Heartbreak

Another semester is officially done. I got my grades done and in on Sunday.

We are way behind with our gardening, partially due to our insanely busy schedules as of late, the weather, and some health issues that have slowed me down again (I swear my body hates me and does shit like this on purpose just to torment me!), but we did get some quality gardening time in last night after dinner.  We had a perfect Friday night, and there's a little part of me that realizes that my perfect Friday night would also be considered perfect in a retirement home, so I guess I'm officially old.  We had a family dinner in front of the TV(!)--eggplant chickpea curry with pistachio pudding for dessert while we watched Cosmos (the NDT reboot). After dinner we went outside and gardened together until dark. Absolutely perfect.

We lost our Chloe a couple of weeks ago, and it was quite bittersweet to run into several of her "Chloe holes" while gardening last night. She loved to be outside with us, especially when we were all in back gardening. She always dug these pits to lie in, and she had several of them around the yard/garden, so she could follow the sun or shade as desired, get the best view, stay closest to the action, etc.  The area I was planting last night was around one of her favorite little Chloe holes, and it was heartbreaking to not have her there with us.

When we brought her home five years ago, we knew she had a very uncertain future. The day we picked her up for adoption (and the first day we met her), we picked her up from the clinic where she had spent the night recovering from her first of two surgeries to remove malignant mammary tumors. She recovered and enjoyed many more years than anyone thought she would have, but not nearly long enough for us.

She'd been struggling with horrible arthritis and joint pain. We'd been working closely with our vet, trying various medications to try to get the maximum quality of life possible for her. A few weeks ago, I discovered a new growth on her shoulder/neck, which proved to be malignant. She was scheduled for surgery to remove the tumor to determine exactly what kind (the biopsy they sent out indicated that it was probably lymphoma but it wasn't certain) and what her options/prognosis would be. I was having serious misgivings about putting her through surgery--she's old, she's tired, she's got chronic pain, and to add a surgical recovery on that really made me feel miserable. I didn't sleep well the night before the surgery, and she seemed particularly uncomfortable that night.

I was awakened early that morning to her crying, and when I went running to see what was wrong, I found that she couldn't stand or get up at all. She wanted to so badly but couldn't. I helped her up and found that she couldn't stand on her own at all. She was determined to walk around and go potty outside (after she had peed on the floor--which horrified her), despite being completely unable to do so, so we figured out that I could hold her up suspended, and just move her in the direction that her head and feet were moving while she made her walking motions. My sweet girl made several trips around the yard, smelling, then went potty outside like she wanted to.

I cancelled the surgery and scheduled an appointment that morning, fearing that it would be her last. I was holding on to the slight, outside possibility that the vet would say, "Oh, she just slipped a disc or popped something out of place. I can fix that right up." I knew deep inside that wasn't it, but had to hope.  In the time we had at home with her, her family was all able to be with her (Mark came home from work, Dej came, my mom...), loving her, massaging her, feeding her (appetite was still great!), and saying our goodbyes.

On our way to the clinic, Luce rode in the back seat with Chloe to help keep her stabilized and comfortable. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day, and Chloe wanted her head out the window, which is one of her favorite things to do. L held her up, so she could keep her head out. I got to watch my side mirror--she had a big grin, ears flying back, tongue flopping out the side--she was a happy girl on the way there.  When we got there, they had set up a large non-skid rug on the floor with towels over it, so we all sat on the floor around Chloe, and she kept her head in my lap.

As we feared but expected, Chloe's problem was not structural, it was neurological. There was a tumor(s?) along her spine or brain that was causing the problems. This would not get better and could not be fixed, and we would not allow her to continue to suffer this way. We spent some time with her in the vet's office (loving her more, petting, rubbing her little ears--another Chloe favorite), and feeding her her favorite veg. canadian bacon until the sedative kicked in enough that she couldn't chew anymore.  She relaxed and was free from pain for the first time in months. We loved seeing her that way.  When they gave her the final dose, she peacefully, quickly slipped away, still with her head in my lap and having her little nubby ear (she had a small deformed ear that she really liked me to rub, as she couldn't get into it with her foot very well) rubbed.

We miss her so much, so many times a day, in so many different ways. She was really smart and a gifted communicator--she talked with many different vocalizations and had the most expressive face I've ever seen. I've never seen an animal of any species so determined to communicate with others and make them understand her. Through the years, I realized that I had begun to think of her as more of a peer than anything. I love all of my animals so very deeply, regardless of how smart or cute or charming they are, but most of them I see very much as my children. Chloe was different. It's hard to explain why, but if you met and spent time with her, you would know. She leaves and enormous hole in our family.