#dragging myself to therapy like taking an animal to the vet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amanda-fior · 6 years

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I shared my personal mental health story with my vet class

I shared my very personal story with my classmates for R U OK day in our private facebook group and I received so much love and support. This is a copy of my post:

Today was R U OK day. I thought I would take this opportunity to talk about my recent experience with mental health and trying to find help. Sorry in advance for rambling. Also, just a warning that this is a pretty full on post. I just want to share it because mental health is something that most vets and vet students will struggle with at some point. It is important to know that you’re not alone and to speak up if you think it might help someone.

A few months ago, I had suicide ideations. I knew I had to go to the hospital to remain safe. Starting that conversation with my mum was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I have attempted suicide in the past and my partner at the time convinced me to tell my mum, who reacted very badly. She didn’t understand depression or anything like that at the time and her mind went straight to my brother who died when I was younger. He had been in a car accident and spent his 19th birthday on life support before it was switched off. My suicide attempt brought all that back for my mum and she yelled, “How DARE you?! Your brother fought as hard as he could for his life and you just want to throw yours away?!”

The second reason I was scared to get help, was the way the mental health nurse in Armidale treated me last time. She did not appear to care at all and clearly didn’t believe me when she asked if I had been sexually assaulted as a child. She asked me that same question several times and then made a face when she finally wrote my answer (”no”) on her clipboard.

Thankfully, this time my mum and the hospital staff were much more supportive.

I was admitted to the low care mental health unit, which is a locked ward. It is a secure and safe place but it did nothing to actually help me mentally.

The first thing that I was required to do, was very confronting. The mental health nurse that I was assigned to, along with a student nurse, led me into a conference room to meet with the psychiatrist. There was also a psychiatrist registrar and 2 other students in the room. 6 strangers. We sat in a semi circle and everyone looked at me. I couldn’t make eye contact but I knew some people had their hands posed, ready to write or type. The psychiatrist asked me why I was there. I thought it was pretty damn obvious why I was there. I had already been interviewed by about 5 nurses who kept repeating the same questions. Surely someone had passed along the message. I mumbled that I wanted to hurt myself.

“Yes. And when you say you want to hurt yourself, what do you mean exactly?”

I told them that I wanted to end my life. He still wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to know all of the details. How. With what. When. How far into my plan had I got? So I tried my best to answer his questions while my answers got scribbled and typed down.

After that, I assumed I would be bombarded with help. Pamphlets for programs, mental health workers, counsellors, support programs, group therapy, art therapy.... but there was none of that.

The psychiatrist told me he would increase the dose of my anti-depressants to see if it made a difference. My nurse and the student nurse took me to my room. I had been scanned by a metal detector and had my phone taken away when I arrived. Everything was secured into place to prevent us from hurting ourselves. No electrical items were allowed inside. No shoelaces. No belts. No aerosols. We weren’t even allowed to keep shampoo in our rooms. There was hot water for de-caffinated tea. A sandwich press was brought out at breakfast for making toast and then locked away again.

My nurse asked if I was anxious (lol) and gave me some pills. I didn’t ask what they were. I went to sleep until someone woke me for dinner. I had a new nurse. Another consumer (that’s what they call patients in the ward, consumers) gave me a whirl-wind tour of the facility, not that I can even remember what her voice sounded like, I was too out of it. But I did learn that there is a whiteboard in the nurses station that has our room number, name and our nurses name on it. There were about 4 nurses on at a time and we had to go to them for every little thing. But they changed shift regularly, so if you had to arrange something like a CSU medical certificate, it was hard because once you got somewhere with the last nurse, you had to explain the whole thing over again to the new nurse.

They checked on us every hour. All through the night. It wasn’t very dark in my room but each hour a blast of fluorescent light invaded for a few moments, disrupting whatever sleep I had managed to find. The night staff started at 10pm and from then on, you could get sleeping pills. They helped a little.

I was woken early the next morning by a nurse who seemed to be running behind schedule. She didn’t wait for my eyes to adjust to the light, let alone for my brain to remember where I was before rolling down my sleeve.

“Just taking some blood,” she explained hastily.

