syringe we used to force water down his throat.
That hope we had disintegrated on Tuesday when we brought Paul to see the oncologist. By this time he was completely disabled and had to be carried into the facility on a gurney. The oncologist, Dr. C called us when he completed his examination of both Paul and his MRI images.
I still vividly remember the conversation. Dr. C telling us that any treatment will not shrink the tumor, and that Paul's quality of life cannot be improved even though we kept pushing him for a treatment that would cure Paul. He tried many ways to tell us that Paul was at the end of his journey. We finally understood what he was trying to tell us, that he did not have a way to help Paul. He introduced the option of euthanasia, and gently explained the entire process. We thanked him, still in shock as we drove to pick Paul up.
That afternoon Dana and I had an emotional conversation on the next steps we needed to take. I still did not want to accept that this was the end of the road for Paul. It just took us a a few back and forth discussion with each other, to understand that Paul would not survive in his current state and that the humane thing to do was to make the horribly difficult choice to end his life. We tried to consider any scenario that would actually improve his life but there was nothing that was viable, based on the analyses of both the neurologist and oncologist. We decided to make the heart wrenching decision to let Paul go.
Dana and I took the decision extremely hard. It was mainly because we were used to solving problems and this was one that neither of us could solve, and it killed us.
The next day, I called a mobile vet service that performed in-home euthanasia, and scheduled an appointment for Friday.
The previous week, Dana, Max (our German Shepherd) and I had moved into the living room downstairs. This made it easier for us to carry Paul outside and prevent the stress on him when we carried him up and down the stairs. Paul occasionally woke up screaming in the middle of the night, and calmed down only when Dana or I gently stroked him. We positioned his bed right next to the sofa Dana was sleeping on so she could pet him if he woke up. We continued to hand feed him, both food and water, and gave him ample pain medication to ease any suffering.
When Friday came around, both Dana and I didn't have many words to exchange and we felt surrounded by a general sense of malaise. We had not slept much the entire month and were physically and mentally exhausted. Yet, we would have gladly continued if Paul had even a minute chance of surviving.
The mobile vet called to confirm the appointment, and we proceeded to move Paul's favorite bed outside into the backyard. When he leaves this world, he would say goodbye to us in the backyard he loved to play in.
The vet met us in the backyard and explained the process to us. She would administer 2 injections. The first one would render him unconscious, and the second one would stop his heart. The vet told us to take as much time as needed to say goodbye to him. We said goodbye to our sweet Paul that morning for the last time. We had Max next to us so he could understand that Paul would not return.
We held Paul close as the vet administered the doses.
I helped the vet carry Paul to her van. The service included cremation and the ashes returned to us.
As I walked back into the backyard I looked at the pool and imagined Paul running around it, his favorite game. From this day on, that would be the only way I would ever see my sweet Paul doing his favorite thing.
The next Monday, I received a call from the Texas A&M vet hospital, asking if I wanted to set an appointment for Paul.
I dropped into my chair and let my tears flow.