‘I’M NOT READY TO SAY GOODBYE!’ ‘I KNOW, BUT I AM!’

We had a lovely time in what proved to be Ellie’s final visit to France. As expected, the weather was gloriously hot, and she frequented various cool and shady spots inside the villa and around the garden. On our early morning walks, she reunited with a young friend from previous years; a four-year-old male Golden called Horace. He tried to lead her astray by jumping down from the promenade wall to the ‘No Dogs Allowed’ beach and encouraging her to follow. When it came to a choice between romance and food, there was no contest! Ellie was much more focussed on Horace’s owner and her ready supply of treats and whispered sweet nothings. Ellie might not have understood French, but she readily recognised the tone of voice she had heard from many people throughout her life.

Although it cooled a little overnight, it was still uncomfortably hot for sleeping. There was no air conditioning, but we had a fan in our bedroom, which helped a little. Ellie usually slept at the foot of our bed, but she found it difficult to get comfortable in the warm internal temperature. After a few nights, she went to the front door and waited to be let outside. We thought she needed a wee, but she walked around to the end of the villa and climbed up onto the garden furniture. My wife and I weren’t entirely relaxed about leaving her there on her own. Beyond the property’s back fence was a rough track and a forested mountainside. And then, of course, there was the possibility of being kidnapped by aliens! So we did the only sensible thing and quickly grabbed a load of bedding and sun-lounger mattresses and joined her on the furniture. She slept very well; we dozed between being bitten by mosquitos and woke as the sun rose around 6.00am. We wondered if her enthusiasm for ‘camping’ was a one-off, but she was again waiting to be let out of the door the next night. My wife and I had another restless night, this time listening out for a bark, but all was silent. I opened the door the next morning, and there she was, dozing peacefully on the wicker sofa. For all the following nights of our holiday, we just opened the door when she asked, and she got on with her new routine. (#youcantteachanolddognewtricks)

After our return in July, days turned into weeks and then months. In addition to her chemotherapy, Ellie had occasional tests to assess her liver function, but nothing of concern was revealed. Despite the lack of bad news, we carried a permanent weight in the pits of our stomachs, reminding us that her sands of time were running low.

November arrived with her 13th birthday a few weeks away, and across the other side of the world, unwelcome events were building momentum. I am not sure we were aware of COVID just then, but as the month unwound, we both became ill with a flu-like illness which laid us low for many weeks. Of course, at that time, there was no reason to connect our bug with the much more severe version waiting in the wings But even if we had, our Vet’s latest update would have trumped any other anxiety.

During her most recent chemo session just before her birthday, he examined Ellie and routinely measured the tumour’s dimensions. In his opinion, there had been a significant increase in size, and he suggested a change of course with a more aggressive drug administered daily. We followed his advice, but in many ways, we wished we hadn’t! They say that hindsight is a wonderful gift but is it? Doesn’t it just make you frustrated and angry with your original decision?

A few days after celebrating Ellie’s 13th birthday, we began the new regime, and within another week or so, it was clear that all was not well. She became increasingly listless and began to lose her appetite. By Christmas, the decline was marked. We did manage to get her up to the North-East and hoped the sight of her beloved beaches would help, but even they were no match for the drugs which, in the process of fighting the tumour, were gradually poisoning her. We stopped the medication, but the damage was done. I slept downstairs with her and ensured I was there if she needed me. On New Year’s day, we discussed whether we should contact our Vet there to end the nightmare, but she seemed to perk up a little. It was as if she had rallied enough strength to get back home so she could say goodbye to the rest of the family.

We returned home on January 4th, and our daughter, son-in-law and grandson visited. I again moved a mattress downstairs, and on the morning of the 6th, after what was clearly an uncomfortable night for her, we reluctantly agreed that the day we had been dreading had finally arrived. I found myself apologising to Ellie for making those last days so unpleasant; would it really have been so bad just to have left the previous protocol of three-weekly chemo sessions in place? The last one of those was barely 6 weeks ago, and I felt sure she would not have reached her current sad state as quickly. Of course, she was not going to survive the challenge she faced, but maybe she and we would have enjoyed a little more quality of life than had been the case.

I called the Vet and arranged for her and a nurse to visit in the middle of the afternoon. I had already researched the step following that visit and called Harry, a lovely young guy who ran Pheonix Pet Cremations. I asked him if he could call around 5.00pm. Throughout the day, Ellie lay peacefully on the rug, and we tried to carry on as usual around her. At one point, I sat with her and told her I wasn’t really ready to say goodbye, but as I gazed into her eyes, a definite sense of ‘But I am’ came back to me.

3.00pm came around too soon; Inez and Emma arrived, and perversely, I took some comfort from how upset they were. They had cared for Ellie during her two series of chemotherapy sessions and were very sad to see how subdued such a lively dog had become. I don’t think they were trying to offer comfort by saying we had made the right decision. They did what they had to, and Ellie quickly slipped gently and peacefully away. When they had left, and we were alone with her, we realised that we had made a perfect decision by accident; to have her with us for two more hours, to clean and care for her one final time, to caress and hug her again, to physically grieve with her rather than at a distance; it meant so much to us then and in all the days since.

When Harry arrived, I helped him carry Ellie to his van, and it was reassuring to see the care and respect he gave her. Two days later, we drove to the farm where he was based and collected Ellie’s urn and a candle to light on her birthday. Some weeks later, on our final visit to the North-East before the first national lockdown, we scattered her ashes around the Whitburn rocks at the end of the Seaburn beach. It’s where the photo was taken in happier times, and we were sure that if she had been able to choose a final resting place, it would have been her choice too. On November 29th 2020, we lit her candle.

Post Views : 63