I thought maybe it would be easier to write this now while I am exhausted and the shock of it has me in a feeling of unreality. My Tommy is gone. There was no gradual decline, no signs of warning, no ending of a prolonged illness. Yesterday my big sweet goofball was squeaking his toys, dropping balls in my lap, eagerly eating his dinner, and tonight, he’s gone. Just gone.
This morning at about 12:30 a.m. I awoke to sounds of Tommy with labored breathing and the smell of stool in the room. Tommy was moaning and breathing heavily. I turned the lamp on and stumbled up to find he had been incontinent of stool and could not get up, would not even lift his head. I called the emergency vet number and left a message and then had to just wait. I managed to get him pulled onto a comforter and using that drag him into the living room where I could more easily examine him and sit with him. I took his temperature and found it to be low, a sign of shock. Gradually his breathing got less loud and his moaning stopped and he even staggered to his feet and moved to the dog bed I keep near the sofa.
As soon as the vet got back with me I managed to get him up and lift him, front half and then back, into the Jeep and take him in. There an x-ray was done which showed that his intestines were either dilated or twisted. Blood work was drawn. He was dehydrated so I held him as they gave him IV fluids and then put his blanket into a kennel and helped him settle there. We decided they would watch him and wait on blood work and they would call me with any changes/news.
Later the vet called me and told me Tommy was deteriorating, vomiting more, and the vet felt it was time to do an emergency exploratory surgery if I okayed it. I did so and waited to hear back. I received a call while he was still on the table. The vet told me then he had a mass on his spleen but he was too unstable to remove the spleen. There was no visible sign of spread at that time but we decided to close and revive him and see what the blood work showed as far as tumor markers and get a better idea of prognosis and the next steps to take.
It wasn’t to be. Tommy’s heart stopped before he recovered from the anesthesia. They were unable to revive him.
I went there to hold him one more time. To see him and touch him once more. To say goodbye.
My boy is gone. Just like that, he’s gone. Yesterday he was a happy, playful, cuddly boy. Tonight, he is gone. I will never hear him squeak his toys again. I will never hear his playful woo-woo growling again. I will never see his tail swishing as he looks at me with his doggy grin. I will never feel his head resting on my leg as he relishes being petted and hugged. He’s gone. And a part of me went with him.
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Play hard at the Bridge Tommy, you were so loved.
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