“Oh, I had bloods taken yesterday.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she replied, ripping the tiny, circular band-aid off.

Each morning, we were woken at 7 for breakfast, medication and we had our temperature and blood pressure measured. I don’t know what their obsession was with blood pressure but mine was measured several times each day. After breakfast, there was nothing to do. We could watch TV, colour-in (if we asked our nurse to get us the pencils etc) or we could pace the hallway. I just went back to bed and reassured the nurses each hour that I wasn’t dead. Eventually, it would be time for me to see my psychiatrist registrar. This was the only mental health care we received. He would ask how I was feeling, enquire about my appetite (nil), sleep (disrupted) and asked if I felt safe in the ward (I still don’t know if he meant safe from myself or from the other consumers but I just said yes each time).

On my first morning, my nurse brought me a bunch of paperwork to sign. She explained that I was an involuntary patient. Two days later, I told my brother that I still had no idea what I was supposed to DO in the ward. There was no stimulation whatsoever. It was just me and my own mind. And the nurses kept asking if I was hearing voices so many times that I actually started to question myself. My brother, who had been visiting me daily, asked my nurse how long I was going to be there. She explained that my psychiatrist would review me in a week. A week!!! A different psychiatrist comes each weekday (from Sydney or Melbourne) and the psychiatrist registrars communicate with them throughout the week. The registrar can grant leave for an hour each day but only once you’re a voluntary patient. Only the registered psychiatrist can formally discharge consumers.

The days dragged on after that. I was made a voluntary patient a few days later and the nurse brought me my new paperwork to sign. It turned out that the only real difference between voluntary and involuntary was that they could no longer give me ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) without my consent. So that was a plus. And yeah, they still do that. But it’s now done under anaesthetic. My ex used to complain about all the old people who get it done because their heart rates would suddenly shoot up dangerously high and sometimes it caused strokes.

The psychiatrist registrar asked how I felt about the prospect of returning home. I told him that I didn’t really care where I was but my family wanted me to have a plan and ongoing support. I also wanted to be connected with a counsellor or psychologist before I went home. The registrar and the nurses told me all of that would be arranged before I left.

But it wasn’t. I was discharged the day before my psych was due to see me and it all happened really quickly. I suspect it had more to do with the number of beds rather than an actual improvement in my mental health. Nothing had actually been done in the week I was there except for an increase in my anti-depressant dose. But I was so overwhelmed at the thought of being able to walk more than 10m without turning around and getting to see my animals that I didn’t think to ask about the support I had been promised.

They did put me in contact with a community health worker. I saw her once a week and she asked how I was sleeping, appetite, whether I had self-harmed etc. I told her that I wanted to see a psychologist and she said that was a great idea. She didn’t offer any further assistance. When I questioned her about it at our next meeting, she said that I needed to talk to my GP about getting a mental health plan. Her tone sounded impatient, as if I should have known that already. I started to get angry with the whole system. It had been three weeks since I had walked into the hospital and told them I wanted to kill myself and it still seemed so hard to access any help.

Two days later, I attempted suicide.

This time, I actually tried the method Leigh Ladd mentioned in class the other day - diazepam and alcohol. I had planned to get into the backyard swimming pool for good measure, but I didn’t make it that far. I actually felt validated for the first time when Leigh Ladd talked about this in class. Until then, all of the medical professionals had scoffed at my method and made remarks like, “Ha, that was never going to work. You could take 2000mg of valium and all you’d do is fall asleep.”

Maybe they were ignoring the fact that mixing it with a lot of alcohol depresses your respiratory system, maybe they didn’t hear the part about the swimming pool or maybe they were just trying to talk me out of trying it again, but it just made me feel like a complete idiot.

I woke up in the emergency room, crying and hugging my sister. My memory is very patchy due to the benzodiazepine-induced retrograde amnesia. I had a big bandage on my wrist from where I had self harmed. I don’t remember doing that but I think it was to distract myself from the mental pain during my attempt. My sister later told me that her and my mum had to leave the room when the doctor sutured my arm. Apparently, they didn’t give me any local before suturing it and I was screaming in pain for them to stop. I’m glad I don’t remember that at all.

