Maybe you noticed… my last few stories weren’t happy. I wondered why.
After a few days, I realized—it’s my way of coping. Writing makes things feel a little easier. I don’t know if it’s the right way, but right now, it helps. Thinking about what might happen in two weeks is too much.
Yesterday, we had another appointment with the vet. I was hoping so badly for good news. They took her blood, and while we waited, they did an ultrasound… The water is still there. We already noticed her stomach getting bigger again, but she was eating, and she wasn’t vomiting.
She eats so carefully, like she’s still afraid. For so long, food made her sick, so now she starts by eating from our hands. After a few minutes, when she realizes she won’t throw up, she eats normally. But we can tell—she’s still scared.
She has more energy now, but she’s not herself. She doesn’t want to sleep in our bed. She doesn’t jump on the couch. She stays in her bed instead. She always slept with us… If we didn’t let her, she would get so mad, barking like crazy. But now… she doesn’t even try. That scares me.
The vet said there wasn’t as much water as last time, so they drained about half a liter. I left the room again—I couldn’t watch. But she was so brave. I think she felt relieved to have her stomach lighter.
Then we got the blood test results. I saw the vet’s face, and my heart sank. The results are the same. Not worse, but not better. After two weeks and all those pills… nothing changed. So now, we start aggressive treatment. More pills.
And then the vet said something I didn’t want to hear. If the results don’t improve in two weeks… there’s nothing else we can do. Her body will start getting weaker. Her organs will fail. And we won’t be able to save her.
I’m crying as I write this. Two weeks. We have two weeks to see if she gets better. If not… we have to let her go.
I want to be positive, I really do. My husband is so strong—he believes she will get better. He says she will be healthy again. But me? I can’t. Every time I look at her, my heart breaks. I hold her close, talk to her, stare into her beautiful eyes… She is my sunshine. She has given me so much happiness for 13 years. I know dogs don’t live forever, but I wanted at least two more years with her.
Baby, I’m not ready. I’m really not.
So now, we wait. Two weeks. And then we’ll know… if she can stay with us, or if we have to let her go. I won’t let her suffer. I want her life to be without pain.
She still has energy. She still wags her tail. She still barks at the cats. She still looks beautiful.
But she’s not herself.
Oh… I have to stop writing now. I can’t do this anymore…
“No matter how much time we get, it’s never enough.” – Unknown
With love, @tinabrezpike ❤️
It's difficult not be able to control the situation, but you're currently doing your best and we hope your dog can pull through with the medications. There's nothing as painful as seeing test results don't don't show improvement. Stand strong.