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Found 26 results

  1. Jelo

    Help me, I’m broken!

    My baby of 8 yrs whom We spolied and loved more than ourselves was attacked & killed by another dog while boarding in a kennel facility while me & hubby were on vacation.We have no kids and he is our life!There is a huge guilt on our part.What if we didn’t leave him, what if we didn’t go on vacation, all sorts of “what if.”We’re so broken that we both can’t sleep sincecwe found out (12.22.18).We cry ourselves to sleep & wake up crying.We skipped the Christmas celebratiom as we’re both on bed and miserable.I myself can’t & won’t do anything.We haven’t gone back to work.I’ve been so depressed & can’t forgive myself!I’m still grieving for the death of my dear dad in Aug.And now this.. I can’t handle all the pain!So much emotions overwhelmed me.I don’t want to leave my bed as I can’t stand seeing the rest of the house especially our family room where he stayed for 8 yrs.We have our daily routine that haunts me every second.Please I need advice & help! Thanks!
  2. My Sallie died on February 23, 2018. She was a standard poodle a few months away from 13 and she was getting older, she was lethargic and I could tell she had trouble with her hips. On Wednesday, two days before she died, my mom and I decided to take her to the beach. We had a beautiful glorious day running around, playing with her, and she was SO happy. Sallied hadn't really been to the beach before and she would occasionally reach down and eat sand or lick the water, whenever she did we would scold her. We spent about two hours on the beach and we were walking the whole time and never took our eyes off of her. Almost right after we left the beach she threw up, which we thought was normal, she's just trying to get the sand/salt water out of her system right? The following day she was fine, but towards the night she started throwing up even more. We called the vet and he said she's getting the sand out of her system and just don't give her any water so she can get it out. I woke on Friday to her crying and she managed to jump over the stool and get water. I felt bad, so I gave her the food and water bowl and went back to bed. Throughout the day on Friday we took her on walks and observed her, slowly gave her water and tried to feed her turkey (she wasn't eating anything). On Friday she threw up in the morning, but by the afternoon she wasn't throwing up and was just tired/sleepy. We thought she was resting and would sleep and eat and would be fine, she puked alot and all the sand seemed to have left her system. Towards the end of the day Friday, she looked fine, quite, but wasn't throwing up. So I decided to go to a dance performance and she was left alone for an hour (which I will always greatly regret). When my mom got back from the gym, she said Sallie was fine, not distressed, she drank water and rested. It wasn't until 10:30 that my mom noticed that she had took a turn for the worse, her health had so quickly declined. In the morning she was her normal self and now she could barley move. By a stroke of God, I made it home while she was still alive and just cuddled her, petted her, told her what a good dog she was. She shat herself and I just cleaned it up and kept near her. We carried her down to the car and rushed her to the ER, but she died on the way there, it was so peaceful that I hadn't even realized that she died. She just took her last breath. We will never know what Sallie died from, but a vet we spoke to, said a healthy, young dog, who ate some sand and drank a little water would've been fine. She must've been suffering from something else, cancer, liver failure, heart failure, and the beach just made whatever she had speed up. I will always regret that I didn't pamper her in her last day, but at least I was there, I really don't think I could've lived with myself if she died without me. I'm 17 and she has been in my life since I was 5, she was my family, my sister. I wished I had pampered her more in her last day and had spent her last hours with her, instead of her last minutes. But we truly didn't know she was dying. On Friday the decline was so quick, that I don't think a vet could've saved her. They would've stabilized her and we would either put her down (which I couldn't live with) or we would have to choose between surgery. If we had to choose surgery I don't know what we would've done. We couldn't afford it and the chances that she survived would be slim, she's old and the surgery would've been invasive, painful, and traumatizing. Would I put her through that, just so she could live a couple more months in pain? We should've taken her in sooner, but I find solace knowing that she died with me petting her and not in some scary clinic. She HATED the vet and getting her haircut. She died naturally and the choice for us as her humans was taken out of our hands and (not now), but I think I will soon feel relief over the fact that she had a beautiful last day, a painful couple of hours, and then just fell asleep. Sallie was amazing: she ran across a polo field during a game, she peed in a strangers shoe, she stole food from peoples bags and they never noticed. Was her life perfect? No. But think of all the other dogs out there, who die alone in clinics, with no one to love them. Or dogs who died before they were a ripe old age. She had a beautiful, full life, she knew I loved her and I wish she was still here with us, but I know she's watching over me. I love you Sallie.
  3. Hello. I’m very new here, and I don’t know where to begin except to say that I’m heartbroken. I apologize in advance if this post is long. A lot of terrible things happened to me, and there aren’t many places I can be myself and just talk about my feelings. My mother died suddenly and unexpectedly on April 12, 2017 at Ochsner of acute myeloid leukemia. It happened less than two weeks after her ENT initially suspected that she had cancer. None of us, not even mom herself, knew she sick, as she was so vibrant and active. It was devastating. She was truly the heart of our family. She and my father were married 51 years, and while Dad didn’t talk about the loss much, we all knew he was heartbroken. My father died February 13. I was living with him so I could take care of him after Mom passed away. Dad suffered from a lot of heath problems, including COPD, emphysema, diabetes, and an enlarged heart. He was very dependent on Mom, and I picked up where she left off the best I could, seeing that he took his meds, getting his meals ready, getting his CPAC and bed ready at night, etc. But I failed in my duties as a caretaker. I could have saved him. Dad has always had difficulty breathing, and around Thanksgiving, his feet began to swell. My sister and I noticed and offered to take him to the doctor. But he refused. As much as we loved him, he was a very stubborn man who refused to go to the doctor unless he needed his prescriptions refilled. By Christmas, his feet were looking really terrible, and his breathing was worse. My brother, sister, and I were begging him to go to the doctor. But he still refused, insisting that he was ok. What he did do was let me fix an Epsom salt soak for his feet. But the swelling didn’t go away. So I went behind his back and set up an appointment with his doctor for January 2. But the weather was terrible at the time, and he told me that it was too cold to go to the doctor and to cancel the appointment. His 6 month appointment was February 5, so I respected his wishes and cancelled it, making sure to keep the 2/5 appointment. On February 2, his CPAC machine broke. He told me to take a look at it, but I had no idea how to fix it, so I took it to Thrift Home Care (the local supplier for O2 and breathing supplies). I filled out the paperwork and was told that he would need a prescription from his doctor to get a new one. I took this as good news because it meant he couldn’t get out of going to the doctor this time. He would have to see the doctor whether he wanted to or not. We rode out a very rough weekend without his CPAC. He was going through 2 tanks of O2 a day, and I begged him to let me take him to the ER. My sister was calling twice a day, begging him to go. My brother was using pictures of his new grandson (his namesake) as leverage, begging him to go. But he refused to go and said he was right where he wanted to be. Sunday night, he even pulled a stunt trying to get out of going to the doctor on 2/5. He said, “I want you to call the doctor Monday, and get the prescription for me. Then I won’t have to go.” I informed him it doesn’t work that way, so if he wanted a new machine, he’d have to go whether he liked it or not. So on February 5, we went to the doctor as scheduled. I described all his symptoms: his difficulty breathing, his swollen feet, leaning over in his chair, falling asleep in his chair, etc. She suspected congestive heart failure and ran some tests. Then she set him up for a 2/15 appointment with a heart specialist. I also told her he needed a new CPAC, and she wrote the prescription. Dad was happy because he was ready for his CPAC. After dropping Dad off at home, I went to Thrift with the prescription, but they told me they didn’t have everything ready yet. They were waiting for Medicare and other paperwork. They gave me more O2, and I went home. Dad got crabby with me because he was expecting to get his CPAC right then so he could take a nice long nap. On February 6, Dad stumbled getting out of bed and wanted me to stay home with him (I am a school librarian). So I took the day and sat with Dad. All day I begged him to let me take him to the ER. My sister and brother were calling and begging him to get to the doctor. My aunt (his sister) begged him to go. But he would not go. We told him that if we called 911, an ambulance would come for him and he wouldn’t even have to get out of his chair. But he said he didn’t need an ambulance. I asked him if he wanted me to call my uncle (his BIL), or his best friend. But he said no, he was OK. On February 7, he finally got his new CPAC and had a great night’s sleep. We got the results of the tests and found he didn’t have congestive heart failure. For the first time in a week, I got a good night’s sleep, too. But things fell apart. His feet were still swollen, and he was still groggy, falling asleep in his chair. I was still begging him to let me take him to the doctor, but he just wouldn’t go. He slept until 2:30 on Saturday. He did NOT sleep well without his CPAC and thought I was helping him by letting him sleep in. My aunt called and hollered at me when she found out I was letting him sleep that late. She told me I was the most cowardly, irresponsible adult she had ever met, that I needed to grow up, take responsibility, and call an ambulance. I did NOT need to hear that after the week I’d just been through getting the new machine and hung up on her. Dad woke up, grouchy as a bear because his sleep had been disturbed, and I told him it was nearly 3 in the afternoon. After church on Sunday, I fed him meatloaf and green beans, meal he normally loved, and he just picked at it. This concerned me, and I asked if he wanted me to call an ambulance or someone to come over. He said he was OK and was going to hold out for the doctor’s appointment he had on Thursday. On Monday, April 12, I prepped the library for some visiting VIPs, got him a happy for Valentine’s Day, and went home to fix him dinner. He said he wanted ravioli, so I fixed that for him. He ate every bite while we watched Women’s Snowboarding and the Men’s Super G. He kept telling me how much he loved me, and I told him how much I loved him, too. Around 10PM, I got his bed and CPAC ready, and he got up for bed. He stumbled a little, and I asked him was he sure he didn’t want me to call someone, and he said no, as always. When he got to the bathroom, I curled up with a cheesy romance novel. I heard him bump around in the bathroom and asked if he wanted some help, and he said no, he just wanted to go to bed. So what did I do but curl up with that stupid, cheesy romance novel again and settle down for the night. I woke up at 2:30 with a strange feeling. I checked on Dad, and he was sleeping. I was glad he was going to let me take him to the doctor on Thursday. And what did I do but lay back down and go to sleep. I woke up at 5:45, got up and ready for work like I always did. I fixed Dad coffee, poured his orange juice, set out his meds, and even put out a slice of king cake for him as a treat because it was Mardi Gras. I looked in on Dad, but didn’t wake him up, then I left for work. I wish I had stayed home. I wish I had just called 911 and dealt with him later. My aunt called me at work because he wouldn’t answer the phone. I left ASAP and went straight home to find that he had passed away in bed and had been lying there while I was at work. I am such a miserable failure as a caretaker. I should have done a better job and never left his side for even a second. I know my aunt blames me for his death, and I feel like the rest of the family does, too. All I want is to be buried next to my parents. I’m sorry I failed you, Dad, and Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t take care of him. Please forgive me. I will love you both forever and wish I was good enough to see you again. Thank you for listening, TeasingGeorgia
  4. Well, here it goes... My boyfriend and I decided to adopt a Husky/Alaskan Malamute mix... 14 months old. I am 24 years old and unemployed due to chronic pain, so we thought a dog would be a great companion... My boyfriend works 9-5, Monday-Friday so I spend a lot of time alone. Shiloh is a rescue dog, with extreme separation anxiety issues... but he has a great temperament. When taking the dog in, we took extra precaution with our precious guinea pigs. They are in a separate bedroom upstairs, blocked off with a gate in front of the cages, and we keep the door closed.. he is not allowed in the room. 5 days after bringing Shiloh home, my boyfriend's brother was visiting before he had to go to work. (He stays with us often) I was not feeling well, so decided to stay on the couch downstairs. My boyfriend was working. He was upstairs in the guinea pig's room with the door closed (that's also where he sleeps when he stays)... A few minutes after he had gone into the room, Shiloh went upstairs..I assumed he would lay in front of the door and wait for Jeremy as he usually does...... Minutes later I heard Jeremy screaming ,"HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE? No... NO....NOOOOOOOOO!!!! .... I"M SO SORRY!!!...." and my poor babies SCREAMING out for me to help them... I actually heard one of my babies suffering. REALLY suffering. I literally couldn't move... When all I could hear was Jeremy sobbing, I started making my way upstairs saying, "It's okay Jeremy!".. he said "no, it's not okay." Our baby Cogli was gone. Only 5 months old. Shiloh must have jumped up and opened the door with the handle... and it just happened so fast. I am soooo thankful that Shiloh didn't get to our other three, Rufus(Cogli's cagemate), Marshy and Nugget... But I have never felt pain like this. We decided to rehome the dog...I just can't bare the thought of him getting to another one of our pigs. He went to a 24 year old girl with PTSD and anxeity...and Rufus, Cogli's cagemate is doing well... But I just feel so sick.. Like there is something I could have done to prevent this. I'm trying to be strong for my guinea pigs and for Matt, but I just feel so empty!!
