I'm writing this now as I prepare to go visit her for the last time. I've been going back and forth on whether or not I would go with the rest of the family to put her down. The part of me that wants to go wants to say goodbye one last time, touch her fur, and give her a kiss. The part of me that doesn't want to go doesn't know if I can handle it or not. I don't know if I can have that image in my head. Plus, I've been crying all day. I'll just cry at random songs that I'm listening to, thinking about her. But I've finally made up my mind, I'm going to go, even though it'll be really hard.
I guess I'll first go over what happened. Starting on Friday, April 8th, she developed a bad cough. She normally gets a cough every year, due to allergies, but this time, it was much worse. We took her to the vet as per usual, but on Saturday night, she got worse, barely able to breath. When we got to the animal ER, we didn't know what to expect. On the way there, we though she was fine, and at one point, considered heading home. But the closer we got, the more serious it looked, with her tongue turning pale. After the doctor's first look at her, she thought it would be possible that her lungs were filled with blood, and that that was it. But then, after a more conclusive look, it looked like she was stable, but her blood count was low and her trachea was collapsed. We left the hospital relieved and hopeful. My parents went to visit her the next day, and they said she looked good, tried to wag her tail, but was a bit weak from the ordeal. The day after that, I visited her with my mom. She hadn't eat since Thursday, still, and she kept coughing while we were there. We took her outside to see if she'd go to the bathroom, but she would just lay down on the grass. A glimmer of hope appeared when she would lay on her side, wanting us to rub her tummy. She does this every time she basks in the sun. When we left, we were hopeful, thinking she just needed time to recover her strength. But today, my mom came home in tears having gotten a call from the hospital, saying that she wasn't improving. She had deliberated, and decided that putting her to sleep would be the best option. I felt like I had been hit by a car. It has been such a roller coaster of hope and despair. I thought we were out of the woods, but now it looks to be the exact opposite. Throughout all of this, Stella's suffering is just what gets to me most. She's 11 year old, but she was expected to live much longer. She had never had any serious health problems before this. It's all so sudden. I can't believe it's ending like this. I'm still holding out hope against hope that we'll get to the hospital and she'll be all better. But I have to dissuade myself of this thinking. But I want to end on a happy note. So I'm going to talk about the good times and celebrate Stella's impactful life.
Our family first got Stella on May 1st, 2000, when I was in 6th grade. She was only 8 weeks old (she was born on March 3rd, 2000): the cutest -and sassiest -puppy you've ever seen. When we first brought her home, she was very naughty. She'd bite your socks as you were walking and gnaw on furniture. She would also bark whenever we would eat, wanting some of our food. But after she got spayed, she began to settle down. I remember when she got the surgery, too. The stitches on her belly were hot pink. Throughout the years, she'd grow on us more and more. What I think I'd remember most about her was that if you were sick, she'd be super sweet to you and cuddle up with you. Her fur is so soft. And the noises she makes are so cute. She can instantly cheer up your day just by laying with her. I love you Stella. I always will. There will never be another one like you. You will be remembered for as long as I live and then some. You have left this word far too soon. We love you.
The New PostSecret Book
3 years ago