Trigger warning- if you are not okay with descriptive text and possibly the talk of bodily fluids, this post is not for you. You may want to skip to the next one. Hey, I'm only looking out for you! This post is pretty important, though. It's really all I could do to write this post.
"I will be your voice until my lungs give out." Those were the words I whispered to my sweet baby as a pet her for one last time. She was so still as there was no life left in her body as Randi and I made the hardest decision that had ever taken place in our relationship. I could have stayed there for hours kissing her, holding her, and rubbing her. I also said goodbye to a blanket that she so very much loved. You know, it's hard to talk about options of death, cremation, boxes, what is said on said box while your baby is still breathing.
Monday afternoon, I was out of town for work-as I travel weekly for my job. Randi called me that afternoon and told me Ellanoir was bleeding out of her nose. It wasn't much, but it was visible. I told her to keep me updated and we'd discuss more whenever I checked into my hotel room that evening. That evening came about and as I pulled into the parking lot of my hotel, Randi text me saying "her mouth is bleeding, and I don't know what to do." I assumed that with her getting up in age, she had just lost a tooth and it would take a little for it to clot. Randi video called me that night and showed me Ellanoir. Her tail was wagging as she had just had dinner and was getting ready to go outside. I told Randi to keep an eye out and if something strange happened, to call me and we'll discuss a trip to the vet.
Tuesday came around and something wasn't sitting right with my conscience. I made Tuesday with a dash starting in VA and working my way back to NC. Randi sent me another text saying, "Ellanoir won't keep her tongue in her mouth and there is blood all over the blanket." My heart sank because I knew we would face an ER Vet visit once I got home. I finished up my workday and headed home where I opened the door and dropped all of my work bags and rushed to sit next to Ellanoir. Randi was right. Ellanoir was not her happy self when I got home. I could tell she was content to see me, but she wasn't on the floor giving her normal 'happy tappies'.
We started making all the calls to veterinarian clinics in hopes someone would see our sweet girl immediately. My baby, who was not her happy self, bleeding from the mouth, and still bleeding out of her nose. She didn't want to move and hadn't even gotten water that day. One vet said that they would see if they had availability. Even our own vet wanted us to schedule an appointment for 10am the following day. This answer still stood even though Randi had stated twice that she was bleeding. Finally, we made the decision to rush Ellanoir to an Urgent Veterinarian clinic about 30 minutes from our house.
Ellanoir laid on my lap wrapped in her blanket. She would pop her head up and perk up her ears whenever a transfer would pass us. She didn't vocalize any pain. Those moments were a final, favorite moment for me. Just not in the condition she was in. Once we arrived at the Vet, they immediately set us in a room. Of course, Ellanoir was petrified as she always has been when it comes to the doctor. It was all I could do to keep her on the scale for them to check her weight. The technician took Ellanoir back so the vet could get an evaluation on Ellanoir. We sat in the exam room for what felt like hours waiting for them to return Ellanoir to us. When the tech came in with Ellanoir in her arms and the vet following behind, the vet proceeded to show us the findings happening in Ellanoir's mouth. She thoroughly showed us her gums. The tooth we thought she had lost was not bleeding. Ellanoir in fact was bleeding all over her gums. The nosebleed that was happening was from epistaxis. The next finding really took our breath. The vet proceeded to lift up her tongue and showed us a rather large hematoma pocket under her tongue. This is why she couldn't keep it in her mouth.
The more findings we discovered; the more my heart sank. It was if someone had chained me up and took the thickest whip to my back and kept lashing. The vet checked her heart and said it sounded well- no worries of a heart murmur. The staff left us in the room with Ellanoir once they decided to get a quote of the course of action, they were planning on taking. This was after the vet mentioned immune-mediated thrombocytopenia. That. It was that word that took the breath out of me. All of the fears had set in. 6 years ago set in. My stomach now in knots. I laid with Ellanoir for some time while she was on the exam table. My clothes now covered in her blood. My arms were covered in her blood. I didn't care. My baby needed me, and she was content that I laid my head next to her with my arm wrapped around. Finally, she had calmed down and just laid facing me.