  5. My mother passed away yesterday morning, & I'm feeling not only devastated, emotionally drained/shocked, but tremendously guilty. She was an amazing woman who had been sick since before I was born. About two years ago she had a bone marrow transplant, & unfortunately developed Graft vs Host Disease. She fought so hard to get her life back, but GvHD is a very, very ugly disease & won out in the end. My aunt flew my sisters & I out to decide if we should continue the aggressive treatment or put her in hospice. As her medical power of attorney (I'm the oldest & I didn't know I was power of attorney until a week before this as my mother never talked to me about her wishes & her will is lost somewhere in storage) I had the biggest say, but I insisted my sisters voice their opinion because they're her kids too. Ultimately the decision was to send her home to my grandparents where all her things were, with a great hospice. I kept it together until I had to sign the DNR form. It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, but I couldn't not sign it. The GvHD had rendered her blind, her body had stopped digesting food, her kidneys were failing, a stroke caused by a rare bacteria had rendered her paralyzed, barely coherent, & her body was all bloated from steroids & her skin was bruised, cracked, & bleeding in places. Earlier that day when I had my alone time with her & said everything I felt I needed to, she asked me to help her. It killed me to do it, but I signed it. I had to leave the next morning to come home out-of-state to tend to my sick one year old & his dad, & got the call early Saturday morning after having an extremely vivid dream where she told me she loved me (& I truly believe it was her spirit reaching out to me). She was surrounded by my sisters & the love of people who knew her, listening to her favorite music. Not hooked up to machines or in any pain. I keep telling myself she wanted it this way, reminding myself of all the times during the past two days she told one of my sisters (who was in denial & didn't want her to leave the hospital) she wanted to move on, of my own experience of her begging me to help her because she was in so much pain & suffering. That she was trapped in that sick body & she had reached her limit. Despite all of this, I feel so much guilt & it's tearing me apart. I know I didn't kill my mom or anything, but I still feel like she died because of me. Like maybe I should've convinced my family she had a fighting chance. But then I remember that the doctors said she'd be paralyzed, bedridden, & blind her entire life with her mental capacity even possibly worse & that my mother never would've wanted to live a life like that. Sorry this is so long. I miss my mom so much & we lost her so quickly. It just sucks & hurts so very much.
  6. My husband was working a night shift so I decided to take them for a walk through the forest in the rain alone. I did this because when it's raining there are no other dogs out so they get in less fights. They don't attack but bark and bark. I thought I was being good by walking them. The big dog hates the car. When he senses we are walking back to the car he tries to run away. He will run away, hide for a bit and then prance back into almost an arm's reach and then bounce away again. Normally after running around for 10-20 minutes, attempting to trick him and attempts to grab him I could get him and put him on a lead, so that he was safe walking past the road. But 2 nights ago he was taking it to extremes. I must have spent 30 mins just trying to grab him. In the end I decided to take the smaller dog to the car. I sat in it and watched as Sony walked down the hill bit by bit towards the car. He goes past the gate behind the car and I get out and try to call him over. He runs away. I wait again and next he comes right up against the car. This time I get out with treats. He doesn't care about them and runs away. So far it's been 40-50 minutes of me trying to catch him. I ring my husband but my phone is playing up and wont connect properly. I see he is now in front of the car but I didn't think he would go so far as the road. I text my husband and when I look up he has actually crossed the road into the field. I panic and decide to drive around the corner, hoping he would panic seeing me leave. After a minute I drive back to where he is. He recognises the car and bounces over as if he's happy I'm back. I get out of the car thinking he would come over. Nope he bounces away again. I actually open the windows thinking he would come over if I'm not out of the vehicle and I can maybe grab him. But by now it's pouring and my business papers are getting soaked. The look he is giving me is one of defiance, as if to say "I'm not getting in the car and there's nothing you can do about it." I decide to take the little dog home because he is crying and struggling by this stage being in the boot so long. I think I can get my husband and we can corner him together. I am only away a few minutes but by the time I get back he has been hit and a car is damaged. Thankfully no human is injured. He died without me or my husband. But I failed. What I should have done was waited at the gate and blocked it so he couldn't get past me. My husband was coming so I could have stayed there, I just didn't know how long he would be or if he was definitely coming because the stupid phone kept cutting out. But I was tired and soaked by this stage. I really didn't think he would run into the road when a car was there. Now I will never see his fluffy smile again. I had plans for his future, hikes together and a ham bone I hadn't given to him yet. I just hate myself. I really loved him. Now my little dog has realised something is wrong and keeps crying and looking for him. He was only a year and a half old which makes me feel so bad because I should have protected him for at least another 8 years minimum. I hear people on this site and others talk about seeing them in the next life or even in dreams. I hope that's true because I can't bear not seeing him again. I found out his name was Sunny, not Sony. I heard it wrong when I picked him up the first time. I like this because it makes me think he is somewhere warm and bright. This is now the biggest mistake of my life. Do you think I did enough? I tried so hard but the one thing I could have done to save him I didn't do. <3 Sony <3
  7. It's been a week since I received the horrible phone call that my baby passed away at the Vet's. His name was Nathaniel. I loved him so much. We shared a special bond that I'm not sure that I will ever share with another being. Nathaniel, was almost 17 years old. I got him as a kitten. He's been through so much with me. My first house, my divorce, different moves while I figured out my life, my new relationship and he came to love my new husband. He was a constant. He was someone who never let me down. Recently he was starting to show the signs of aging. But whenever he would seem sick, he would bounce back. I had him on a special diet for his kidneys and he took medicine twice a day for his thyroid. The past couple of years he had some chronic constipation issues. I did my best to stay on top of it. If I noticed he was struggling, I had medicine on hand to deal with it. If I didn't notice quick enough I would have to bring him to the vet and they would hydrate him and give him an enema which I am sure was not pleasant for him. One of my other cats started going in his litter box, making it difficult to detect, also more life responsibilities made it harder to stay on top of it. It just got to be a very busy time and I hate myself for not noticing his pains sooner. One night I was up late working and he came and sat beside me gave me his snuggles and love. Then suddenly he was acting strange. I could tell something was wrong. I thought it was the same issue. I gave him his medicine and thought, if he was still acting strange in the morning, I would bring him to the vet first thing. He seemed ok the next morning. So I went on with my day and never looked back until now. I'm in the process of buying a house, so that weekend got busy and I wasn't home too much. Then Monday and Tuesday I had some commitments at night. But that Tuesday night he slept with me in my bed and we snuggled almost the whole night. I woke up at about 4 or 5 am to him peeing in our bedroom (which he never does). I sat with him for a bit and he seemed ok for a bit. So I went back to bed. That morning he was running back and forth to the litter box, so I took him to the vet. They told me it was the same chronic issue we were used to dealing with, but he needed an enema. Later that day they called me and said he was a great patient and that he was doing ok and that they did his blood work and that I was doing a good job with the food and the medicine and was controlling his health issues. They wanted to keep him for the night to keep him hydrated, but they thought he should be fine to go home the next day. I was relieved. I was feeling so guilty that I did not notice his pain quick enough and had to put him through that enema again. I really felt awful! I was beating myself up about it, so I was excited to get him back home to spoil him and give him all of the kisses. However a few hours later, I was on my way home from work, and my vet call and said Nathaniel was acting strange. He was also trying to hide. She checked his heart and apparently he had a heart murmur. I don't know much about heart murmurs, but she seemed very concerned and asked if he was acting lethargic. And I said, yes. I thought it was because he was old and on medicine etc. She said they do not have people at the vets over night to monitor the animals but if I wanted, I could move him to a facility that would monitor him through the night. But if he stayed she would start some tests on his heart first thing in the morning. If not, she recommended I have the new facility do this. I decided to not do move him because A. I didn't want to stress him out more and B. I felt comfortable with this vet and her plans for the morning. (I now don't think that was a good decision) I debated on stopping by the vet that night to see him. But I talked myself out of it because it would have been a lot of rushing around and my husband mentioned that he might be "out of it" anyways. So I didn't stop by. The next morning I got the call that he was not alive in the morning. My baby passed away at some point during the night at the vets. The amount of guilt I feel about this is inconsolable. I had him go through that enema which was uncomfortable so he was in pain his last day on earth. I didn't get to say good bye. My stupid life was too busy to stop by and visit him. My stupid life craziness was too busy to take him to the vet the week prior when he first show signs of something was wrong. And I knew he was old. I knew the day was coming but, I envisioned him in my arms or at my house or in some kind of setting where he knew he was surround by love. The fact that he passed away at the vet in a scary place saddens me. He deserved better! He at least deserved a last scratch behind the ears. Or lots of kisses and snuggles. I didn't get to give him any of those. I hope he knows that I was coming back for him and planning to love him and would never leave him at the vet's unless I had to for his well being. I hate that his last day was horrible for him. And it was all of my fault. I should have asked more questions about why he was lethargic and why he kept getting constipated. I should have pushed for more tests. Anyways I'm torn up about this. I keep thinking I can see him in the corning of my eye. I feel him walking on my bed at night. I'm not handling this well at all. I miss him so much. He was the sweetest cat I ever met. He would know when I was sad and snuggle with me. He was so forgiving if someone didn't realize he was there and would accidentally bump him. He was the best and this hole in my heart is aching like crazy. I'm going to be grieving the loss of this special soul for a very long time. Thank you for listening. I know this guilt isn't helping me. But I just can't get past it.
