My heart is broken. My sweet 12 1/2 year old dog, Mattie, died last October. Not a day goes by when I haven't sobbed hard for her. I could have never imagined the depth of grief and mourning for her. I miss her so much, my life has never been the same.
She was the sweetest dog I've ever had, a grey and black terrier mutt I adopted from the local humane society when she was a baby. It was love at first sight. I had wanted another dog since my 15 year old shepherd/huskey mutt was euthanized two years before following a year of deteriorated disc problems. It was hard, but I had made the decision to have her put down. I said goodbye, I didn't want her to suffer. She was a family dog, but she was mostly mine, being the big dog lover I've been since I was a kid.
Mattie was different. I adopted her as I was getting ready to go out on my own. She was ALL mine. I looked around for an apartment, but nobody would take a dog. So I figured I would buy a house - for Mattie - my first one. Mattie had the run of the house, but mostly stayed in my first floor bedroom, sleeping on my comforter, waiting for me to come home from work. We were quite a pair. On my vacations, we went up to my mom's cottage, where she chased ducks and geese along the shoreline, waded into the lake trying to catch minnows, and patiently sat next to me on our dock while I went fishing - until she heard the whirr of my fishing pole. She always jumped up on her hind legs, trying to get a few nips in at the fish before I threw it back. Sometimes, she'd get so excited, she'd tumble into the water. I would have to drop everything and pull her out. She was the only dog I ever knew that couldn't swim. She hardly ever needed a leash (only when there was another dog close by), and nearly always did what she was told. I don't ever remember having to discipline her for anything. She was housebroken only two weeks she was adopted. She slept in my bed, went to the park with me every day, rain, snow or shine. When I was sick in bed with the flu, she would rest her chin on my leg, comforting me with her presence. One day, when we were walking in a field behind a school, a high strung dog charged Mattie and tackled her. I could tell she was hurt and scared as she fled far into the distance, toward a busy street, the other dog in hot pursuit. I thought for sure she would get killed. The other dog eventually returned, but I didn't see Mattie. Then the dog started coming after me, snapping at my feet. Suddenly, there was Mattie, scooting out from underneath a parked car behind the school, where she took refuge, roaring toward me, a Lassie-like moment. Despite her fear, she ran up to me and sat right down at my feet, between me and the other dog, as if to say, "This is where I draw the line. You're not going to hurt my mama." I had never thought of her as a guard dog. She was always very sweet, submissive, would roll over on her back when people approached her. Never crossed her mind to be pack leader. She loved everybody, especially kids. I was so proud of her, I couldn't stop cooing to my friends for weeks on end about Mattie's unexpected act of bravery.
One day last October, Mattie had great difficulty getting up with me at 6:30 a.m. for our daily walk in the park. I took her anyway, thinking I had just awakened her from a deep sleep. She would shake it off, I thought. But she didn't. I took her to the vet, who said she was anemic. Every week, for four weeks, we had to go to the vets for a blood check. Even though she wasn't getting better, she was stabilized with a steroid. The vet, who was so wonderful with Mattie, told me at our last visit there might be something more seriously wrong with Mattie and perhaps she might need surgery. I decided to take her to a new facility that offered 24 hour care, which her previous vet did not have. I was ambivalent taking her from someone who knew her well and handing her off to strangers. Still, the lure was 24 hour care. The new vet scheduled diagnostic tests the next day. I took her in at 8 the following morning. She was scared, trembling. I hugged her and told her not to worry, I would be back to take her home. She refused to go with the volunteer who was pulling on her leash to take her back where the cages were. She trusted me. So I walked her to the cage, and pretended to go in, then closed the gate behind her. She spun around, and looked at me over her shoulder, as if to say, "Where ya goin?" I never looked back. She spent the entire day there. Tests showed she had some masses on her spleen. Later that day, I went to the facility and the vet said she should have surgery to remove her spleen the next day. I agreed. I told him I didn't want to see that night because I was worried she would be upset when I had to leave and it might make her weaker from the stress. I wanted her as strong as possible for surgery the next day. The office door opened into the cage area, so I knew she could hear me, that I was there. I felt bad.
The following morning, I went to work, choking back tears at my desk, unable to talk to anyone. I called the facility and asked how she was. She was resting comfortably. At 2 p.m., the surgeon called to say Mattie was resting comfortably following surgery and that the massed hadn't appeared to have spread. I was told I could come visit her at 8 p.m., when she would not be as groggy from the anesthesia. When I got home at 7 p.m., I called the hospital to see how Mattie was. I was told she was not moving. I was worried. She was always up and walking around by that time after previous surgeries. I was told she was conscious, but that the pain meds were making her more groggy. I was told to come by at 10 the following morning, when she would be more alert. I agreed, since she had been anemic and perhaps needed to focus on her recovery. Again, I thought visiting her would make her situation worse. After the phone call, I went to bed. The day had been so long and stressful.
At 1:45 a.m., the hospital called. "We have some bad news for you. Mattie just expired a few moments ago. She stopped breathing and we couldn't revive her."