I was taken back to the low dependency unit and back talking to a psychiatrist. This time, it was a woman. I expected to be spending another week in the unit but one of the first things this psych asked me was about going home. Apparently they didn’t want to “institutionalise” me. I spent just 2 days in the ward.

My family were looking into any and all kinds of programs for me to get help. I asked the registrar psychiatrist about any recommendations. He said there were programs but they were expensive if you don’t have private health insurance. He didn’t elaborate. A nurse signed my family up for some carers help program. They also referred me to a program called Wellways, which is about suicide prevention. Turns out that the only people who can be referred are those who have actually attempted suicide, not just thought about it, which is why I hadn’t been eligible before.

I was eligible for help from Wellways for 3 months. They could refer me to further help if I needed financial counselling, emergency accommodation and things like that. But not counselling or anything.The lady who I dealt with only worked 2-3 days a week and I didn’t find the program helpful at all.

My family were disgusted with the lack of help I got. My sister talked to some people at her work (in community health) and gave me the names of 2 private psychiatrists. I saw my GP and arranged referrals but they were booked out for months. One of them was finally able to fit me in earlier after I pleaded with the receptionist. It cost $800 for the appointment (I could reclaim some of that on medicare but I’m forever grateful that my family were able to lend me money). I wasn’t impressed with what I got for my $800. He asked why I was there. I told him my story and he asked why I had attempted suicide. I told him that I didn’t want to live anymore (it rolls off the tongue more easily the more you say it) but again, he asked why. Every answer I gave him, he said, “But why?”

I left with a script for a new medication that was supposed to help me sleep but has actually given me nightmares and made my sleep pattern worse. It’s also not on the PBS and costs a lot of money so I’m weaning myself back off it. When I told the community health worker about seeing the psychiatrist, she seemed annoyed that I had gone behind her back to get help and told me that there were community health psychiatrists who are very good at what they do. She asked me to get the private psych to forward her his notes. I would have gladly seen a free or cheaper psychiatrist but that was the first (and last) that she mentioned their existence. I again told her that I wanted to be connected with a psychologist and she basically told me to keep her in the loop if I make any more appointments.

I went back to my GP and asked for a referral to a psychologist. But when I rang to book an appointment with the one he recommended, the receptionist told me they no longer work there. They booked me in to see someone else. I was just happy that I was finally going to see someone who might actually help. I have seen her 3 times now and she is really lovely. I complained to her about my GP (I left those details out of this post because it’s already too long!!) and she gave me the name of another doctor that I have started to see. This new doctor is much more understanding and has been doing further tests to see if I have any underlying health problems. I’m now getting cosmetic injections to improve the appearance of the scars on my wrist, I’m getting an iron infusion for my anaemia and she is helping me combat my anxiety as well.

This is the first time in months that I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m finally working with a psychologist and I’m willing to try anything. Over the summer, I’m hoping to do an 8 week recovery program. I’m also hoping to do some equine therapy in the future. The most important thing for me, is that people are finally listening.

I’m sorry that this is so long (and a bit confronting) but I didn’t want to censor it. I want people to know how hard it can be to get help. There are so many ads on the TV etc about getting help for depression but I swear most of their money must go into advertising and paying admin because finding actual help was so much harder than I would have imagined. I want people to know how long this road is - because one day you will probably have to be there for a friend, family member or yourself - and it’s not just a matter of making one phone call or having one conversation. It’s an ongoing process and it’s difficult. Some people who work in mental health are complete dicks and they just don’t get it.

Don’t be scared about saying the wrong thing to a friend/family member. I don’t remember what my friends/family said to me - I just remember that they were there. That was the big thing, having my family supporting me and forcing me to keep seeking help even though I wanted to give up.

Please be there for your loved ones. And please feel free to come talk to me, even if we have never spoken before. Struggling with mental health isn’t something that I’m ashamed of (anymore). Hopefully sharing my story might help someone else, somehow.