  8. I just don't know how to cope with what I'm feeling right now. I've dealt with severe depression before but this is a sadness and guilt like I've never known. At 7:00 last night, my puppy, my best friend, was struck and killed by a car. But I feel like it's entirely my fault. His favorite thing in the world is to go on car rides. My brother and I were going to get something to eat, so I decided to bring him along. He was his happiest self in the car, sticking his face out the window with the biggest grin on his face. I even took a video of him dated just a few minutes before he died, which is attached to this post. Usually when I get out of the car when he's inside, I make sure he's sitting and staying before I open the door. This is the one time I didn't, because he was in the backseat so I thought there was no way he could get out. But I was wrong. He jumped through the crack between my seat and the door, and before I knew it he'd hit the ground running. He'd run off a million times before, so we were sure we would catch him. He was even just out of my arms' reach at one point but I just couldn't snag him. My brother almost had him and ran after him, but my dog tried to escape and ran right into the road. It's this part that really kills me. I didn't see the car hit him, but my brother did. My brother said the car hit my dog in the back and spun him around, and that my dog made eye contact with my brother and the look on his face said "Help me," like he knew he'd made a mistake. And then he just kind of laid down in the road. My brother said that face will haunt him forever. The driver didn't even slow down. My puppy had never been out in traffic before. He didn't know the damage a car could do. My brother stopped another car from hitting him (what is wrong with people, STOP or at least SLOW DOWN), picked him up, and carried him back to me. I was in shock. My puppy was still moving a little bit, kicking his legs, trying to breathe. I called 911 - I didn't know what else to do - and begged them to please please please please send whatever they could right now. They could only send a police officer, and by the time he got there, my puppy was gone. I watched him die. I just kept petting him and telling him what a good dog he was and how much I loved him. I don't know when exactly he died so I hope to God that he heard me and that he died knowing how loved and cared for he was. I closed his mouth. I tried to close his eyes but they wouldn't close. I called my parents and they came and met us. We weren't even home, so we had to wrap his body in a blanket and drive him 20 minutes back to our house. We laid him on our porch swing while my dad and brother dug his grave. I couldn't leave his side. I just held him and stroked his fur and sobbed and kept telling him over and over how much I loved him and, "You're such a good boy." I was numb watching my dad put him in the ground. Then I was completely lost. I didn't want to eat, sleep, watch TV, anything. I'm completely distraught. An hour ago, my brother and I dug back down to his grave and laid his favorite toys, a few treats, and a bunch of Cheez-Its (his favorite human food) down in his grave. We listed a bunch of things we'd miss about him and said a prayer over his grave once we laid the sod back on top. I truly don't know how I'm going to move on from this. Or the memory of this. Or the guilt. This dog helped me through so much. I've had him since I was 10 and I'm 22 now. He helped me through depression, anxiety, suicide attempts, broken hearts, abusive parents, everything. He was so innocent and happy and deserved nothing but goodness. He must have been so scared and in pain, and that's what kills me the most. This little pure beam of sunshine having to know such pain and agony. I need to know that dogs go to heaven, that he's happy and healthy and that I'll see him again and be able to apologize to him and tell him I love him and feel his unconditional love again. Imagining the alternative makes me want to die. My puppy was 12 years old, but he still had all the energy of a puppy so it doesn't really feel like he lived that long. I suppose it's of some comfort that he never had to experience the limits that old age would have put on his bod, but it just hurts so much to imagine all the potential years he had left to live, all the memories we could have made. It's so surreal to think that just a few hours ago he was licking me and I was petting him and he was running around the house and happy riding in the car with the wind through his fur and now he's dead in the ground. The pain is unbearable. Can anyone please give me some advice on how to go through this? Or just give me some peace of mind? Do you believe that dogs go to heaven and that I'll see him again? I can't stop thinking about all the things I could have done differently to prevent his death. I feel like I've sobbed my body weight in tears and I just don't know how I'm going to be able to face tomorrow. IMG_1537.MP4
  9. Dear all, my name is Karin and I lost my beloved Mother 4 years ago. (Please excuse my sometimes broken English, I am writing this from Sweden..) I want to share my story with you..My Mum lived in a nursing home for 15 years ever since she got paralized from her second stroke in 1998. She died in pneumonia.They had told us that it would take some time, she was totally awake and looked like she used to.I was there during days and nights, and during the nights she sometimes had abnormal breathing patterns. The last night she had very fast breathing that started in the evening, and when I came in to her room at 12 in the night, it had gotten worse.She looked at me very intesively and the breathing was very fast and loud, but no sounds of fluids in the lungs. It was so stressful to sit by her side during that labored breathing.I finally rang the nurse who came and gave her an injection of 7.5 mg Morphine and 5 mg Stesolide. Maybe it got a little better, but the breathing was still very fast.I panicked and rang the nurse after only 30 minutes, and I was thinking "what are you doing, the 4 hours that was supposed to be between the doses, what about that"?! But I wanted to help her so desperately. AND they had agrees to try and save her after my brother and I had begged them to.They shouldn´t agreed to that..our Mother had been ill for 25 years and we were in denial, just couldn´t get into our heds that this was it.. So that last night, I was in my best rescuing mood..:( I don´t understand today how I could think that more Morphine would help her, but that night I wasn´t myself.. Anyway, the nurse came and said she could have a little more.I don´t know how much she gave her, but two hours later my Mum died. I feel like it´s my fault, I am convinced she would have lived two days longer if she hadn´t gotten that second injection.She was totally alerte and awake.. Every day is torture for me now, and i don´t know how to move on with this guilt. If there´s anyone who has any advice please tell me..thanks so much
  10. A rose is a rose is a rose. Accidents are accidents are accidents. I understand this all too well, but it doesn't make things any better. As pet owners, we all know that the absolute worst thing that could ever happen is accidentally killing our life companions. The blood on our hands, so to speak, doesn't wipe off easily if at all. Our minds go on a loop of could have, would have and should haves. The days that follow feel so cold with their absence, and knowing their abrupt demise was on your watch makes the atmosphere even colder. They did not deserve such an awful end, we tell ourselves. They really don't. No one does. But, it happens. This is my story. My daughter's nanny found an abandoned kitten a street or two away and brought it back to our doorstep. I jolted out of my nap when my husband told me that there was a kitten outside. She looked around two months old. We took her in and loved her as our own. Morrigan filled a certain space in our lives that made us feel complete. My husband, the dog person, even fell in love with her. Most of all, finally having a cat again made me so happy. That was until one unfortunate Monday morning, almost two months later. I woke up to find Morrigan playfully biting my sleeping husband who was annoyed by the habit, and then moving on to my sleeping toddler's foot. She was in that painful biting phase and we were trying to discipline her. My lack of a morning person made me pick up the kitten and put her in a box. I thought I would leave her there for a very brief moment as I went to drink a glass of cold water and then go back to her immediately. But, when I did, I spaced out and forgot about my poor little kitty. It wasn't until 30-45 minutes later when I went to fill her food bowl did I realize that I left her in the box. I panicked and ran to get her out of the unventilated box only to find out I was too late. Her body was still warm but she hung lifelessly on my hands. I tried administering CPR but my efforts were futile as her brain would have already collapsed by the lack of oxygen. The nanny found me by the bathroom crying and screaming. My husband, who was awakened by my relentless bawling, came to comfort me and was also struck with grief. I held her to my chest the whole time. I'm one of those pet owners who treat their pets as if they were their children. Morrigan was more than a family pet. She was my baby. And, I killed my baby. When I finally gathered myself, I put together her belongings in a pretty shoebox where I also laid her to rest, all swaddled and snug in one of my baby's gauze cloths. We held a small funeral as we burried her by the tree in our secret garden, where I used to take her so she can graze on the vegetation. I moved all of her photos and videos from our phones to a zip folder in my computer. I rearranged the space where her feeding station used to be. I wasn't getting rid of her, but I knew what I had to do to make moving on easier. On our first night without Morrigan, I had a dream about her. It was one of those ethereal-esque dreams you have when someone close to you dies. I woke up with tears of joy. That sense of relief didn't last long. Guilt, as we all know it, is a very powerful affliction. I was back in that cold place again. The tragic scenario played over and over in my head. I tried to go on with my day as usual, but I was dying inside. I didn't want to talk about it, thinking that dwelling upon it might make moving on harder. I feared that in a heated discussion of our grief, I would be blamed for her death, which I knew I deserved but couldn't bear to hear. So, I kept it all inside. But, silence reaches a point where it becomes deafening. I was furious. I have been through a lot (a rich backstory that I won't discuss), but this by far is the worst thing that has ever happened to me... because this time, I brought it on to myself. Everything was just right. I had a beautiful family and she completed the picture. Above everything else, she filled a hole in my heart that I didn't even know was there (or refused to acknowledge). There was something about having a cat that made me whole. After another restless night of tossing and turning, I got up and googled: "I accidentally killed my cat and I feel devastated and I don't know what to do." That's how I got here. Somehow, being able to write it down helped, but I know dark clouds may hover again some time soon. So, I'm taking it one day at a time. To my daughter: I'm sorry that your best-kitty-friend, "Monggan" is not around to play with you anymore. To my husband: I'm sorry. I know how much you loved her and I know you are just as heartbroken. Thank you for being my rock. And, to my sweet, little Morrigan: I could never apologize enough. You were gone too soon, and I'm so sorry it had to happen that way. I will miss having you perch on my shoulder as I do things. I will miss the funny way you look when you're pooping. I will miss how you follow us to the bathroom. I will miss separating the bigger pieces of your dry food from the small fish-shaped pieces and soaking them in water/milk so you can eat them easily. I will miss refilling your water bowl with clean tap water every couple of hours. I will miss fish day. I will miss watching you and my little girl, playing. I will miss giving you nice, warm baths and swaddling you after because you start shivering. I will miss how my husband tells you you look ugly and funny when you're wet from your bath. I will miss brushing your fur with a soft toothbrush. I will miss that one claw nail that was injured (pre-adoption) which took longer to grow than the rest. I will miss how you come running straight towards me when I call you. I will miss your baby kitty smell. I will miss your smooth, round belly. I will miss how you playfully bite my nose/chin and lick it immediately after. I will miss how you cuddle up with my hubby when he's sleeping. I will miss how you beg for food when we're eating, and how we pick you up and put you down when you get too close to the food. I will miss how my hubby falls for your cutie-patootie tactics and give you a sliver of chicken anyway. I will miss waking up and finding you somehow snuggled in between me and my hubby's embrace. I will miss everything about you. Mommy loves you so much. You were family and more. You made us very happy and we miss you dearly. You will always be in our hearts. ?