I can't even begin to express what I was feeling at that moment. I felt like I had been hit by a train. My first words were, "God, I should have been there." She died alone in a strange place, as I had feared. Worse, I never got to say goodbye, this sweet dog I had always called my "babygirl." She was the love of my life, meant the world to me, never caused me a moment of trouble, always wanted to be with me. Yet in the end, for two days, I didn't visit her. I will never forgive myself. What was I thinking? My judgment had always been so sound when it came to her medical care. When she needed it the most, I failed her. She left this earth alone, wondering if I had abandoned her. She had to be thinking, "Where is she," waiting for me to take her home.
I got copies of her medical records, and found that the vets never even looked at her medical history and gave her a medication she could not have because it gave her seizures. They also gave her a potent sedative that's not supposed to be given to older dogs because it causes slow heartbeat and low blood pressure, and a potent pain killer she had never had before. The records show she started having breathing problems the moment she was given the sedative three hours after surgery. An autopsy failed to show a cause of death. The vets who cared for her during those three days believe she likely died of an irregular heartbeat. A vet tech told me later that she was in critical condition all evening, in a stupor, struggling to get up, but nobody ever called me to tell me that. I believe she was oversedated, but I will never know for sure.
I also learned the very reason I took Mattie to that facility - that it was the only one in the area that had 24 hour care - had nobody in the building when she died. They were out on break. The vet on 24 hour emergency call also didn't even bother to come in to help her, though she was called when the vet tech came back into the building and noticed Mattie was not breathing. There is so much more that happened, but it would take too long to note and this thread is already too long. In any event, I failed Mattie in the end. Miserably.
Her death has thrown me into a spiral of grief and despair that is nearly unbearable. It's been three months now, and I can't stop sobbing every day over her. I miss her so much. Everywhere I look in the house, the yard, the park, she's not there. I wish to God I could go back and change things. But I can't. I don't know if I'll ever want to get another dog, if it could cause me this much grief when it died. It is such a struggle. I don't know what I'd do without my job, which I've thrown myself into. Thankfully, I'm not laying around in bed, sobbing, doing nothing. It's not that kind of despair. But even as I'm working, in my car, before I go to sleep, and when I get up in the morning, I burst into tears, and I'm not the kind of person who cries easily. I hate to say this, but Mattie's death has affected me more deeply than the death of any of my relatives. My friends don't understand. They want me to get another dog, as if Mattie could ever be replaced.
I wish I had the chance to have said goodbye, to have held Mattie in my arms as she died. Goodbye, my sweet, sweet girl. I gave my heart to you completely, and you returned that love many times over.
She was the sweetest dog I've ever had, a grey and black terrier mutt I adopted from the local humane society when she was a baby. It was love at first sight. I had wanted another dog since my 15 year old shepherd/huskey mutt was euthanized two years before following a year of deteriorated disc problems. It was hard, but I had made the decision to have her put down. I said goodbye, I didn't want her to suffer. She was a family dog, but she was mostly mine, being the big dog lover I've been since I was a kid.
Mattie was different. I adopted her as I was getting ready to go out on my own. She was ALL mine. I looked around for an apartment, but nobody would take a dog. So I figured I would buy a house - for Mattie - my first one. Mattie had the run of the house, but mostly stayed in my first floor bedroom, sleeping on my comforter, waiting for me to come home from work. We were quite a pair. On my vacations, we went up to my mom's cottage, where she chased ducks and geese along the shoreline, waded into the lake trying to catch minnows, and patiently sat next to me on our dock while I went fishing - until she heard the whirr of my fishing pole. She always jumped up on her hind legs, trying to get a few nips in at the fish before I threw it back. Sometimes, she'd get so excited, she'd tumble into the water. I would have to drop everything and pull her out. She was the only dog I ever knew that couldn't swim. She hardly ever needed a leash (only when there was another dog close by), and nearly always did what she was told. I don't ever remember having to discipline her for anything. She was housebroken only two weeks she was adopted. She slept in my bed, went to the park with me every day, rain, snow or shine. When I was sick in bed with the flu, she would rest her chin on my leg, comforting me with her presence. One day, when we were walking in a field behind a school, a high strung dog charged Mattie and tackled her. I could tell she was hurt and scared as she fled far into the distance, toward a busy street, the other dog in hot pursuit. I thought for sure she would get killed. The other dog eventually returned, but I didn't see Mattie. Then the dog started coming after me, snapping at my feet. Suddenly, there was Mattie, scooting out from underneath a parked car behind the school, where she took refuge, roaring toward me, a Lassie-like moment. Despite her fear, she ran up to me and sat right down at my feet, between me and the other dog, as if to say, "This is where I draw the line. You're not going to hurt my mama." I had never thought of her as a guard dog. She was always very sweet, submissive, would roll over on her back when people approached her. Never crossed her mind to be pack leader. She loved everybody, especially kids. I was so proud of her, I couldn't stop cooing to my friends for weeks on end about Mattie's unexpected act of bravery.