I received so many private messages from people who shared their own stories and offered support. These were the comments left on my post:

I'm a shy person and did not expect that kind of response. It is amazing how many people really do care and are more than willing to offer support ❤❤❤

#support #mental health #personal #tw #cw #tw: suicide #tw: self harm #self harm #suicide #R U ok day

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thedivinefish · 5 years

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divinefishingtips · 5 years

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TGIWednesday and a download for pet & animal healing

TGIWednesday News

TGIWednesday Download

FREE Weekly LIVE Healings and Messages

Check out TheJimmyMackHealingShow.com for a full listing & all replays!

Receive 24/7 Daily Prayers From Jimmy

Choose 7 days @$33 Choose 14 days @$66 Choose 30 days @$99

Live In-Person Appearances

SWANN HOLISTIC HEALTH CENTER TAMPA

39 A DAVIS BLVD Tampa, FL http://www.ctholisticsolutions.com

LIVE AT KODAWARI YOGA STUDIOS TAMPA

3965 Henderson Blvd Suite C Tampa (813) 773-4017 http://www.kodawariyoga.com/

Go deep sea "fishing" with Jimmy!

Level 1 is open to ANYONE at anytime!

LEARN MORE HERE

From the Fish Box

MyBeliefWorks Audio Series

Pet Healing MP3 on Sale $39

**Can't See The Full Email? Click Here to View Online**

Increasing Intuition IRS & Tax Time Love & Romance Money Mindset Moving Forward Pain Relief Pet Healing Sales & Success Sex Sleep Traveling w/Ease Work & Career Weight Loss

Fish Food

The Daily Bread To Feed The Fish

Tell The Fish: 365 Daily Inspirations & Affirmations

TGIFunny

Forward

Stay connected!

Our mailing address is: Clearwater Florida 33756 USA

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365dailyaffirmations · 5 years

Text

TGIWednesday and a download for pet & animal healing

TGIWednesday News

TGIWednesday Download

FREE Weekly LIVE Healings and Messages

Check out TheJimmyMackHealingShow.com for a full listing & all replays!

Receive 24/7 Daily Prayers From Jimmy

Choose 7 days @$33 Choose 14 days @$66 Choose 30 days @$99

Live In-Person Appearances

SWANN HOLISTIC HEALTH CENTER TAMPA

39 A DAVIS BLVD Tampa, FL http://www.ctholisticsolutions.com

LIVE AT KODAWARI YOGA STUDIOS TAMPA

3965 Henderson Blvd Suite C Tampa (813) 773-4017 http://www.kodawariyoga.com/

Go deep sea "fishing" with Jimmy!

Level 1 is open to ANYONE at anytime!

LEARN MORE HERE

From the Fish Box

MyBeliefWorks Audio Series

Pet Healing MP3 on Sale $39

**Can't See The Full Email? Click Here to View Online**

Increasing Intuition IRS & Tax Time Love & Romance Money Mindset Moving Forward Pain Relief Pet Healing Sales & Success Sex Sleep Traveling w/Ease Work & Career Weight Loss

Fish Food

The Daily Bread To Feed The Fish

Tell The Fish: 365 Daily Inspirations & Affirmations

TGIFunny

Forward

Stay connected!

Our mailing address is: Clearwater Florida 33756 USA

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advancedthetapractitioner · 5 years

Text

TGIWednesday and a download for pet & animal healing

TGIWednesday News

TGIWednesday Download

FREE Weekly LIVE Healings and Messages

Check out TheJimmyMackHealingShow.com for a full listing & all replays!

Receive 24/7 Daily Prayers From Jimmy

Choose 7 days @$33 Choose 14 days @$66 Choose 30 days @$99

Live In-Person Appearances

SWANN HOLISTIC HEALTH CENTER TAMPA

39 A DAVIS BLVD Tampa, FL http://www.ctholisticsolutions.com

LIVE AT KODAWARI YOGA STUDIOS TAMPA

3965 Henderson Blvd Suite C Tampa (813) 773-4017 http://www.kodawariyoga.com/

Go deep sea "fishing" with Jimmy!

Level 1 is open to ANYONE at anytime!

