Can it Get Any Worse?

I feel lost and like my purpose for getting out of bed is just gone. I realize that might sound dramatic, but it’s my truth right now.

I’m 53. In my life on this planet, I have only lived by myself 1 year: April 1996 – April 1997. That was right after my first divorce. The years prior, I was a child, a college student, engaged and a wife. Not one moment living on my own.

In 1997, Penny, my beloved, beastly Persian cat, came into my life and ruled my every move. Shortly after, I moved to Washington to be engaged to a man who would later become my second husband. From 1997 – 2011, I had Penny, Ray, and in 2004, my protector was born. I picked Bella out of the hand of the breeder. He held up two dapple mini dachshund pups – a week old – both girls. He said, “Which one do you want?” I chose my little girl.

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In 2005, my step-son, a 21-year old meth and heroine addict, came to my home to sober up. He called my home “Jenny’s house of rehab” because he knew there was absolutely no other place that would not put up with his shit and no other person on the planet that could help him put his life back together. He chose me to do that. I took on that challenge like nothing else I’ve ever done.

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In 2006, Bella needed a friend. This time, I went by myself to the breeder. I knew exactly the coloring I wanted for my new puppy and knew I wanted a girl. When the litter was born, I went back and he held her up. I fell in love immediately and had to wait until she was old enough to take home.

The day I picked Schnitzel up, she was scabbed, ear fungus, and had a visible knot in her intestine that eventually worked its way out. She was the runt of the litter and clearly took the brunt of being that. As I was leaving, I truly thought I had picked a lemon. As I was walking away, there was the most beautiful dapple dachshund puppy that I had ever seen. My then-husband and I thought that we would leave our puppy behind and take the more beautiful one. We then decided we owed it to this little one to come home with us. So we took our lemon and that was the best decision we ever made.

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When I divorced and came to California, my girls came with me and were my strength. They gave me a purpose to move my body. I had to take care of them. No matter how deep my depression, I had to get out of bed and do all the things a dog momma must do. We built our lives here and we built a home filled with memories in every space in this house.

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In April, 2019, Schnitzel and I said goodbye to our dear Bella. I don’t know how we did it, but we carried on….both of us a little bit less of who we were before.

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That brings us to March, 2020. A pandemic. As a single woman, a mother of an aging dog, and a thriving job that brought me so much joy now virtual. Everything seemed to be disappearing. The life I built for myself down here was going in a direction I didn’t understand. I longed for my people. I longed to make music with others. And my little dog Schnitzel’s sickness that was diagnosed in November, began to progress quickly.

For 6 months since this pandemic changed our lives, I have held a delicate balance of taking care of me and taking care of every one of her needs. In my deep depression in the spring, there were times I didn’t even know that she was urinating on the carpet. And then I realized it was happening all of the time. My life became a panicked frenzy of walking every inch of the carpet several times a day to find wet spots, spot clean, and then a full shampooing of the carpets every week. At night, I would be asleep, but would wake at 3am every morning when I would hear her ears flap. I knew that meant she was up and needed to go potty, so I would have to dart out of bed and get her out of the house before she would soil the carpet again. Trying to keep myself calm and not upset her, no matter how difficult it was, was challenging, and I managed.

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In May, Schnitzel gorged herself on an old bag of dog food that she wasn’t eating anymore since her November diagnosis. I kept the bag around in case of an emergency. I’m not sure if that is what made her health decline so quickly, but it wasn’t long after that that she lost 3 1/2 pounds in 1 month and became a bag of bones. For a dog her size, that’s like me losing 60 pounds in a month. She looked awful, she was wobbly, and her velvety coat lost its shine. For a while, I didn’t even notice it was happening. I don’t know how I didn’t notice. Depression will do things to you.

I did my very best to do all I could for her to gain the weight back. Prednisone, pain meds and 8 times the amount of dog food for a dog her size – all Royal Canine Hydrolyzed Protein dog food. If I thought I had a lot to clean up pre-sicknesss, I cannot even tell you how much a dog pees from prednisone and how much a dog craps when it eats 8 times its normal food intake. My home that I have taken so much pride in was becoming a barn. And I still did everything I could.

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The last 2 months of Schnitzel’s life were like watching someone else’s dog. Her dementia was more than I could bare to watch. Staring into corners, looking for her in the house and not being able to find her because she was stuck behind a door or other strange places became our life. The nightly pacing became the all-day pacing. The nightly staring into corners became all-day staring into corners. Her peeing was up to 7 times in 4 hours. I had to keep her quarantined in the kitchen at night, in her dog bed, lining the entire kitchen with puppy pads just so that I could get some sleep. I cannot even tell you what I walked into every morning when I got out of bed at 4:40am when she would be begging for food. I felt awful. Schnitzel deserved to roam free and sleep in the comfort of her bed in my bedroom. And then she stopped eating the dog food that was keeping her alive. I couldn’t watch it anymore. She was slipping away.

