Saturday, September 26, 2015

It will be Monday.

Today hasn't been a good day. Today, Murphy started refusing even his Teddy Grahams. He ate three bites of his very soft breakfast and was done. I'm cooking chicken in the crock pot and I'll warm up some sweet potato, and make a baby food he can lick up. He's spent the entire day in his bed, and when he was awake he whimpered a bit. He's on the pain meds and antibiotic, but the pain meds are not making it easier for him to eat, as I'd hoped. Tomorrow afternoon I will call the vet and make an appointment for Monday. Between now and then, I will offer him every favorite food, softened and minced and seasoned to entice him. He can live it up, as much as he is still able. Lymphangiectasia isn't killing him, those bizarre, deeply rooted teeth are.

But this can't go on. It just can't. It's heartbreaking, because though he barely stirred from his bed all day, when I went in to my office, I heard the clinking of his little tag on his collar: somehow, he knew I'd left the living room and got up and followed. He's on his "office bed" now. He's such a damn fighter - he's mostly blind and deaf and his last few rotten teeth are literally killing him, but he's still aware of me and where I am, and wants to be in the same room.

LATER:

So, I made his baby food dinner of minced chicken and mashed potatoes and served it warm and seasoned with his beloved parmesan cheese, and he licked maybe a dozen small bites from my fingers and walked off.

I made a frozen pizza for dinner. I didn't want frozen pizza, but he LOVES pizza. And he smelled his favorite food and appeared at my side and squeaked for pizza. He ate less than a dozen very tiny bites and walked off.

Between the two "meals" he ate enough to barely keep him alive. Not enough to not feel hungry, let alone to put on weight.  And he fought me when I gave him his liquid pain med. He's been getting liquid meds by mouth for over six years - that's how he gets his pred. He's a pro - there is no gradually dripping it into his mouth, he'd rather shoot it, and he never puts up a fuss. (He did years ago, but now the taste of the pred is just that icky sweet stuff he has to endure, and he takes it like a man.) And the pain med is a very small drop slipped into his mouth via syringe, so I was more concerned with wasting it on his whiskers than forcing it in too quickly. He fought me, and didn't want me to touch his mouth, even though he's been taking liquid meds by mouth for over a third of his life. I knew at that moment that he's hurting more today than he was yesterday, probably because the vet's gentle probing stirred some new jaw pain.

It really is time to put an end to this painful farce. I will be alright. There will be a hole in the fabric of the universe, but Sophie and I will be alright. He doesn't need to endure this pain any longer.

My daughter is going to go with me on Monday for moral support, and I'm glad. 


7 comments:

Liz said...

I am so sorry and you (and Sophie) have all of our sympathy and good thoughts. (We lost our Gary for a not dissimilar reason. He hid his pain until it was too late to do anything about the tumor. It sucks so much to do the right thing.)

wednesday said...

Poor little Murphy. You two have been through so much together, and you have both boosted each other up to keep going when things were tough. Can't ask for more than that from dog or human.

KatyaR said...

Oh honey, I'm so sorry, but you've taken such good care of him all these years, he knows you love him. I'll be thinking of you tomorow.

Anonymous said...

Gallant Murphy, go in peace. Somewhere there will be rabbits to chase and bears to terrorise!

Catherine - hugs and empathy. It is so hard, even when it is the right thing to do.

Gae, in Callala Bay

Anonymous said...

I am so sorry. My very best to you and Murphy.

Brenda said...

I will be thinking (and praying) for you tomorrow. When I put my Teddie down, I was shocked to find that my first reaction was relief that her suffering was over. You have gone above and beyond in the last few years to take excellent care of him and keep him going, and now the kindest thing you can do for him is let him go. I don't know what your beliefs are, but I hope he gets to be with your husband again.

Joan said...

I'm so glad your daughter will be there. I sill be with you in spirit.

Farewell dear, brave little bossy dog. Thank you for the years of smiles. xx