Dearest Friend

Edgar resting peacefully on the couch six months ago after a busy week visiting his Grandma.

I cried at least six times today. This morning, in the car, in front of the nurse, in front of the neurologist, with my mom, and on the car ride home. My dog. He does that too me. My dearest friend who never asks for anything more than friendship and love (ok and food by the caseload). What do you do or say to a friend who can’t talk to you but with a single look can express so much pain and discomfort you feel it to your core. Everything that’s physically possible; that’s what.

Poor little Edgar has an issue with his spine and last night it decided to take a nasty turn with inflammation flaring up in his spinal cord. Every look filled with pain and yet still that same curious loving face masking it. His brave face eats mine for dust. And he can’t sleep because the discomfort lying down is so great that within a few seconds he is back on his feet pacing. Or he’s under the bed crying every few minutes due to a flare up. God. Where is mindfulness at 3:30AM when your dog is under the bed crying out in pain and you have already been to the emergency vet who prescribed pain medication that isn’t working. It’s there. It’s being battered about by the cold sweats and words of comfort to him that mean little. It’s there. I don’t see it.

Meningitis, encephalitis, herniated discs, inflamed discs, etc. They fly at you fast when you are dealing with vets, technicians, and even neurologists. The concerns build; quality of life, lifespan, comfort, pain, energy, side effects, cost. The tears flow freely now at the thought that Edgar’s life draws to a sudden and abrupt close.  Eighteen hours ago he was sleeping comfortably beside me. Breathe.  Breathe.  Breathe.

Time steadily passes by the perception we give it and I realize that through a series of people, decisions, and events Edgar is now sleeping (on pain medication) but sleeping. He’s resting tonight and somehow the thought that Edgar isn’t in pain is the most important thing in your life. The doctor will call soon and his fate hangs uncomfortably close to the edge. Too close for my liking. I reflect back now and wait for that call. Edgar is in in good hands. The best hands. My dearest friend is resting peacefully but alone. Make that seven.

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2 thoughts on “Dearest Friend

  1. I’ll be sending good stuff Edgar’s way. You never want your pet to suffer any pain, and there is no “better” time to lose a pet–you’re never ready. They’re part of us, and here for us in ways our people friends can’t be.

    Liked by 1 person

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