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I reached out for days to people through texting. Please help me. Please help me make the decision. Please tell me what to do. But the fact is, that no matter the suggestion, as her mother, my gut told me no. This had to be a decision I would have to make and Schnitzel would expect me to do the best by her. Could I have strung this out with drugs and other supplements? Possibly. But my vet told me that nothing would recover her brain to what it was.

I went to the vet yesterday with the idea of putting her down or picking her up. I just couldn’t decide. I sat on a bench in the waiting room, for over an hour, sobbing into my face mask. Gross. Finally, I agreed to go into a room and speak with someone about if this was the right thing to do.

She didn’t make the decision for me, but instead, confirmed what I already knew. There is nothing more horrible than watching someone we love lose their memory. My Schnitzel. My little puppy who needed me to be the grown up might have rallied a few more times for me. And that was something I didn’t want her to do. And so…I ended her life. Her precious life. And I want to die. Everything hurts and I cannot be physically comforted by anyone during a pandemic and is possibly the worst part.

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I am grateful my boss came and sat with me while I did this. I am grateful he took a risk and gave me a big hug. And then I came home. I came home to a gate that held her in the kitchen, with fresh puppy pads laying over it. I came home to a kitchen floor that needed to be bleached again. I came home to a carpet that I had just freshly shampooed. I came home to her bed and her blanket being in the living room. I came to her medications and special dog food on the counter.

I went to bed, cried myself until I was dehydrated and wanted to vomit so badly but just wouldn’t allow myself to. My best friend led me through all of it over the phone. Sit up. Small sips of water. How are you feeling? More sips of water. How are you feeling? Better…..but I want to die.

Whenever I am upset, I clean. It’s my way of making things better. Some people hoard. I purge. I thought about what I would want to keep of Schntizel’s and I would get rid of everything that reminded me of her being sick. All of the bad memories went in the trash. I took her precious blankets that used to be mine and I put them in the washer. They are now folded in my home….smelling fresh with a pinch of doggie smell. I like that. I bleached the kitchen floor, vacuumed up my newly shampooed carpet, took loads out to the trash, put things in the shed, cleaned up every last bit of doggie poop in the yard, and put other things in the trunk of my car to drop off at the vet. I then went to bed completely exhausted.

I woke up nearly every hour, questioning, panicking, crying, gutted, by myself. This morning, I couldn’t get out of bed because I couldn’t find a reason to do so. I looked at my phone only to see that the president admitted privately that he knew before the pandemic hit America as badly as it did, that he knew it was going to be awful, and he downplayed it. That only made my anger worse. I couldn’t even have my best friend come over to be with me while I grieved because this pandemic has gone on far longer than it should have because he was careless and played it down. He didn’t want to create panic. Really? What he created instead will not be forgotten by me.

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So now what? I have no one to take care of or talk to in my home except myself. I don’t have a reason to spring out of bed in the morning except to live. I suppose that should be enough. I am by myself for the first time since 1996. Petless, childless, no husband. Do I really want to be single for the rest of my life? I don’t. Do I really want to live in this house anymore that reminds me of my girls, gatherings that cannot be, and memories that feel so distant? I don’t have the answer to any of that right now. I’m just trying to breathe, take little sips of water, and understand how to live when I truly don’t want to. I promise I’m not going anywhere. But the pain I feel right now has just about every life decision I’ve ever made balled up in my stomach.

I was a fantastic wife. I just didn’t make wise choices for husbands. Not having children has been a painful reality. I’m bitter and angry about it and I can count on 3 fingers the people who know why. I never trusted myself or the experience of being a mother to a child I could carry in my belly. Not being able to do my job the way I want is difficult. Missing my people, my church, my zest for life……I need to find it on my own. I’ve rallied so many times in life, just like my Schnitzel. But my girls are gone. I will not be getting any other pets. Not now. Probably not ever. I can’t go through this pain again. And I cannot even express to you how much I want to just disappear somewhere where there is love, beauty, and endless wrapping of hugs.

Thanks for checking in on me. For every text, FB private message, email, and comments on my posts about Schnitzel. I’ll live. I promise you that. I have no idea where my life is heading from here. Today’s not a day to make a decision. I have to take every second at a time. I’ll continue my therapy. I’ll keep pushing through. But I’m really not sure I want to right now. I’m tired of being a Shero. I’m tired of taking care of me. I just want a goddamn break. I know…we all do.

Cry it out.
Sit up.
Little sips of water.
Find the blessings.
Be grateful.
Who knows the future.
I promise I’m not going anywhere.