  11. I am having a real hard time dealing with everything it's three months my mum left us.
  12. It has been nearly three months since my mother passed away and I miss her terribly. She could be warm, funny, and a great conversationalist but I am filled with guilt as I type this. She could also be so abusive that I carry a diagnosis of complex PTSD. She was hospitalized in the final two months of her life and despite her declining health, she was charming, funny and nurturing to the doctors, nurses, friends, and family members around her. She was none of those things to me. She said horrific things to me. From the start my mother loved me (she told me so) but she deeply disliked me. She was very close to my brother and (later) his wife, and I am working very hard to not let my jealousy hurt my relationship with them. It was no more their fault than it was mine. People still email me and talk about what wonderful things she did for them and how kind she was. They are mourning her too but they knew a different person that I did. So, where do I go from here? I loved my mother very much. I made a conscious decision to forgive her and, when moments of honesty happened and she seemed to show an awareness of how she treated me, I told her so. I told her I loved her and that it didn't matter anymore. I worked very hard in the final 10 years of her life to build a solid relationship with her. What I learned after her death was that we were really no closer than she was to her friends at church. She confided and was open to my sister-in-law and one or two very close friends. OK, I am glad she had a support system, but I feel very hurt. I really don't know how to move forward.
  13. Hi, I am not quite sure why I am posting this, I guess to vent out as I have no other outlet. My mother was 62 type two diabetes and suffered from hypertension for many years. She developed Chikungunya infection according to our family physician on 24-26 Sep and on the 29th sudden back and abdominal pain, however fever had subsided. There was dengue and chikungunya epidemic in India at this time and the Physician who had been treating her for nearly 20 years went by her symptoms. The Initial blood test which he finally took on the 29th after her condition deteriorated revealed low platelet count 95,000 which he said was still 'safe', the only thing he said was that it was important to keep her hydrated so she needed a drip at any local hospital. By this time she could barely move and her abdominal pain just got worse and it was badly swollen, all this time she kept saying she was fine and that she will be fine. Our father was abroad and it was only myself and my younger brother, we had no other friend or family except an aunt who herself had suffered chikungunya. By this time we really got worried because mum could not even move to use the bathroom. She had not passed urine for a day not had a bowel movement for a day, but this we thought was because she was not eating and drinking for two days and also because she was extremely weak to get up and use the loo. We finally convinced her to come to hospital as she was not getting better and the fever usually lasts 5-7 days and people start getting better while she didn't. We took her to emergency at a large private hospital and they ran tests saw her low platelet report which was worrying they said and found that her creatinine and potassium was too high she had electrolyte imbalance and her kidneys have shut down, also she had acidosis. They put her on dialysis and she kept getting worse although levels did come down. On second day in ICU they found air leaking from her intestine, they said she needed emergency surgery with only a 10% survival chance, she made it through surgery they said she had perforation peritonitis. The next day morning her BP dropped. They gave her meds to increase BP but nothing worked, last resort was blood transfusion but she passed away in septic shock. We are not aware of any diverticulitis or similar problem, she didn't have any abdominal pain recently only she went to to toilet a lot, this was not unusual as she always said she has soft bowel. How could we have saved her? They diagnosed perforation after 36hours in Hospital through x-ray. What might have caused the perforation? Was chukungunya responsible? How soon if we had taken her to hospital she would have survived? I lost the most amazing person in my life, I never ever expected that my beautiful mum would just leave like this, on the second day even though she had all the tubes, central IV, food pipes etc, she believed me when Intold her that they were only going to clean her blood because she had bad toxins that were causing her problems, she listened to me and that's it, that's the last time we spoke and she heard me, after that she was sedated because she she was on ventilator, we didn't get the chance to say good bye, she is only 62, none of us are married, she will never see anyone's wedding if that at all happens, i never expressed how much she meant to us, that i valued every single sacrifice she made for us, i was recently frustrated as everything in my life especially work had taken a turn for the worse, I was isolated, I have no friends, I look after the house also and I get frustrated with household duties and responsibilities, I barely had time for myself or to sit and reflect over things with my mum, I did break down a couple of times and she had promised me that she will support me in anything I chose to do in future, I feel guilty as I should have not complained to her about anything and pretended that all is well like I had done in the past, I didn't express my love and gratitude as much as I should have. We had come to India and we're meant to go back to Uk in july, however a wedding on her side came up which she wanted to attend so much, I hate weddings I had said no but later I consented because she'd said they won't go without me, so we ended up changing reservations. After that Diwali was so near and I said since we are staying back maybe we could celebrate it together and then go back. This is the biggest mistake of my life, it turned out to be the darkest Diwali because she passed away two weeks before that! If I had not said this, we would have gone back in August and none of this would have happened, perhaps it was chikungunya that caused kidney failure and perforation, which eventually led to sepsis and ultimately she died of septic shock. I kept looking at her while she was sick but I had never imagined that between the 26th and 3rd she would just not live! Even with viral it takes 3-4 days at least until people get better, I was ignorant, i should have opened my mind and my eyes and taken her to hospital as soon as she developed abdominal pain but I didn't and she would have not consented, she had more trouble getting up because she was overweight, nearly 100 kgs. We left it too long, my negligence killed her, all education etc went waste because i behaved worse than anyone I know. I hate myself, it's just horrible how I feel now, she just left us so suddenly and abruptly, my brother is in depression, I am pulling things together and I see darkness everywhere, life has no meaning, no purpose I wish She would have taken me with her, i can't bear this loneliness, it's awful. I could have saved her if I had taken her to hospital even two days before, I could have saved her if we had taken her to a good gastroentologist to check why she went to the toilet so much. But we took her to a reputed gastro last year and he was awful and my mum felt very depressed, he had ordered some tests which she never took. We could not force her because she had improved. Before the fever her August bloods were perfect her creatinine, potassium etc were all in perfect normal ranges. I fail to understand how she deteriorated in literally 5-6 days and was deemed critical as soon as we reached emergency. I never ever thought I would lose her like this, she didn't even talk to us before going, she loved her children more than anything and anybody in the world, she was completely selfless, I just wish I could have expressed more and had the peace of mind that I didn't leave any stone unturned in trying to save her, but the fact that I didn't haunts me all the time, I keep looking at forums, at diagnosis of the disease to understand what happened to her and why so quickly that her body didn't get any chance to recoup. Once a person dies, he/she just dies, it's a lie when people say she is with you, that her soul is with you, I don't have any such feeling all I know is that she is dead, I held her cold feet in the ICU watching as her blood pressure dropped but at the end I could not beat it anymore when they said she will not make it, I left the room eventually so our father and her brother could be with her. I simply didn't want to have the picture of her dying for the rest of my life, perhaps I hurt her she must have looked for me, because they say that even after you pass you can hear.. I hate myself, I wish I had taken better care of her, never complained about silly things and showed her more that I love her and that I'd need her no matter how old I grow. We celebrated her birthday 12 days before she left us.. it's horrible and unfair, she had a blind faith in God and this is what she got. There's so much I could have possibly done to prevent what haooebed, if only we'd gone back in August she would have not fallen sick or if we had been in london the doctors are more efficient and they would have saved her rather than ignoring her perforation symptoms Pls help as these answers will put my mind to rest and give me some clarity. Heartfelt thank uou
  14. I lost my dad a couple of days ago. I can't believe he's gone, I cannot accept it when i look at his face in the coffin, I wished so bad that he would wake up right now. He left us so suddenly and so soon. I wish i was a better daughter to him, I am just riddled with guilt and regret. I wish I could hold him one more time, I wish I could kiss him one last time, I wish I could tell him how much I love him and need him. That he cannot go and I need him. I wished i spent more time knowing my dad the year before, we drifted apart because he was into a sect/cult and i did not approve of his beliefs and we grew distant. I was angry with him. But i regret it so much, I wish I could undo it all and give him all my love. But I cannot do it anymore and he cannot hear me anymore. I am so consumed by my guilt and loss . I feel like I took my dad for granted that he would always be around for me to mend my mistakes. The months prior to his death he had a stroke and he was recovering, we connected little more but i felt i didn't do enough. Then he had a second stroke, I was away on a trip but I flew right back to see him, by then he wasn't really conscious or aware because of the impact on the brain. The last 2 weeks he was tied down on his bed because he kept trying to escape and scratching himself. I felt like he let go because he couldn't take how his life has turn out to be in the last two months. I feel guilty that i allowed that to happen, I felt guilty I didn't encourage him enough. I was listening to the song "The Scientist" by coldplay and I wish I could go back to the start. Please, someone tell me what can i do.
  15. My brother passed away almost 2 months back and this is the first time I am writing anything anywhere regarding the same. I still cannot digest the fact he's not there anymore. I have not cried properly even once since the day he went away. I go to the office everyday, laugh on jokes, go out at times, eat out and talk normally to people around me. I feel so damn guilty about doing any of these things. It feels as if nothing has changed for me, everything is going as it was before that unfortunate day and he no longer exists in this world. His life stopped that very day. We were so damn close but still it has not affected my life so much. It is killing me from inside but I am not able to do anything about it.