The technician came back with the quote that totaled over $1,700. The list was long as it included x-rays, CBC, blood smears, steroids, etc. I finally swallowed the feeling of tears building up and asked her if we could just do the blood work to see what the findings were. We had to start somewhere and 6 years ago was a long time when this incident happened. Maybe there was hope. Randi and I literally were clinging onto hope. The technician took Ellanoir back for her blood draws. They didn't do the jugular but took blood from her arm as a precaution. Once again, minutes felt like hours for the results, but we knew that time had no value to us. We were with our girl. The vet came back and proceeded to tell us that she could not find any platelets in her sample. There had to be some, but it was less than 20,000.
Ellanoir was uncomfortable and she was burning up. She was too hot for me to barely touch her. The blood from her mouth had progressed and the bloodwork site the vet had taken prior was still bleeding. For the longest time I felt like my head was in the clouds, but Randi turned and asked me, "what do we do?" Her words cut my ears like knives. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I asked the vet her quality of life. The vet said words that made my nightmare a reality. Dogs with ITP have an 80% chance of recovery, but Ellanoir's relapse had happened in a matter of a day. She was too far to benefit from a blood transfusion that she would need that moment. Steroids were out of the question.
Randi started to cry more and asked the question again. My response..."Not what I want to do." I felt like someone had to beat that response out of me. It took all of my energy to mutter those mere words. Ellanoir was deteriorating in front of our very eyes. The vet reassured us that it was best. She was bruising on her stomach and face, even around her eyes. Just the time of us being there for 2 hours. She was in pain but held on for me. We had to discuss all the things to follow and chose to have her cremated. Before the final moments while we waited for the vet to get all of the supplies, I held her...so tight. I cried and asked her to not be mad at me. I told her how much I loved her. How I wish we could swap places. She didn't deserve this-not this way. I cried so much that I remember, she put her head onto mine and looked at me with those sweet little hazy eyes as if she said, "Dad, it's okay. You have to let me go. You have to set me free. I love you."
I had to leave the room. I couldn't see what was going to be done to my baby. I didn't want to remember her in those final moments-when she took her last breath on this earth. Randi stayed with her, though. Randi was hurt too, but she was a lot stronger than I was. Ellanoir was mine and we both knew it. Of course, Randi was mom, and she was broken just like me. Randi didn't want Ellanoir to be alone and I had to let her be with her. I needed to go wash off the blood on my arms that I was covered in. I looked in the bathroom mirror and just unleased all the pain my body would allow. I knew what was happening in the room beside of me. I didn't want it to be true, but it was the reality that I had been slammed back into.
After Ellanoir was put to peace, Randi let me know that I was able to come in. I opened the door, completely blocking out my own wife and the vet who was both a blessing and a curse. I just saw my sweet, little baby. My baby who never hurt anyone, who was full of love, who cared for all. My baby who laid lifeless on the exam table, wrapped in that blue blanket she liked to steal and burrow into. I immediately collapsed as I hyperventilated and cried while only being able to muster up the words, "My baby. My sweet baby." I kissed her over and over while I rubbed her soft fur. She looked peaceful, but I felt so much guilt weighing on my shoulders. It was the heaviest thing I was carrying around once we left.
I killed my dog. I tried to keep myself in reality. I killed her. I did this. I should have been proactive with this. She would still be here. 9? She was ONLY 9. She had so much life to live. I wasn't ready for her to go. I needed her. I still need her. She was my soul dog. I didn't pick her. She picked me. This was a battle I waged with myself on the silent car ride home. Randi and I had let all of our tears out before we left the clinic.
If I had only known and been properly educated of the severity of this disease 6 years ago, my sweet baby would still be here to greet me with the 'happy tappies.' She still would whine wanting to be up on the couch with mom and dad, burrowed underneath the covers. I know you're asking me how it all led to this or why couldn't you catch it sooner. I promise, in time, you will learn and understand. As for now, you know why the reason. She's the reason. My Ellanoir lost her life to ITP and now I must be the voice for her, and not only her, but others who are faced with this battle as well...until my lungs give out. Until next time, take care.
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