LEARN MORE HERE

From the Fish Box

MyBeliefWorks Audio Series

Pet Healing MP3 on Sale $39

**Can't See The Full Email? Click Here to View Online**

Increasing Intuition IRS & Tax Time Love & Romance Money Mindset Moving Forward Pain Relief Pet Healing Sales & Success Sex Sleep Traveling w/Ease Work & Career Weight Loss

Fish Food

The Daily Bread To Feed The Fish

Tell The Fish: 365 Daily Inspirations & Affirmations

TGIFunny

Forward

Stay connected!

Our mailing address is: Clearwater Florida 33756 USA

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jbmcdonald-blog · 6 years

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More blog than anything, but...

I think I’ve seen tumblr used as a blog...? I had an author blog, but it’s pretty much defunct at this point. These are thinky thoughts, but lacking a blog I use on a regular basis, I might as well have my thinky thoughts here. ;)

So. In Real Life, I pay my bills by training dogs. It’s a great happenstance that I managed to be really good at two things in life: writing and dog training. It’s a small miracle that I like both and can make a living at one while still working on the other.

Again, IRL, I’m one of the only dog trainers in the SF Bay area that will work with dogs who are aggressive toward people. (I heard a rumor years ago there was another, and I think there must be one slightly farther south, but I’m not sure. My asking around hasn’t gained me much.) As it happens, I also have VERY good results. So, enough backstory so you know what’s going on: 10:30 at night, July 3rd, I was driving home and saw a collar-less old dog (I thought) wandering just about half a mile from my house. Being me, I stopped to pick him up. Only because of my heavy background in dog behavior, body language, training, and aggression, did I spot there was An Aggression Problem. By the end of this week, shuffling through clues (behavioral, factual, vet-opined, and various other ways) I now believe he was a failed fighting dog (because he’s too nice to succeed at that), around 3 years of age, badly abused as an adult but not a puppy, able to be rehabilitated, and needing lots of vet care. So the last week has been setting up a gofundme and posting everywhere asking for help (please please please do not start asking me questions and whatnot without checking the gofundme link for answers, because they’re probably there - I’ll post it in another post), working heavily with the dog to make him safe, testing him out with my amazing, awesome, wonderful dogs (I owe them several steak dinners at this point), taking him to and from the vet an hour plus away (because that vet, those techs, receptionists, etc know me in my dog training form, and will let me do things they would NEVER let anyone do -- “Hey, guys, I’m bringing in a pittie who’s afraid of people and will growl and lunge if you look at him too long. It’s cool if we don’t muzzle him, right? I promise I’ll walk you through not getting bit. 0:D” Which, in turn, helps dramatically with rehabilitating), answering questions, sending thank-yous for donations, and ever more training. Also, not sleeping well.

ALL THAT is just the backstory.

Basically, it’s like when people want me to re-train their dog who also happens to need vet care. Except I’m not getting paid, so I can’t hire done the obnoxious life stuff I now have no time for, like cleaning the house. Since Dog (Flea, actually) is also intact and has never been in a house before, this means he’s also being destructo-dog and marking, so I have to watch him like a hawk when he’s inside. This is not relaxing. To relax I put him in his crate or outside, and then deal with my guilt. >.>

ALL THIS to say, I’m basically overworked. Normally, my life is like this: 1 week per month I board dogs. Every other month or so, I board for two weeks. When I’m not boarding dogs, I try to write minimum 4 hours per week.

Right now, I have the work of boarding, without the pay, and feeling like I should write. Okay, now we get to the meat of my post.

When I’m overworked, I veg out. I don’t write well. I watch TV and play Candy Crush, and then wonder why I have a headache. It can’t be staring at screens, surely. >.> Now, this is the exact opposite of what’s good for me. I mean, this is good for me for a day to two, to unwind and relax. But after that, I do much better if I’m writing/blogging/walking dogs/being productive. Right now is my “writing time.” It’s easy enough to leave the house so I can get that done, but do I do it? Nooooo. I feel guilt over what I think I “should” be doing (working with Flea every minute of the day, except when I’m working with my own dogs because they need to know they’re not being replaced, except except when I’m actually working or cleaning the house, except except except when I’m getting my horse out), which makes me less productive instead of more so, which makes me bury myself in TV and Candy Crush, and then I stay up too late, wake up too late, drag through the day, am too tired to function except for TV and Candy Crush, feel guilt, stay up too late, wake up too late...