  16. My Mom passed away in late July. She was almost 93 and overall her health was good. She lived at her home but after a broken hip surgery she first required 24/7 care, then she had a 24 h caregiver from Mondays to Fridays but she left and we could only get a replacement who would come during the day Mondays to Fridays. She was supposed to stay overnight whenever my Mom needed her. I live very far from my Mom, in another country, 16 h flight. I had a good, though not perfect relationship and I deeply cared for her. I took time off when she had the surgery, I would call in the weekends and talked for hours, I would go to visit about a month each year. My sister lives in the same city as my Mom but their relationship was not that good during the last years. My sister would provide material and economical help, as I did, but not much else; would visit a few minutes on Saturdays and on special occasions. She had an attitude towards my mother and I tried in vain to tell her to be kinder. She believes the elderly belong to a nursing home My Mom died of a heart attack at home on a Saturday . Looking at it this way, it is not a bad way to die. But my problems relate to the days before her death, when I failed to see and/ or act in her best interests. I called her on Tuesday evening and she told me she fell that morning, and tried to get up but didn’t have the strength. She said she misstepped. The caregiver was about to arrive, so I told her there was no need to strain herself. But she said she did it because she wanted to get up alone. She said the leg was hurting a lot and I told her to call a doctor and in the meantime (since she was alone) to ask a neighbour to give her a hand with supper. She refused. I thought of telling my sister but considered it counterproductive (my Mom had forbidden the caregiver to tell us that she fell, especially my sister; I found out by chance because I called that Tuesday). I called Wednesday morning and she said she was sore, I told her to ask the caregiver to give her a massage but I cannot remember if I reminded her that the caregiver should stay if needed. I called that night again and she told me she was feeling better. I felt relieved. But when I called her the next evening, she told me she had had the worst night in her life. That she fell again, when alone at night, in the bedroom, that she fought to get up and couldn’t, until her strength gave up on her and fell asleep “like a dog on the floor", that she was cold (it is winter there although the floor is carpet), and couldn’t call anyone because she didn’t have the phone with her. She was really distraught and said that she was “good for nothing, look of what has become of myself”. I was broken-hearted, speechless, numb. I asked how she fell and she said that because she was feeling better, she “was careless” but I couldn’t get out of her exactly what happened (I spoke recently to the caregiver and she didn’t know either). The caregiver found her in the morning and helped her to bed and brought her hot food until she left later that day. I told her to call the doctor and she said that she was going to get through this, and if she didn’t “one day I have to go” (but she had said that many times). Again I did not tell my sister even if I had a feeling that something bad was going to happen. The next day (Friday) I had a day trip but I called her as soon I got to destination. She seemed OK, I told her again to call the doctor and she said that she just needed to rest. Later on, I thought to call her before returning home (I was arriving very late) but I was afraid that, if she was in bed, she would get up and fall again. So I called on Saturday morning. My sister was there and she said my Mom had not gotten up for breakfast and told her what happened that week and my sister said to call the doctor and she told her not to, because that would be an excuse to send her after to a nursing home. They started arguing. I tried to intervene by phone. My mom said not to worry, that she would not be a burden for too long, that she had lived long enough (again she had said it before). I told her that we cared for her and she said I did but my sister didn’t. I tried to mend things up and for a moment things got a lot worse until I told them to bury the hatched and show some love to each other instead of conflict. Things calmed down, my Mom went to eat something, and my sister said she thought at one point she fell asleep, but then continued eating. She said she was going to check on Mom Sunday and I thought to myself if it wouldn’t be too late, but said nothing. My sister said she ate well and then went to bed. I called later than afternoon as I always did on Saturdays, and my Mom was gone. I know I failed her. Every decision I made that week was the wrong one. My Mom trusted me and my opinion, although she was very stubborn and would probably had done what she wanted. Nevertheless I failed to tell my sister because I did not want a confrontation about the nursing home, but should have dealt with that if the time came. I am pretty sure I forgot to remind her that the caregiver had to stay overnight if needed. We could have called the doctor even if she refused. I was very worried but didn’t act with urgency. She didn’t have to fall the second time had I done something. Even on Saturday, I got involved in an argument I never wanted to. Things got so confusing that instead of dealing with the important issue (her health), it went on a tangent. The physical strain and stress of being unable to get up, the cold (apparently she grabbed the pillow but not a cover/clothes) and the argument on Saturday was probably the perfect recipe for a heart attack. Now I have to live with that, now I have to live knowing that I contributed to her death, the death of the person I loved the most in my life. Outside myself I continue with my “normal” life, but each time my mind is not occupied, it drifts to those last 4 days my Mom was alive and all the mistakes I made that precipitated her death. I know I couldn’t predict the future, that maybe the end result could have been the same or worse, that nothing will bring her back, that I had no intent to harm her, acted on what I thought was the best and that she would hate to see me this way (she said at one point she was more worried about me than her). But the fact remains that, had I done at least 1 thing right that week, she shouldn’t have died that day.
  17. I thought this was a pretty interesting read from Dr. Phil.
  18. Hello, My name is Vicente and last Monday was one month since my beautiful little dog died and I have been feeling terrible.The last two weeks have been very hard since just when I thought I was starting to heal, I had a relapse and I have been feeling sad again since last Sunday. This is what I wrote a few days after he died so that you can get an idea of my situation and how important my little dog was for me. He was my life: My name is Vicente Ernesto Sánchez and I am writing from Mexico because my beautiful seven year old French Poodle died last Friday, Juanuary 9 and I feel terrible and guilty. I really need help since I don't know how I am going to get over this situation. I try to rescue stray dogs to then find them a happy home and I have tried to find a home for a Golden Retriever for 6 months. He has been in a pet care for months and every two days I went with my French Poodle to pick him up and take them for a walk. That Friday, I was outside a Vet with my little French Poodle, The Golden and a little Cocker my brother rescued. Everything was ok and I have them with their own leash. Suddenly, my little dog growled at the Golden and jump over him to attack him. The golden just put his body above my dog and I separated them almost immediately. The problem is that my dog fell unconscious with his tongue outside the muzzle. The Vet tried to save him, gave him a shot, reanimated him and nothing. He died. I feel terrible. Guyton was my best friend, my partner and my life. I feel I could have prevented this from happening and this makes me feel guilty and misserable. My little dog was 7 years old and had lung and heart failure that made him snore, have breathing attacks and get tired easily after running. I don't know if it was a combination of all these problems and if he wasn't going to be able to live for many more years and these problems caused his heart attack. One of his ex Vets told me today that due to his health condition, his life expectancy wasn't very optimistic and that dogs like him life 40 percent less than healthy dogs. In spite of this, I just can't rest and I feel that I took 10 years of his life away from him and that I also took y dad's dog away from him since Guyton was very important to him too and he is very sad. Seeing him like this makes me feel very bad and worsens everything. I feel terrible and I can't belive how everything seemed to have aligned to cause this tragedy. The owner of the Pet care couldn't take the Cocker to get vaccinated and this ius why I took her with us that day. Then, I was about to leave the Vet's office to walk the dogs while the doctor finished bathing a cat, when I decided to come back to grab a t-shirt that I have put on The Golden Retriever for months that says Adopt me because I thought Who knows Maybe a possible adoptant shows up during this little walk. And when I came back this tragedy took place. It's unbelievable and I feel terrible and guilty. I really need some advice and support because this dog was the best thing in my life. I have OCD and my life has been horrible for years and this little dog gave me moments of great happyness. My mental condition makes this tragedy tougher and I don't know what to do. This was just the last straw to complete my misserable life. I wasted my twenties since I stopped going to school regularly at the age of 19 to avoid seeing my friends and having anxiety problems. I got this idea that I couldn't talk about anything and I made it happen, which made my life misserable in the University, which I hated by the way, and in social events. I finished a law degree going to school only on Saturdays, but I didn't like this degree either and I have practically been outside a normal twenty something guy's social life all these years. I had many dreams. I wanted to go to Canada or to a great US city like New York and have a new life with a nice job, friends, a nice appartment and a healthy state of mind. I was very interested in having a life like the one that you could see on Friends, Seinfeld and other 90s sitcoms and movies. It is my favorite decade and I idealise this decade. I spent years regretting I couldn't turn back time to the 90s and not having been born many years earlier to live my 20's in this decade. I always thought I was going to be able to fulfill this dream. I was too trusting and put my plans off several times thinking: I am just 25, I still have a few years before turning 30. The day will come. But my personal and family problems, my disease and indecision made these dreams fade away. My routine these years has been waking up, taking a shower, having breakfast, watching tv, eating, watching tv again, surfing the net, having dinner and going to bed. My little dog changed it a little bit because I took him for a walk every day, but it has been pretty much the same ever since I was 19. I am about to turn 30 and I have no friends, no job, no life. Never had a girlfriend. I have never been able to flirt and have a relationship. It's hard for me to talk to girls and they just seem to find me unattractive, boring and disgusting. I feel they find being next to me or touch me gross and unpleasant. My dog was the creature that cared the most about me and loved me with all my problems unconditionally. He was my best and only friend. He was my life and the one that brightened my life. I feel lonely and I am alone despite I live with my brother and my mom. I just miss walking him, seeing him on my bed, knowing he is behind my bathroom door waiting for me to get out and take him for a walk, seeing how happy he got when he saw his necklace, hear his little bell and saw his leash. I miss him in my car because he went almost everywhere with me. He was my best friend and my life partner. And the fact of knowing these things won't happen anymore and that the life plans I had with him are death is horrible. He was going to be my only companion and now I don't know what is going to happen with my life. I go over the tragical event over and over again and it's overwhelming and makes me feel misserable many times. This dog was extremely special for me me because my parents separated last May and the previous years there were many fights in my house and this little dog gave us great moments of joy, hope and he even brought the family together and even delayed my parents' separation. My little Guyton reached this level of importance and power. The situation became unbearable and my parents finally split up. I was very worried for him because he was extremely attached to my dad and the fact of seeing him waiting for my dad to get home on the stairs looking at the living room window and knowing my dad was no longer come back home made me feel terrible. The first days were very tough, but fortunately my dad and I managed a way to make Guyton spend time with him and we developed a routine centered around him. Every day My dad and I met between 7 and 9pm whether in a department store, a cafe or my uncle's house to give Guyton to him so that he could spend time with my dad and continue sleeping with him just how he used to do it when my dad still lived with us, and then, my dad gave Guyton back to me in the morning and he spent the whole day with me. This is also something that I am having trouble realizing it's not part of my routine anymore and makes this tragedy harder to deal with. Everyday I got back home with Guyton in the morning and he jumped to my bed and usually kissed me. Then, I took a swower and he either waited for me outside the bathroom or on my bed. We had several customs like these and it's terrible to know this doesn't happen anymore and have to readjust my life. I took him for a walk in the morning and in the afternoon every day. He waited for me on my bed or outside my bathroom with a lot of excitement for knowing it was his walk time. Sometimes he followed me with his eyes or everywhere to let me know he wanted to go out and he was looking forward to it. He got very happy. He cried, yelled, kissed me, sneezed and jumped over me when I showed him his necklace, he heard the little bell I put on it and when he saw his leash. I don't know what I am going to do. I hate today's world. I find it so gray, lame, superficiel, plastic, so full of technological devices I don't like and make it even more shallow