chapmandou
06-18-2006, 11:32 PM
We lost our brave, sweet Sammy on Tuesday, June 13... and so we find ourselves on this page... where instead of just visiting, we will remain. As some of you know, Sammy survived two adrenal surgeries, the first of which brought us to this forum over 2-1/2 years ago, desperate for advice and support. It was a harrowing experience, but Sammy was strong and pulled through his very difficult surgery and recovery. His humans only got through it because of the incredible support we received here, from this very special community, day and night.
Two and a half years later, we were dealt another blow when Sammy had to have a second adrenalectomy, as another tumor appeared in the remaining adrenal gland and started causing serious problems. Thankfully, this surgery was a breeze compared to the first, and our little survivor was running and playing again within a couple of weeks. In fact, Sammy was so resilient, even as an Addison's dog now, we were beginning to think he was invincible.
Last week, our boy started having symptoms that seemed like "old dog vestibular syndrome." Two trips to the hospital gave us hope that it would self-resolve in 24-72 hours. But this was not to be. Sammy got much worse and all his neurological symptoms were now thought to be caused by a brain tumor. He was walking uncontrollably in tight circles, bumping into things, having focal seizures one after the other, becoming more and more disoriented and rigid, unable to eat or drink or open his mouth even -- it might as well have been wired shut. Finally, after a long and often-times terrible night, I was frantically calling every vet in the area, begging them to come to the house and not make me put this suffering creature in the car to drive to a hospital and then carry him into a sterile room and onto a cold table to wait for someone to finally give him his rest. The internists we trusted most were nearly an hour away. I'd almost given up hope, when finally, with our hospital's help, we found a wonderful local vet and his assistant who would come right away.
Sammy had collapsed again from exhaustion before they arrived. He didn't even lift his head when they walked into the room. We sat next to him, petting him as he lay on the soft bedroom carpet, a fresh breeze coming through the wide-open windows. The quiet and peaceful sleep that he so deserved was finally at hand.
His daddy is taking this very, very hard, as I'd always known he would. Sam was his heart dog -- he had never had such a bond with any of his previous dogs, all of whom he adored. But Sam was special. He was my husband's best friend, no less. He was my 24/7 companion and my child. Seems like I've been taking care of him for so long that I don't know what to do with myself without worrying about how he's feeling, his meds, his labwork..... or just doing all of the little things that made up the daily routine of our lives together, all the little things he relied on and loved so much. It is very difficult to focus now. I can be looking at something and not be able to identify it, or someone will be telling me something and I haven't a clue what they're talking about.
I know, it will get better as the days pass, but for now it feels surreal around here, and the tears come so often when you least expect it.
Sammy's at peace now, but it will be a long time before we are. I keep hearing him getting up in the next room and instinctively turn to look for him.
It's so true -- "we hold them in our arms as long as we can and then we hold them in our hearts."
Carol & Lee & Sammy-in-our-hearts
Two and a half years later, we were dealt another blow when Sammy had to have a second adrenalectomy, as another tumor appeared in the remaining adrenal gland and started causing serious problems. Thankfully, this surgery was a breeze compared to the first, and our little survivor was running and playing again within a couple of weeks. In fact, Sammy was so resilient, even as an Addison's dog now, we were beginning to think he was invincible.
Last week, our boy started having symptoms that seemed like "old dog vestibular syndrome." Two trips to the hospital gave us hope that it would self-resolve in 24-72 hours. But this was not to be. Sammy got much worse and all his neurological symptoms were now thought to be caused by a brain tumor. He was walking uncontrollably in tight circles, bumping into things, having focal seizures one after the other, becoming more and more disoriented and rigid, unable to eat or drink or open his mouth even -- it might as well have been wired shut. Finally, after a long and often-times terrible night, I was frantically calling every vet in the area, begging them to come to the house and not make me put this suffering creature in the car to drive to a hospital and then carry him into a sterile room and onto a cold table to wait for someone to finally give him his rest. The internists we trusted most were nearly an hour away. I'd almost given up hope, when finally, with our hospital's help, we found a wonderful local vet and his assistant who would come right away.
Sammy had collapsed again from exhaustion before they arrived. He didn't even lift his head when they walked into the room. We sat next to him, petting him as he lay on the soft bedroom carpet, a fresh breeze coming through the wide-open windows. The quiet and peaceful sleep that he so deserved was finally at hand.
His daddy is taking this very, very hard, as I'd always known he would. Sam was his heart dog -- he had never had such a bond with any of his previous dogs, all of whom he adored. But Sam was special. He was my husband's best friend, no less. He was my 24/7 companion and my child. Seems like I've been taking care of him for so long that I don't know what to do with myself without worrying about how he's feeling, his meds, his labwork..... or just doing all of the little things that made up the daily routine of our lives together, all the little things he relied on and loved so much. It is very difficult to focus now. I can be looking at something and not be able to identify it, or someone will be telling me something and I haven't a clue what they're talking about.
I know, it will get better as the days pass, but for now it feels surreal around here, and the tears come so often when you least expect it.
Sammy's at peace now, but it will be a long time before we are. I keep hearing him getting up in the next room and instinctively turn to look for him.
It's so true -- "we hold them in our arms as long as we can and then we hold them in our hearts."
Carol & Lee & Sammy-in-our-hearts