Healthy: Getting exercise (which, I swear to god, is a word I will NEVER BE ABLE TO SPELL). Going to bed on time. Writing if it’s writing weeks, working with dogs if it’s boarding weeks. Have some downtime, with as little screen time as possible - especially in the evenings.

The totally 100% self destructive cycle: what I am currently doing.

Today is a great example: Me: I should get up and either take Flea out to socialize, my dogs out to walk, write, or go see my pony for pony therapy. Also me: Yes, I should. Let’s play Candy Crush. Me: Wait-- that’s not-- ooooh, look, shiny. Also me: Right? You deserve this break. You’ve earned this break. Your life is haaaaaarrrrrrrd. Me: ...I got out of bed four hours ago and all I’ve done is thirty minutes of emailing and texting clients and three and a half hours of playing Candy Crush or watching Lost In Space. Or as I like to say, LOOOOOOSST IIIIIIIN SPAAAAAACE! Also me: LOOK! SHINY! Me: I really do need to get to work. This argument has been going on for an hour now. Also me: Fuck that. Me: No! Work! Look, if you just get up, you can have sugary cream with a little coffee in it. Also me: Just play until this life is over. Me: Okay, I’m all out of lives. I should-- Also me: Facebook! Let’s just check Facebook really quick! Me: I need to GET UP. Just GET UP. Then you can even sit back down. Also me: But then what will you do? Walk your dogs? You’re running out of time in the day, now. If you walk your dogs, you may not have time to write. Me: Then I’ll write. Also me: But your dogs have been cooped up, and you know Lily gets depressed if she doesn’t get out. Oh, and don’t forget you have to do Cash’s physical therapy. You missed yesterday. Me: And I only got the exercises for him two days ago... Also me: So, so far, utter failure there. Look, Candy Crush has reloaded another life... and if you just delay for five minutes, it’ll load ANOTHER life. Me: ...I should get up and do something. Also me: But what will you choose to do, therefore choosing not to do something else? Me: I’m going to get my dogs out and then go see my pony. I’ll enjoy that. Also me: So that’s the priority now? I thought you were making writing a priority? Me: Okay, so I’ll write FIRST, then-- Also me: Oh, so you’re going to run the risk that you won’t get the animals taken care of today? Shouldn’t they be your priority? Their lives, health, and happiness depend on you. They’re ALIVE. They should ALWAYS be the priority. Me: Okay, so first I’ll take Flea to the park for socializing. Then I’ll write, get the pony out, and take dogs walking when it’s cooler, this evening. Also Me: You know you often end up skipping the last thing. Are you prioritizing this new dog over your own dogs? Me: ...what? Also me: Just saying, which is more important? New dog or your dogs? Me: ...I... Also me: Or the horse? She’s in a box stall. She’s cooped up unless you get her out. Do you think she’s happy like that? Me: Okay, pony first, then-- Also me: YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE PRIORITIZING WRITING. Me: *sits down in defeat and plays Candy Crush or watches TV for the rest of the day.*

I read once, recently, in somethingorother on how to talk to people, that the second you say “Yes, but” what you’re really saying is, “No,” or “I disagree,” or “you’re wrong.” I’ve held that up whenever I want to say “Yes, but” to someone, and found that it’s not always true. But (haha), it’s definitely true for me in this situation.

Furthermore, I know that if I get up and start doing something, anything, I’ll continue doing more things, and I’ll feel better. That doesn’t help actually get me up, though. I know that if i keep sitting there, I won’t do any of it and I’ll be unhappy and the cycle will continue. That doesn’t help, either. I know that to make myself happier, I need to get up and be productive, and/or exercise, and/or eat better, etc. It doesn’t make me do it.

My dad has been in AA for most of my life. (34 years? Something like that.) He talks about his drinking days, and thinking, “Just put the glass down, you don’t need another sip,” and then taking another sip as if his arm belonged to someone else. I get that. It’s exactly how this feels, especially once the cycle starts. Normally I can help end the cycle by taking a day or two and going to my honey’s house, leaving my dogs (and even boarders) with my assistant trainer for a night or two. This time I can’t even do that, because Flea is so twitchy. He’s doing AMAZING, but a set back right now would break me and slow down his progress dramatically. I don’t feel like I can trust him with others unsupervised, yet. His signals that he needs space are just too easy to miss.