and with less personality and attractive. I hate today's era. I don't fit in and I am not looking forward to the next years. Music sucks, movies suck, new generations make me feel hopeless and it's just horrible. Going abroad is no longer interesting and attractive to me because I lost the best years when I should have done it, which were between 2004 and 2012 when I was younger and still had dreams and a lot of nostalgia for the 90s. which was a great impulse to live in The US, Canada or The UK. These ambitions are gone. I don't feel like studying a Masters, looking for a great job or discovering new things anymore. I wasted my 20s in a terrible depressing way. The years that for most people are the best in life. The years where you go to college, have great experiences, have fun, relationships, when you explore and discover things, when you grow up, start working as a young adult. The years where many people live life at its fullest, go out, find their independence, their path and the girl of their dreams. I didn't have any of these things and you have no idea how sad, depressing and impotent it is to realize you will never be able to turn back time and that these years are gone for good. Now I am under medication, fluvoxamine, which makes these feelings be like asleep. It's like being sedated. I still feel them and I still know they are deep inside of me, but I am druggy enough to forget a little bit about them, something I am not comfortable with because the medicine is not curing me and will never do it, it just confuses you a little bit and you don't feel good, complete and satisfied. When I stop taking them, I usually start getting my nostalgia and regrets back fast, something that belive it or not, makes me feel good and alive. The problem is that the crisis become harder to manage. For example, I haven't taken this medicine the last days and I don't know if this was the reason why my dog's loss became even more painful this weekend. this morning I really wanted to die. I was desperate. I wanted to disconnect myself to avoid the great pain I felt. Sometimes I feel like giving up and killing myself to go with my little dog. Sometimes I feel it's unbelievable and ridiculous that I haven't committed suicide after all the years of pain, sorrow, loneliness, deceptions, problems, mental suffering and sadness. What am I going to do? If only I could know what he is thinking, where he is and get guided by him. The death of my beautiful little Guyton was the last straw to make me go to pieces and the last element to complete a decade of horrible 20s. Guyton is buried in my garden, but it is still too painful to look at his grave and stay there for a long time. It's just unbelievable. Many things just lined up for this tragedy to happen. I really don't know if this was meant to happen since there was a series of factors that make me think this. First, the rescued Golden Retriever Guyton had the little fight with, had many chances to be adopted, but in the end, the adoptions didn't take place. Sometimes because the adoprtants werent good and other times because of situations that make me feel what I just mentioned. He was about to be adopted by a family with three little girls and a boy. They went to meet him at the Pet care and they liked him. The owner of the ppet care gave me a call to tell me the family was ready to take hi with them and put the mom on the phone. I asked her to give me one more day. I told her this because I had another possible adoptant I had talked with on the phone that sounded like the perfect adoptant for him. She was the mother of a girl and a boy. He was married and thay had just moved to my city. She told me she loved dogs and that the Golden, whose name is Güero by the way, was going to sleep with her and be very spoiled. I liked this idea and the next day and took El Güero to their house so that he spent the night with the family to see if there was chemistry. The next day, I picked him up and the mom told me that her daughter's allergies had worsened that night and that the dog had growled at her boy. She wasn't upset about that, but I am sure that this was something that mae her decide not to keep the dog and the girl's nose was very red and swalllowed, so I could witness she wasn't lying. anyway, I thought: No problem, I still had the other family, so I gave the mom a call. She answeres me and tells me they had already got a puppy. I felt terrible, although there was something about the family that didn't make me feel convinced about giving el Güero to them. They had a big garden, something I liked, but the girls were very annoying and brusque and I always had the feeling that even though the mom ensured me the dog could have access to the house, he was going to end up the whole day in the Garden kind of lonely. More weeks went by and I was worried because el Güero just couldn't gain weight. He is very slender and this was a reason why I hadn't got him neutered. Besides, I just felt bad about the idea of doing this to him. I tend to do that. The problem was that he had become a little bit more aggresive. He was very sweet when I rescued him, but there were two little dogs in the first Pet care where he stayed that bothered him a lot and I think this made his character change. As time went by, he became more intolerant towards other dogs and he got into several fights in the Pet care where he is now and where he has been for several months. In spite of this, I didn't get him neutered to see if his behavior improved because he was thin and because of my idea of not wanting to heart him. Then, at the beginning of the year I got a new possible adoptant. A divorced mother with two girls. I went to her house to have a little interview because it is something I like to do before giving a dog in adoption and she told me she was going to go meet el Güero with her girls the following day. I told her it was ok and that I was going to be there around 1:30. She went to meet el Güero with the girls and according to the owner of the pet care and his employee. everything started great. They played with him and the dog was being nice and loving. Suddenly, the owner and the employee heard a fuss and yelling. They went out and the mom took the youngest girl away from el Güero because he put his muzzle on the girl's forehead and jammed her two of his fangs. The mother took the episode well according to the owner and left the place. I arrived around 10 minutes after this happened because I arrived a little bit later than we had agreed. The owner and the employee told me the family was just waiting for me to take the dog with them and suddenly this event took place and made the mom changed her mind. I felt bad again and I couldn't believe how close El Güero had been again from being adopted. This reinforced my idea that there was something weird around this. That week my brother rescued a female Cocker and took her to this Pet care. The owwner offered me on Monday to take her to the Vet to get her vaccinated, but when I arrived on Friday, the employee told me he hadn't had a chance to do it. I went three times a week with Guyton to visit el Güero and took them together for a walk always. That day, I decided to take the Cocker to in order to get her vaccinated. We arrived to the Vet and the doctor was busy bathing a cat. He told me to get back in 20 minutes. I had taken the cocker and Guyton out of the car and left El Güero inside. I noticed he was desperate for getting out of the car so I left him get out. I had the three dogs with their leash inside the Vet's store and I was on my way to a garden in front of the store to walk the dogs when I decided to get back to my car to get a t-shirt that I pu on El Güero that says: "Adopt me". I thought: I could get a possible adoptant during this little walk. Who knows. I tried to put the shirt on el Güero, but the dogs were excited, specially Guyton because he was trying to mount the cocker. I tried to put Guyton's leash under a dog's house to keep him there and it didn't work. I had the three dogs with their leash again inside the Vet's store when suddenly Guyton growls at the Golden and gets into this little fight. I separated them in a matter of 2 seconds and Guyton fell death to a heart attack. The Vet tried to save him, but he couldn't do anything. This is what is making my grieving process more difficult, painful and unbearable. The guilt and the fact that I could have put one of the dogs back in the car, left El Güero inside or tried to leash them to another thing, like a post. The guilt has been killing me and I find the whole situation even ridiculous. See all the things that happened that ended in this horrible tragedy. It's just unbelievable and it has been the story of my life in the last years. In the end, I usually end up screwed for ridiculous, unbelievable or stupid factors. I feel I killed him in certain way and that I took several years of his life away from him. And the series of events that took place before his death made me feel bad, weird, sad, guilty, stupid and pensive about something beyond my control that made this tragedy ocurred. What do you think? I have been feeling very sad again lately. I thought I had found a way out of the most difficult period, but I just had a relapsed. I don't know if it has something to do with the fact I stopped taking my medicine for my mental condition for several days, if it's just something that was triggered by some memory or a moment of weakness I had or a combination of everything. I don't know what to do. I know that taking my medicine, fluvoxamine, helps me hide my sadness and makes me feel less sad, but I also know that antidepressants tend to fool your brain, hyde your emotions and mask your real feelings and state of mind, which is something I have never been very comfortable with. I hope you can reply to me and thank you very much in advance for your help.
  19. Hello, Everyone: Sorry my first post is so long, but I have so many thoughts and feelings about my grief experience that I feel compelled to share. I lost my beloved father two days after Christmas, 2014. My mother died two months earlier in October, but I was much closer to my dad. I was raised by my father and grandmother after my parents divorced when I was five years old. I was my dad's caregiver. I also cared for my grandmother, my great aunt and my great uncle over the last 34 years. On December 18, 2014, shortly after midnight, my dad was admitted to the hospital for shortness of breath, wheezing and low oxygen saturation. At first he semed to be getting better with oxygen therapy, but then later that day he suffered a massive heart attack. Ten days later he died of respiratory failure caused by Congestive Heart Failure, Acute Renal Failure and Pneumonia of Unknown Etiology. He was 86. I watched him die for 36 hours in "Comfort Care" at the hospital. It was the first death I had ever witnessed and the hardest thing I have ever had to do, aside from having to carry on without him. I am my father's only daughter with no husband or children. Most of my friends and relatives live far away so they could not be with me and my dad during this difficult time. When I looked out the hospital window as day turned into night, I felt detached -- like the world was foreign to me and as if I wasn't connected to it anymore. Through the night I listened to my father's labored breathing in the dark. I felt helpless because there was nothing I could do to save him. He was sedated on a morphine drip so he could not communicate with me. During the last twelve hours his respirations became agonal (Cheyne-Stokes). The nurses said he was not in pain, but the sound of his breathing and the mottling of his skin gave me the impression that he was suffering. I loved my father more than anything in this world. I lived with him for 55 years so the loss of him is devastating to me We both grew up in the same house and we were both raised by my grandmother so that made us even more similar in our outlook. As long as my dad was around I was happy (most of the time) and could face anything, but now I have no one I can trust so completely. I am suffering from insomnia, anxiety, anhedonia and loneliness. For the first time in my life I am seeing a therapist who says I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I went once to a drop-in grief support meeting but it was cancelled because of low attendance. There were only four of us and they wanted a minimum of eight persons. I am struggling with guilt, because I worry that it was something I did or something I failed to do which caused my father's death. My energy level was low during my dad's final weeks at home, because I had developed chronic bronchitis. I'm normally pretty healthy -- I haven't been bedridden since I caught a bad flu in 1979 (knock on wood). I feel bad that during this rare time that I got sick is when my father died. I wasn't bedridden -- I was well enough to still care for him, but one evening, to make preparing dinner easier and faster, I cooked him a steak, a small piece. He complained that it didn't have salt. I didn't normally cook steak for him or add salt, because of his salt restricted CHF diet. He didn't like the salt-free spices; I had tried so many of them. I didn't even keep salt around to avoid temptation, so I gave him some parmesan cheese to sprinkle on the last forkfuls of steak. I thought a small amount wouldn't hurt him. Later that night he had shortness of breath and was admitted to the hospital for the last time. He had been briefly hospitalized two weeks earlier for the same symptoms which were diagnosed as pneumonia of unknown etiology. He was sent home with a prescription for the antibiotic cefpodoxime proxetil. However, the hospital lab failed to do a sputum culture, even though the samples had been collected twice and I had reminded both the doctor and the nurse that a culture should be done to know which pathogen was causing the pneumonia. I couldn't understand why I had to tell them. The last time he was in the hospital for pneumonia they did a sputum culture without my having to ask. The doctor said that it was "disconcerting" that the lab did not do the sputum culture, but he still sent my dad home with the antibiotic script after just three days in the hospital. By the way, a woman in the waiting room told me her father had also been sent home too soon with a perforated bowel! Since pneumonia and congestive heart failure tend to look the same on x-rays, I think it was actually heart failure that caused his lung congestion but I didn't question the diagnosis, because my dad had had pneumonia (staph, non-MRSA) six months previously and had recovered with bipap therapy and antibiotics. They never figured out what caused his pneumonia this time, because nothing was