Category: CF Living after IF

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Dear Kirby (Part 10)

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This brings me to why it’s so hard to explain to others why you are extra special to me. Especially from our other pets. I felt that you were ours, the minute you were in my arms. The warmth of your chest, the slap of your tail on my right arm, the complete happiness you exuded. I don’t know why, I just knew. And somehow you became something more than just a dog. To me, you became my spirit animal. You became part of me; part of my spirit. Someone I had to nurture and love and continue to make happy because you made me so very happy. It had been a long time since I felt that happiness. 

You gave me something to look forward to every day. I knew I had everyday responsibilities to tend to, which I did because — well, that’s just life, right? But you gave me a reason to wake up. You and Daddy. Those really were the only reasons to get up in the morning and put one step in front of the other. Since we couldn’t have kids, you became OUR son. Our lives revolved around you and spending as much time with you. Even vacations became road trips, just because we wanted to take you with us everywhere. That’s why flying to the other side of the world without you AND Kira was not a simple decision for us. I suppose that might be how couples with preschool-aged children probably feel when going on a long vacation without them. 

I don’t think anyone, not even past infertility friends/couples who have found closure with their dreams of having a family (either with or without kids) can truly understand this. I’m generalizing, of course. But even though I didn’t give birth to you, I feel we share the same spirits; we embody parts of others that we can feel each other’s emotions. One that really embraces the whole “I am in you, you are in me” part. Maybe a “Mother’s Instinct”? Which if that’s so, I obviously failed.

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Dear Kirby (Part 9)

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That’s why we sent Lola Rose and Auntie Thea to be with you, Kirby. Daddio & I couldn’t physically be there, but we wanted to make sure that someone who loves you was there for us. We also wanted to make sure we could see and speak to you one last time. 

Kirby, I am so glad we were able to see and speak with you. I could see in your eyes how frightened and tired you were. I’m pretty sure you heard everything we said to you; we saw you lift your head slightly and turn to look at us. We talked about how much of a Good Bubba you are and how much we love you, remember? 

I hope you know that we really, really wanted to be there with you. To be the one to hold your paw. To stroke your head. To kiss that heart on your head one last time. It should have been your Daddio and me. 

Maybe you heard or saw it, but after your last breath, I broke out into sobs. All I kept saying was, “My baby! My baby boy is gone!” I felt my whole world crumble underneath me. My first “child.” Gone.

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Dear Kirby (Part 8)

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The next day we received a call. The doctor told us that despite all the fluids, you were still very weak. You could barely lift your head. And when they tried to keep you upright on your legs, you kept falling down. 

The doctor gave us options. She said they could put a tube down your nose and start tube-feeding so you can get the necessary nutrition, but couldn’t tell us how long that would be sustainable. 

We asked if it could be done for the next two weeks until we got home from our cruise. We also asked if this would help you get better given that we knew about the tumor in your tummy. If any treatment would help you in the long run. 

The doctor answered all of our questions with patience. They weren’t the answers we wanted to hear, Kirby. She said that you were so weak that they weren’t sure if you would be able to bounce back from it. Though she didn’t say these exact words, I knew as a nurse that this was a situation of “Failure to Thrive.” 

We were told that even if you did bounce back from this, you’d be at high risk for surgery to remove the tumor. Any medications to slow its growth would be too hard on your kidneys . After answering all our questions, we told her we would call her back soon after we made a decision.

The thing is, Kirby. The moment I knew she hinted at “Failure to Thrive,” I knew what our decision would be. I looked up at your Dad and said, “I know what we have to do.” And then I broke down and sobbed. I’m sure I startled other passengers.

In our small cruise cabin, we both sat on the bed and cried for what seemed like a lifetime. We both knew that we couldn’t be there to hold you and hug you. And I knew – OMG I should have known – that I should’ve been there to help you THRIVE. I didn’t want you to fail at thriving. I can’t tell you how intense my guilt felt at that moment. 

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Dear Kirby (Part 7)

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We checked in daily with your caretakers to ensure you and Kira were well. We called to ensure both the two of you were having a good time and we often looked for photos of you on their Facebook page (they didn’t record videos, which I thought was wise when we chose this place). The pictures confirmed you were both happy and playful. Mostly, we called to see if you were eating. They told us that both of you were playing hard and having so much fun every day; however, they were struggling to get you to eat, Kirby. By the third day, all of us were worried because you looked so weak. Dad and I — for lack of better words — were freaking out, so we asked them to take you to the doctor. I’m sure you were terrified because it wasn’t us taking you to see your doctor. 

We received a call shortly after from one of your Dogtors stating that you were very weak and that they weren’t able to do anything in their office. We then asked if you could be taken to the Emergency Vet. This meant another car ride to another place without us, your pawrents. 

I was panicked thinking about you going there. I imagined you being driven to a new place with unfamiliar doctors performing new procedures on you without someone familiar to comfort you. I wanted to be with you so badly and I felt so gutted that I couldn’t just teleport my way back home to you. 

That especially hit hard when the emergency doctor called us later on — which happened to be just as we were departing on our 14-day cruise. We were told you were extremely dehydrated with acute pancreatitis and that the immediate plan was to give you fluids overnight and monitor your response. She said that you were very weak, but if you recover well overnight with the IV fluids, you should be strong enough to eat on your own. She also is the one who discovered your large slow-growing belly tumor which was likely the cause of your kidney issues. 

Regardless, I just wished I was there to be with you and support you; to encourage you to get better. Instead, I was now on a ship. In the middle of an ocean. On the other side of the world. With a 16-hour time difference.

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Dear Kirby (Part 6)

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I almost believe you’ve been trying to tell me something those last few weeks before we last saw each other in person. You started to be more clingy than usual. And by clingy, I mean that you stayed by me on your own accord more than normal. I didn’t call you or mention your name in conversation to summon you. I didn’t have any eye contact or pet you enticing you to follow me. Suddenly, you were just there. 

Don’t get me wrong, I loved it. And I love that you were my shadow pretty much everywhere I went. Having you by my side in your bed when I’m working from home is the best; especially when it’s the end of my shift. You were always so “sleep-drunk” happy when it was time to go downstairs.

That is the biggest regret I have, Kirby. I should have known. As your Momma, I should have recognized it and I did not. And the closer to the trip we got, the more you clung to me. There was no more, “pretend growl” every night when I went to kiss that heart on your head. There was little resistance when I wanted to hold your paw while we cuddled. You even let me clean your eyes and play with your ears. I just should have known.