I kind of think of this as the “But” phase of the cycle, the hardest one to get out of. I need to get up/but I’m so tired. I should do something/but what should I do. I need to prioritize my dogs/but what about these other things I want to prioritize.

It’s exhausting. Meds help (for anxiety and ADD), but not always enough. The cycle just has to be broken. Easier said then done. >.> But hey! I’m blogging. That counts as writing, so one step out of the hole I’ve dug. It took me three hours from the time I decided to do it until I actually managed to do it, but I still managed in the same day. That’s something, right? RIGHT.

#irl #aren'tcripplingdisordersfun

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northshoregadgets · 7 years

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His Savior, His Life and His Friend: Losing a Dog to Cancer While Going Through Cancer Myself

I have finally found the emotional strength to share with you a new story about my dog, Trucker. Many have followed my stories of his antics through Dogster.

Sadly, this story is of his passing. It has been hard for me to relive it all, but I wanted his followers to know. I will share with you here a modified post I made to Facebook in January, shortly after he died.

Trucker and me in February 2013. He always looked at me like this. Photography courtesy Tracy Aherns.

In July 2015, Trucker developed a small, soft mass on his left upper leg and other similar masses on his body. All were tested and the one on his leg had mast cell cancer present.

He was operated on to remove that mass. His legs were long and the skin to work with was scarce. The doctor did an excellent job removing the mass and surrounding tissue and scored the skin to help it stretch out. I was told that cancer could return if the margins were not clear.

In June 2016, I was diagnosed with Stage 2B breast cancer. While I was undergoing chemotherapy and very ill, I noticed a bump on Trucker’s leg above where the incision was before. It began growing quickly. I made an appointment to see his local vet and the mass was tested, revealing cancer had returned.

I was told that he needed to see an oncologist at a veterinary teaching hospital over an hour drive from where I live. I made an appointment to visit them for a consultation in October 2016. I was too sick from chemotherapy to take him sooner.

Trucker didn’t have much loose skin left to remove the mass. It was certain he’d have to have his leg amputated to remove the mass and definitively diagnose the grade of cancer. The higher the grade, the more advanced the cancer would have been.

I discussed all options with the oncologist and asked her to be brutally honest with me. Trucker was 12. The maximum life expectancy for a dog his size was 8-12 years. The oncologist did a needle biopsy of his spleen that day to see if cancer was present. I was told that mast cell cancer ultimately ends up in the spleen in the advanced stage. She also biopsied an armpit lymph node to see if cancer cells were present.

Results showed that cancer was in the lymph node but not the spleen. Since it was already in his lymph node, we knew it was traveling in his body. Even if we amputated his leg, the cancer was probably elsewhere.

I chose not to amputate his leg. He needed to live his life as a happy dog in the last year or two remaining. If he had his leg removed, he would have still needed chemotherapy. Chemo would have been only 30 to 40 percent effective.

Factoring everything, I chose conservative means to treat his cancer. I also had to think of my own health battling cancer as I was facing upcoming surgery and radiation.

I discussed all of this with the oncologist and she understood my decision to treat him conservatively, trying to keep the mass at a smaller size.

She told me he would have 6 to 12 months to live. We discussed what “the signs” would be that cancer had taken over his body. She said the mass could abscess. At that stage, his health would be very poor and he could develop swelling in the leg, which would be painful.

I gave Trucker four Benadryl a day, which made him tired but kept the mast cells from getting too active. I also gave him the maximum amount of prednisone he could take to keep the mass smaller. Prednisone made him want to drink and eat more.

Trucker’s cancer mass on his leg. Photography courtesy Tracy Aherns.

In the last few weeks before he was euthanized, the mass started to grow and I could see the pressure on his skin. He was also pacing more because of the prednisone and possible pain.

A day before his passing, the leg had suddenly swollen upward toward his armpit. The skin was red and hot to the touch. He was more tired than normal. He laid on the floor gingerly and had trouble pushing himself up. I had to lift him from the floor a couple times. He also had trouble climbing stairs.