cultured from his sputum during his last admission. He tested negative for TB as well after three days in isolation. I believe the powerful IV antibiotics he received in the hospital, both vancomycin and levaquin, may have caused his kidneys to fail, since he already had chronic kidney disease. Why would they give him such powerful antibiotics if the sputum didn't culture anything? If it was heart failure, then I worry that it may have been the parmesan cheese that worsened it. I had let my guard down, because at his last doctor appointment his GP told him that my dad had beaten his diabetes through his good diet. So I occasionally let him have more of his favorite foods, like raviolis, veggie pizza, spaghetti and meatballs, and chocolate cake. If we kept the portions small enough he could get by without aggravating his CHF. Comfort foods made him feel better, but too much was dangerous. Sometimes I felt like a killjoy, warning him not to eat too much of his comfort foods. Early on we had learned that just a bologna sandwich could send him into heart failure. I was between a rock and a hard place. Two years earlier, thanks to improving his diet, he had recovered from gangrene on his toes caused by peripheral arterial disease. His surgeon called his recovery a miracle -- she had previously thought he'd need to have his leg amputated below the knee. She said I was obviously taking very good care of my dad and that made me proud. My dad had multiple hospitalizations, but in between his quality of life was still relatively good for his age, considering all the health issues he had. I also feel guilty that I wasn't with my dad the night he had his heart attack, because nobody told me he had suffered a heart attack until later. It was a silent heart attack. They just told me he was going to be given bipap therapy to help with his breathing. The bipap had helped him recover from pneumonia six months earlier, so I was optimistic. Since I had been up all night with him the night before, I decided I would get some sleep and see him in the morning. That morning the doctor called to tell me my dad was suffering too much from shortness of breath, that the bipap therapy had failed to help him, so he was going to be sedated and placed on a ventilator. Naturally, this came as a shock to me, but I didn't know enough about what being on a ventilator is like -- I just hoped and prayed it would save his life and be only a temporary intervention. While my father was on the ventilator, the hospitalist first suggested Comfort Care. She said my dad had had multiple admissions and wasn't getting better. I told her that his quality of life between hospital admissions was still good. He could see, walk, hear, enjoy movies and music, converse, laugh, read, even do light chores on good days. He had recovered from other crises -- he just needed a chance. I started to worry that they weren't going to do their best to save him, because it would be more cost effective to terminate his life. As if I weren't under enough stress, there was a nurse from hell in the ICU who kept talking down to me. She called me a five-year-old in terms of my medical knowledge, compared to the nurses and doctors. I'm not a trained RN, but in 34 years of caregiving for four relatives in succession, I have done a lot of research on their behalf. I've also taken some pre-nursing classes in college. Still. I didn't want to rattle her ego, so I said, "You certainly know what you're doing." She replied, "Yes, I know my s***!" At one point she told me, "What would you rather have, someone who knows what they're doing or someone who is "touchy-feely"? I replied I'd rather have both. She answered sharply, "Well, you can't have both!" I asked her if it would be contra-indicated to place an extra blanket on my father. The blankets were thin and the room was cold. Knowing how arrogant this nurse was, I was careful to phrase it as a question, not a demand. Still, she got flustered and said, "If you place too many blankets on him, his temperature will rise and then we'll have to give him more antibiotics." He didn't have a fever and he felt cool to the touch. The nurse lectured me with a sarcastic tone, "You may have taken care of your dad at home, and I'm sure he's a wonderful man and all, but he is in a different world now!" I replied that I was just trying to advocate for my father because he can't speak for himself. She reluctantly brought the blanket and proceeded to drape it over the top of his head. Since my father wasn't used to sleeping with his head covered, I asked a male nurse permission to move the blanket to cover his body. This nurse misunderstood me and brought more blankets, which further irritated the nurse from hell. I'm not Asian, but she mentioned Chinese families who demand six blankets on their loved ones, even when they have a fever, One thing she told me that disturbed me more than anything else was that she said her religious beliefs didn't approve of keeping people alive artificially! My first impulse was to ask the Intensivist to have her reassigned, but he wasn't available. Then I remembered what my father had told me about not making waves, because he might be the one to pay for it. I was afraid the nurse would pull the plug on my dad, in accordance with her belief system or as revenge for my complaining about her So I kept quiet and even asked her permission to dim the lights, so she could enjoy her power trip. Later I saw her moaning in the hallway that people don't understand how much work a nurse has to do. An older nurse replied, "Sorry, that's part of the job!" Luckily, I only had to deal with the nurse from hell for two nights. This may sound paranoid, but I wonder if part of her job was to help convince me and others that Comfort Care is the only ethical alternative. Belittling my knowledge may have been a ploy to reinforce the argument in favor of Comfort Care. During the period that my father was being weaned off the ventilator, I found him awake and alone in the ICU, looking distressed. He wrote a note on a piece of paper that read, "Help Me". He wanted the ventilator tubes removed from his throat. At first I thought he wanted to die, but he didn't want to die, he wanted the tubes out -- he didn't think he needed the vent anymore. I managed to convince him he had to wait until the doctor determined it was safe to remove the tubes. He settled down but I had never seen my normally stoic father looking so utterly forlorn. It was heartbreaking! He asked me to bring a handheld battery-operated fan from home to cool him off -- even though he had no fever and the room was cold, he felt unusually warm. He wanted me to direct the air flow to his face, because it helped him breathe. Using an eraser board he told me he loved me, and I told him I loved him, something we said to each other every day at home. I know my presence brought him comfort and that is a great consolation to me, but the images of his suffering still haunt me. That night I stayed with him all night and I was glad that I was able to advocate for him. When he couldn't sleep I called a very nice nurse who gave him Fentanyl which put him to sleep right away. Twice he needed it to sleep. When he awoke, my dad asked me if I had slept, because I tend to suffer from insomnia. I had nodded off in the chair. I told him the nurse said we were both out like a light. Daddy always worried about me. He was so cute. On Christmas Eve, he was off the ventilator and it looked like he was recovering. He told me, "You see how much I need you?" I replied, "I need you too! That's what love is all about." The ICU nurse told me my father was doing better than yesterday. He said I should go home and get some rest, that he would look after my father and call me about any changes. The nurse was compassionate and I trusted him to take good care of my dad, so I went to bed, hoping for a Christmas miracle. I awoke with a feeling of dread. On Christmas morning, I found my father in respiratory distress, the oxygen cannula had fallen out of his nose and he was begging for air, water and God's mercy, over and over. His oxygen saturation had dropped into the low 80's. No one was helping him, and this was in the ICU! When my father saw me he thanked me over and over -- again it broke my heart to see him suffer so much! I got a nurse to put an oxy-vent mask on him and increase his oxygen. He shouldn't have been switched to the cannula, because he was breathing through his mouth. The nasal gastric tube was blocking his airway. After that I knew he could not be left alone. Thank God I had slept the night before, because that helped me stay awake with him for the next 36 hours. A couple of days before, I had reassured my father that there was a closed-circuit tv camera watching him in the ICU. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture as if to say, "They're not watching me." I should have taken that as a warning. Still, I needed to sleep and there was no one else to stay with him through the night. I'm so grateful that my half brother, a Critical Care RN, and my niece arrived at the hospital on Christmas Day. The hospitalist told us my dad's kidneys were no longer responding to diuretics and his creatinine level was rising daily. When I asked about loop diuretic braking and suggested they try a different diuretic, nobody even knew what braking is. I had asked the nephrologist about aquapheresis and he said they didn't offer it and that he needed full dialysis. The hospitalist said my dad was too weak to be moved. She seemed more like a robot than a human being. She said there were only two options, a heart operation or Comfort Care. If he had the operation he would need to be put back on the ventilator and placed on dialysis, which might kill him because the volume fluctuations would stress his heart. The doctor said his heart was not able to perfuse his lungs and kidneys properly, because of mitral valve regurgitation, enlarged left atrium, arrythmia with a blood clot, and blocked vessels. He had been diagnosed with advanced heart disease several years earlier but wasn't considered a good candidate for surgery then; now at 86, after his massive heart attack, his chances were even worse. She said his heart's ejection fraction was 15%, barely enough to sustain life. Mercifully, his heart attack had been silent so he didn't have chest pain, but respiratory distress is bad enough. My niece and I tried very hard to convince the doctor to consider other options to no avail. My brother the RN said Comfort Care would save Dad a lot of suffering. My brother and niece started crying. I was still in shock, but broke down over the phone to my best friend in Cincinnati. I can't help but wonder what if he had received more aggressive treatment for CHF two weeks earlier instead of the doctor assuming it was pneumonia, and sending him home with just an antibiotic, would my father still be alive? Even if he had pneumonia, was giving him those nephrotoxic antibiotics warranted without knowing which bacteria was causing it? The same doctor during my dad's previous hospital stay had encouraged him to select a DNR status. He said if my father wasn't going to have a heart operation, then he "should be consistent". I explained to him that my father was being consistent -- he didn't want chest compressions because they would break his ribs, and he didn't want surgery, because they would break his sternum. My father wanted to live, but the doctors at a different hospital had told him he was not a good candidate for heart bypass surgery. My dad didn't want stents, because he didn't want to take blood thinners -- he had a high risk for gastric bleeding. Several years ago, daily aspirin for his heart and H. pylori had triggered a slow bleed in his stomach which caused him to lose a third of his blood supply. His mother had died from internal hemorrhage from coumadin even though she had regular protime tests. My father was willing to try the ventilator, if necessary, to give him more time to recover. He had beaten the odds before. He was a fighter, literally -- he had boxed for the Golden Gloves in the Army during the Korean War. I got the impression that the hospital wanted to phase my father out, because of his age. The lab not doing the sputum culture two weeks earlier, even after I had reminded the doctor and the nurse, is highly suspicious. The hardest part was when my dad asked me if he was going (dying). I told him that the doctor said his heart wasn't doing too good and he needed an operation. I wanted so much to soften the truth, to give him some hope to cling to, but I needed to know his wishes. He didn't want to go back on the ventilator and he didn't want to stay weeks or months in the hospital recovering from open heart surgery. Two years earlier he had spent six weeks in the hospital just recovering from a botched toe amputation. When a follow-up surgery was scheduled, the surgeon postponed it from the morning to the afternoon -- my dad was not given anything to eat or drink for 22 hours! Thank God, the nurse cancelled the surgery when my dad started vomiting from low blood sugar. If he had had the surgery that day, he might have aspirated while under anesthesia. Naturally, this and other adverse hosptial experiences undermined my dad's confidence in having major heart surgery. I hated the idea of giving up on my dad. My purpose in life had been to try to get him well, but I also didn't want him to suffer. A respiratory therapist told us that a lot of his patients were living vegetables on respirators because their families wouldn't let them go. My father said good-bye and thanked everyone present, my half brother and his wife, and my niece. He said to tell his family and friends he loves them, thanks for everything and God bless them. Then he started praying. I told him he had nothing to worry about, that he was such a good, kind man all of his life that God would surely welcome him into Paradise. I reminded him that the priest had already given him the Anointing of the Sick while he was under sedation. His soul was pure and he would go straight to heaven. He thanked me. I had called two priests hoping one of them would comfort my father now that he was conscious, but one never returned my call and the other said he would send a different priest who works at the hospital, but he never showed up. More regret there. For Comfort Care, my father was moved to a private room and placed on a morphine drip. I missed all the monitors, which I used to fixate upon, looking for the slightest sign of improvement. Thankfully, the morphine and removing the NG tube helped his breathing, and there was a brief time when he seemed his calm, adorable self once again, except he was very weak. Again he started praying for God's mercy until a male