One day last October, Mattie had great difficulty getting up with me at 6:30 a.m. for our daily walk in the park. I took her anyway, thinking I had just awakened her from a deep sleep. She would shake it off, I thought. But she didn't. I took her to the vet, who said she was anemic. Every week, for four weeks, we had to go to the vets for a blood check. Even though she wasn't getting better, she was stabilized with a steroid. The vet, who was so wonderful with Mattie, told me at our last visit there might be something more seriously wrong with Mattie and perhaps she might need surgery. I decided to take her to a new facility that offered 24 hour care, which her previous vet did not have. I was ambivalent taking her from someone who knew her well and handing her off to strangers. Still, the lure was 24 hour care. The new vet scheduled diagnostic tests the next day. I took her in at 8 the following morning. She was scared, trembling. I hugged her and told her not to worry, I would be back to take her home. She refused to go with the volunteer who was pulling on her leash to take her back where the cages were. She trusted me. So I walked her to the cage, and pretended to go in, then closed the gate behind her. She spun around, and looked at me over her shoulder, as if to say, "Where ya goin?" I never looked back. She spent the entire day there. Tests showed she had some masses on her spleen. Later that day, I went to the facility and the vet said she should have surgery to remove her spleen the next day. I agreed. I told him I didn't want to see that night because I was worried she would be upset when I had to leave and it might make her weaker from the stress. I wanted her as strong as possible for surgery the next day. The office door opened into the cage area, so I knew she could hear me, that I was there. I felt bad.
The following morning, I went to work, choking back tears at my desk, unable to talk to anyone. I called the facility and asked how she was. She was resting comfortably. At 2 p.m., the surgeon called to say Mattie was resting comfortably following surgery and that the massed hadn't appeared to have spread. I was told I could come visit her at 8 p.m., when she would not be as groggy from the anesthesia. When I got home at 7 p.m., I called the hospital to see how Mattie was. I was told she was not moving. I was worried. She was always up and walking around by that time after previous surgeries. I was told she was conscious, but that the pain meds were making her more groggy. I was told to come by at 10 the following morning, when she would be more alert. I agreed, since she had been anemic and perhaps needed to focus on her recovery. Again, I thought visiting her would make her situation worse. After the phone call, I went to bed. The day had been so long and stressful.
At 1:45 a.m., the hospital called. "We have some bad news for you. Mattie just expired a few moments ago. She stopped breathing and we couldn't revive her."
I can't even begin to express what I was feeling at that moment. I felt like I had been hit by a train. My first words were, "God, I should have been there." She died alone in a strange place, as I had feared. Worse, I never got to say goodbye, this sweet dog I had always called my "babygirl." She was the love of my life, meant the world to me, never caused me a moment of trouble, always wanted to be with me. Yet in the end, for two days, I didn't visit her. I will never forgive myself. What was I thinking? My judgment had always been so sound when it came to her medical care. When she needed it the most, I failed her. She left this earth alone, wondering if I had abandoned her. She had to be thinking, "Where is she," waiting for me to take her home.
I got copies of her medical records, and found that the vets never even looked at her medical history and gave her a medication she could not have because it gave her seizures. They also gave her a potent sedative that's not supposed to be given to older dogs because it causes slow heartbeat and low blood pressure, and a potent pain killer she had never had before. The records show she started having breathing problems the moment she was given the sedative three hours after surgery. An autopsy failed to show a cause of death. The vets who cared for her during those three days believe she likely died of an irregular heartbeat. A vet tech told me later that she was in critical condition all evening, in a stupor, struggling to get up, but nobody ever called me to tell me that. I believe she was oversedated, but I will never know for sure.
I also learned the very reason I took Mattie to that facility - that it was the only one in the area that had 24 hour care - had nobody in the building when she died. They were out on break. The vet on 24 hour emergency call also didn't even bother to come in to help her, though she was called when the vet tech came back into the building and noticed Mattie was not breathing. There is so much more that happened, but it would take too long to note and this thread is already too long. In any event, I failed Mattie in the end. Miserably.
Her death has thrown me into a spiral of grief and despair that is nearly unbearable. It's been three months now, and I can't stop sobbing every day over her. I miss her so much. Everywhere I look in the house, the yard, the park, she's not there. I wish to God I could go back and change things. But I can't. I don't know if I'll ever want to get another dog, if it could cause me this much grief when it died. It is such a struggle. I don't know what I'd do without my job, which I've thrown myself into. Thankfully, I'm not laying around in bed, sobbing, doing nothing. It's not that kind of despair. But even as I'm working, in my car, before I go to sleep, and when I get up in the morning, I burst into tears, and I'm not the kind of person who cries easily. I hate to say this, but Mattie's death has affected me more deeply than the death of any of my relatives. My friends don't understand. They want me to get another dog, as if Mattie could ever be replaced.
I wish I had the chance to have said goodbye, to have held Mattie in my arms as she died. Goodbye, my sweet, sweet girl. I gave my heart to you completely, and you returned that love many times over.