We went to the vet January 12, and when she saw Trucker she said, “He’s not the same dog.” I knew this. On the ride to the vet he laid in the back seat of my car and rested his head on the seat. He never did that. He always wanted to stick his head out the passenger window. I kept one hand on him as I drove, holding his leg with the mass in my hand.

When we got to the vet clinic he was slightly dragging his back leg when he walked.

I learned he was swollen in his shoulder, both sides of his chest had swollen lymph glands, his leg was swollen most of the way up, the side of his face was swollen in his neck area, his heart rate was 150 instead of normal 120 and he was having trouble walking with that back leg.

The thoughts from the doctor were that the mast cells had spread fast, his heart rate was troubling and could have been due to anemia, his abdomen seemed a bit distended (perhaps his spleen or liver was also affected now) and the leg dragging could have been due to pain or a neurological issue. Bottom line, the cancer had taken over his body.

He laid down on a large quilt when he was euthanized. He always loved blankets. He was strangely at peace and didn’t tremble or fight to get up.

Trucker never showed his age. He didn’t get gray hairs on his face until this past year. He was always active and loving.

When he was euthanized, the veterinarian cried before I did. She loved him as many people did. I told her I couldn’t cry because it would upset him. I would not cry until he left. I fed him bits of treats as he was put into a sleepy state before being set free.

I told him that I loved him, I thanked him for caring for me, I said I would see him again, that I would keep fighting and that he would not have to worry about me now. Just after 11 a.m. he went heavy in my arms and I finally cried.

My vet told me she felt I made the right decision based on everything she saw that day. He could have died at home or while spending the night with my neighbor who babysat him. I worked nights and was set to go back to work three days later.

I did not want Trucker to suffer. His health was declining fast and I felt this was the time – peacefully.

I knew when I went to that vet appointment Trucker was not doing well. I did not know it was that bad. I know he hid so much from me because he was taking care of me during my battle with cancer. Animals can hide things so well.

I pray he is held by Jesus and those who have left before me. I pray that he heard me, that he understood and that he knows I loved him.

Holding Trucker as he left this life. Photography courtesy Tracy Aherns.

The day Trucker left was brutally raw. I was on the floor holding him, my head covered in stubble after losing my hair to chemotherapy. He was also fighting cancer and I had to let him go.

I asked God to bring me peace that I made the right decision and that Trucker was now watching over me. His life was hard before meeting me (he was 5 when I adopted him). I did so much to bring him peace in the almost eight years we knew each other. He was loved by many people near and far, a life he never would have had.

Trucker had been discarded three times, forgotten by so many people, like a child bouncing around from foster home to foster home. He had severe separation anxiety and fear of storms. Then he met me during a pet adoption event and he learned about peace and love. He was free to be himself. I never raised my voice to him or scolded him when he acted out due to anxiety. I told him “I understand” and “It’s ok.”

Because of my patience, he stopped cowering and was thankful.

I understood him. I also fought anxiety in the past. Plus, both of us had been abandoned by people we loved over the years.

I shared Trucker with the world through my stories and photos of our life together. I was his therapy. He was mine.

As a friend said, “You were his savior, his life and his friend.”

Thank you all for loving him, too.

Footnote: Two months after Trucker died I met another dog, a senior I named Angel, who picked me as her new guardian. I plan to share a couple more stories about my years with Trucker and now stories about Angel who has a following on Instagram (@raisingmyfurrychildren) and Facebook (http://ift.tt/2v0BUwR).

Thumbnail: Photography courtesy Tracy Aherns.

Read more about dogs battling cancer on Dogster.com:

8 Things to Remember When Fighting Cancer in Dogs

Immunotherapy Trial to Treat Dog Cancer Shows Promising Results

What You Need to Know If Your Dog Gets Diagnosed With Cancer

The post His Savior, His Life and His Friend: Losing a Dog to Cancer While Going Through Cancer Myself appeared first on Dogster.

from Dogster http://ift.tt/2v0E6nS via http://www.dogster.com

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stiles-wtf · 7 years