nurse told him, "God is good, my friend." That seemed to reassure him. I treasure his last peaceful moments, before he lost consciousness. I told him where there is life there is hope and that I couldn't wait to get him home so I could take care of him. He nodded. One of the last things he said to me was that Michael was going to get tired (taking care of him). Michael was the RN who had saved his life two years earlier by calling off his surgery after my dad had been starved for 22 hours. Unfortunately, Michael was working on a different floor. It really is the luck of the draw -- if you get good hospitalists and dedicated, compassionate nurses, your chances are much better. As my father lay dying, my brother and I prayed and read passages from Scripture. I didn't know if he could hear me at this point, but I told him I loved him and thanked him for being such a wonderful father all of my life. I had told him these things before. I held his hand. People say that hearing is the last thing to go, but I hope to God that his soul was outside his body so he could view his physical suffering with detachment. The nurses told me he was not feeling pain, but how do we really know? One nurse noted that he was calm, compared to some patients who appear agitated even when on morphine. My brother had to go home to sleep so I was alone again for the last few hours. After 36 hours of keeping vigil with my father, I couldn't help but doze off for a few moments. That was when my father passed away. It was as if he had waited for me to fall asleep before he departed. A nurse said she saw him draw his last breath. One of the nurses was crying. I cried when the doctor confirmed his death. I had already cried several times before my father died, but quietly, so as not to upset him. I'm glad it was the nicer hospitalist who was on duty that early morning, and not the "robot". My father was my best friend, my hero, the one person who cared about me as much as I cared about him. Almost every happiness in my life was linked to him in some way. We were so close we sometimes could read each other's thoughts. Our interests, values and opinions were so similar we were practically clones, but like all human beings we sometimes disagreed. There were unkind words I wish I had never said in anger or just because I was tired. I always asked forgiveness right away, but I wish I hadn't taken his forgiveness for granted. He wasn't perfect either, but he was the kindest person I ever knew. I wish I had complained less about my problems and just been happy he was with me. I loved him so much and I did a lot for him. I know I made him happy most of the time, but I'm still tormented by guilt feelings. I also feel so sorry for every sad thing that ever happened to him, even things that happened before I was born. I have to remind myself that he had lots of happy memories. He felt lucky to live during the Golden Age of movies and music. He enriched other people's lives by broadening their cinematic and musical horizons. Since my dad died seven weeks ago, I haven't even been able to watch tv, because it makes me miss him too much. I can't listen to the music we both loved without feeling sad and anxious. Movies and music used to be our refuge -- now even thinking about all the things we enjoyed together makes me impossibly sad. Right now my life feels pointless without him. I'm afraid of spending the rest of my life alone. People tell me I'm free now and on the brink of an exciting new era. But I would gladly give up my freedom for the rest of my life, if I could only have my beloved father back. People tell me he led a full life -- but how do they know that? For most of his life he was blessed with good health, good looks, strength and character, but he never travelled much or had as much fun as he deserved. He was happiest at home, but I wish he could have had a fuller life. I feel guilty that I never learned to drive -- I might have been able to give my father a more full life, if I had bought a car. My dad stopped driving when I was 9 years old, because he accidentally hit a dog which had run in front of his car from between two parked cars. When relatives used to call and tell me about all their fun road trips, it made me envious. I sometimes complained to my father that I wished we had something fun to look forward to. He replied, "Is fun so important? When I'm gone you'll be able to have all the fun you want." I answered, "But it won't be fun without you." Now I get invitations from friends and relatives to do fun things, but it's not fun for me without my dad. I wonder where were these people when my dad was alive? He could have used a little fun, too, once in a while. I know this post is way too long, but it helps me to write about my loss and talk about it. Unfortunately, the therapy sessions seem too short and I can't keep burdening my friends and relatives with my grief, because they have their own lives to deal with. Few people can understand how hard it is for me to lose my father after living with him for 55 years. My heart goes out to all of you who have lost loved ones. I hope you are healing as I hope to heal.
  20. To everyone that has lost a beloved pet, I am sorry. To everyone experiencing this grief during the holiday season and/or another special occasion, I am sorry. It is tremendous to get through such thoughts and emotions and move forward. Never did I appreciate this before losing Sir Greysby to pancreatitis on November 25th, 2014 after a 30-day fight wherein he tried to live and my husband and I tried to help him win the battle. Never have I gone through such - let alone his passing 2 days before hosting Thanksgiving at my house, which I did do in an almost an out-of-body manner and excusing myself to go cry silent away from the guests. 3 weeks and 2 days later, I am healing, but have moments wherein I feel sucker-punched in my gut once more and I let-out primordial cries of anguish. Why? What could I have done differently? Why didn't I recognize the 2 earliest behavioral changes in him as signs he was becoming ill? Would those 4-5 weeks have made a difference in his ability to recover before I took him to the Vet? What have I done to work through and move past such grief? I downloaded 4 e-books to read on pets going to heaven and the grieving process. I learned that my grief and guilt are very "normal," although I have felt anything but normal. I created a beautiful photo journal book of him - from the days he was a stray and we took him in and up through the day of his departure from this life. I kept a swatch of his hair and his foot-print and his collar with the heart-shaped tags. His remains were cremated and placed in a nice oak urn that displays a picture of him making "soft eyes" at me on his last day here. I have gone to a Christian psychologist twice to help me process the void. The void is not as huge now, but the first week after he left, my stomach hurt, I cried a lot, and I did not know what to do with the spare time that Sir Greysby use to fill-up when he was well, but especially during the last week of his life. I had gone into a panic mode in trying to get him to eat all forms of chicken and/or treats ... anything! I woke-up in the middle of many nights wondering if he had passed away and got up to check on him. When he lapped his ice-cold water, I was so thankful and hopeful. But then, the battle ended. My momentum was still going forward and wanting to help him, but he was no longer here. I've played back the video, from the last morning of his being with me, several times. He loved my ankles and feet, then sat in front of his food without touching it once again ... after 3-days of his not doing so. He had come full circle. This is what had caused me to take him to the Vet to begin with ... he did not eat his favorite warmed, soft cat food for 3-days. The Vet placed him on steroids and an antibiotic, and for several weeks, it seemed he might have a fighting chance. Sir Greysby never resumed eating his food at the level he had done before falling ill, but at least he nibbled. The fact was that he was anorexic and continued to lose weight during those last 30-days of his life. 3-days before his departure, my husband and I decorated the living-room for the holiday season. Our minds told us that he would not make it, but our hearts hoped he would. We played Christmas carols for him, took a photo of him, and struggled with thinking it might be his last holiday season with us. Barely have I been able to hear any Christmas music since then. However, I do not regret giving Sir Greysby one-last Christmas with us, and I know that with time, I will smile and feel good about those memories. My other cats and their adjusting to his not being here has been awkward. The routines changed for them, too. Sir Greysby ruled our home during his 2-1/2 year stay with us. :-) However, I am adapting to their new routines and am spending more time loving and appreciating them. They have had numerous pictures taken of them in their favorite areas of the house, at play and at rest. Now, I fully comprehend they are my family that love me unconditionally. There are "those" people who are thoughtless for whatever reasons. I have chosen not to be rude to them in return, but rather to ignore them and move through my grieving process as I see fit. I know that one-day I will feel better. It is a process and a journey. I will always thank my God of understanding for allowing this beautiful soul to grace our home with the last 2-1/2 years of his life. We learned so much from him and I know that Sir Greysby is in a much better, heavenly place that affords him happiness and peace. May your soul find peace and comfort during this time and know that this lady is praying for your wellness and healing, too.
  21. My Mom died the end of last year after a long illness with breast cancer. She was living in a different country to me, but I flew in just in time. She passed 8 hours after I landed. It seemed nothing had really been discussed as to how she wanted to die. I could tell she only had hours to live, but that had not been directly communicated to the family. Hospice had only just been referred which was too late. My parents had not been ready to accept their services earlier, despite gentle encouragement by me. They kept a lot of information to themselves when dealing with her illness, thinking they were protecting us I guess. Here in the States, I am fortunate to work with home care and hospice nurses who had given me very valuable information, so I felt fairly well prepared for her dying process. But it seemed my family back home weren't. It was just a very intense situation to come into after a long flight. My Moms last moments were very peaceful, and she was surrounded by all the family. It was very special. She even blew us all a kiss an hour or two before she died. The thing I am getting hung up on is that I was the one who called for the IV morphine. It was night time, and nothing had been set up. The hospital nurse wanted to wait until morning and wasn't really paying attention to my Mom as she had another young patient in crisis. But I knew my Mom really needed it as she was suffering so terribly. We had to call the on call doctor, who ordered it right away. I then had to pull my Dad aside, and tell him it was time. Deep down he knew it, but he had been in such denial I think. I treasure the last few moments. I know she herself was ready to let go. She had been ready for a while. But the weight of taking on that responsibility is wearing me down. Anyone else had a similar experience? Thank you.
  22. Hi guys, Im new here so bare with me please as I learn my way around this site. But anywho, my dad passed away two weeks ago and Ive been through all the emotions and guilt is overpowering everything. To be perfectly honest, I feel like I failed my dad. My dad had stage 4 colon cancer but died from septic shock due to his liver failing. I never realized how sick he was and he never told me. Since we found out in stages how bad he was doing, I was able to apologize and really tell my dad how much I loved him and I have apologized but in a general sense and he told me there was nothing to be sorry about but as the days go on, I feel like I wasnt there enough. Im 20 and in my third year of college so yes, I couldnt always be there and he understood that because he was so proud that I was in school but that doesnt justify it for me. My parents divorced when I was 9 but separated since i was 7 and all i can see in my mind is my dad sitting at home alone. My parents became friends and she helped take care of him but sometimes she would think he was annoying so if we saw him at the store she would wait till he walked by because she didnt want to talk. Well, that breaks my heart looking back at it. I didnt mind talking to my dad but I understand why she didnt want to but i cannot get it out of my mind. He deserved so much more! How dare I?! And lastly, I have an older brother who is 47 (my dad was 70) and he recently came back into my dads life and for time purposes, no one trusted him. No one, my father included. Well we got into an argument a few days after my dad passed and I feel like my dad was given piece of sh!t kids and I feel so bad. I feel like I should have loved him more and when I say that, i dont mean I didnt love him because I do so much but he deserved more. I apologize for the novel but I cant escape my mind.
  23. babzz

    Unrelinquishing Guilt

    i don't even know were to begin. my cat wasn't just a pet to me she was the closest thing i had and probley ever will have to a child of my own. she started getting sick. i should have seen the signs. i thought she was eating and just not gaining weight. and drinking more water then eating. then she started going down hill fast. the last day my baby girl was with me i woke up and she could only lie on her left side. she couldn't move her back or front left legs at all. it was like she was asking me for help. i made the decicion to put her to sleep that day. as i was waiting for the ride to go i asked her to just go. she could go....please don't make me make this decision. but she wouldn't leave on her own. and i feel guilty. i feel like i murderd my child. i don't know how to make it right with my concience. because of me....because i gave money and signed a piece of paper my child no longer has a heartbeat. logically i know it was for the best because she was parylized on her left side. she was hurting. i could see it in her face but my heart....my heart is sick in pain. i have days were the logical side kicks in for a longer amount of time but my heart still hurts so bad. idk what to do. any advice would be greatly appreciated. thank you.
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