Sugar's Life Lessons

As many of you know, our beloved, crazy, ball-chasing dog breathed her last breath a few weeks ago. The corner where her bed used to be is vacant. We no longer need to be careful as we climb up or down the steps, a favorite napping place for her. The crumbs we drop on the floor will remain there until one of us sweeps them up.

I was surprised by the depth of sadness I've experienced.  As she passed her 14th year, we knew she was approaching great-grandmother status in dog years. I admittedly looked forward to future days of freedom that would come with not caring for a pet. Walt and the kids used to kid me about it. However, when the reality of her final days was before me, I switched my tune. I knew no amount of freedom could compare with this sweet dog who shared our home and our hearts for almost ten years.

We first saw her online. She and her sister were being kept at the Humane Society. Walt met us there since it was close to his work. The paperwork said she was about four years old, weighed 80 pounds (her sister, Cookie, was close to 100), was named Sugar, and came from a family who kept both dogs outside most of the time. From their weight, they were probably given a big bowl of food and not exercised much.

We met her in a play area. She was so nervous from being in a cage with so many other dogs around that she refused a dog biscuit and barely chased the tennis ball we threw to her. Yet, we saw how much she loved the kids. Even though at the time she didn't act like the dog she would become, we somehow knew she would be a perfect fit for our family.

Our process of finding a family dog wasn't as easy as we thought it would be. The first place we went suggested the dog (a husky found on Petfinder) we were considering may not be the best fit for a first-time pet family. We visited all the dogs there that day, some with eager, longing eyes. None of them seemed right.

We then found a golden retriever online and arranged an appointment to meet her. She was being cared for by a foster family. (That should have been our first clue that we weren't the ones choosing her but we ourselves were being scrutinized.) Her name was Abby and was eight years old. She was a sweet dog and the kids enjoyed throwing the ball for her. I leaned down to stroke her golden coat while Walt quized them on the details of  her life. They asked us to think about it and call them in the morning. After a family discussion, we decided to adopt her. I called early in the morning and was caught by surprise that they rejected us. They. Rejected. Us.

The lady in charge said that they were concerned that Walt and I didn't interact with the dog as much as the kids. I had no words to respond. We, who were safely raising three children, were being turned down for a dog? Walt and I were flabbergasted. The kids were heart broken.

Yet, Becca wasn't defeated. She soon found Sugar's picture on Petfinder. Not wanting to disappoint our dog-loving daughter, we decided to at least meet her. God's plan for our family dog was satisfied that afternoon in Bellevue.

Before I knew it, we had filled out the adoption paperwork, paid the $100 fee, and bought a leash and dog dishes. Walt left for work, and I was leading our golden dog out of the animal shelter, desperately pulling her away from the cats near the door, clumsily lifting her up into our minivan. I have to admit, after all the difficulty of trying to find a dog, I was unprepared for her sitting in my van, panting, looking up at me eagerly, wondering with her brown eyes, "Where are we going?" My hands were shaky, my heart pounding, my forehead sweaty as I drove home. What just happened?

It wasn't long before she seamlessly fit into the fabric of our family. Some of my greatest joys as I think back at our young kids were watching them with Sugar. She lived for chasing balls in the park or backyard. She loved going on walks with whomever would take her. She loved the snow! She loved lying close to one of the kids in the backyard on a summer day or next to the fire in our family room on a rainy day. There was not a person she didn't love.

As she grew older, I knew her time on earth was drawing to a close. I tried to prepare the kids for the inevitable. She had started leaking urine. I grew tired of cleaning up messes, some stains I was unable to get out. While I was prepping dinner, she inevitably was underfoot or staring me down for her food. At night, she would pant loudly, needing to be wherever Walt or I was. We hesitated making vacation plans because she needed more attention.

That's why I was caught by surprise at how much I miss her, how many tears I've shed.

Her end was mercifully quick. We took her to the vet on the Saturday morning of Memorial Day weekend because her stomach was distended. We learned she had a mass on her spleen. Since she was 14 years old and had a cancerous tumor removed a few years ago, we knew there was nothing more to be done. By Tuesday, after our neighbor friends, the ones who most often took care of Sugar when we were gone, said their goodbyes, we knew without a doubt it was time to let her go.

On Wednesday morning, Sugar had turned her body completely to the wall, and refused to take any water. I was still waiting to hear back from the vet on what time we could bring her in when Ben and I had to leave for an annual test homeschoolers in Washington are required to take. Ben took a moment to pet her, and as we walked toward the garage, Sugar pulled her head up and looked me in the eye. I suspected she was saying goodbye.

When I returned a couple hours later, she was gone. She had died in one of her favorite places, in front of the fireplace. We didn't have to take her to the vet, which was her least favorite place to go. We didn't have to decide when she would die. She mercifully offered that to us as her parting gift. She died characteristically like she lived, wanting to please us.

I pulled the older kids from school to say goodbye and we all spent a few moments (with a couple of our friends who also stopped by) crying together. Becca was the last one in the room, spending a few moments alone with her sweet puppy (as she like to call her), and covered her still body with a sheet while we waited for Walt to arrive to help take her body to the vet.

The assistant at the vet's office, despite being bombarded with people when we showed up, couldn't have been more compassionate or efficient. And just like that, Walt, Nathan and I drove away to return home, the home where someone would be missing.

As our emotions have settled and our hearts have begun to mend, I consider the lesson of Sugar's short life. She reminded me of what's important in life. Those first few days after she was gone, I would have given anything for one more night where she followed me around the kitchen. As I sat on the couch, relaxing at the end of the day, I wanted so badly for her to come lay at my feet, smelly breath and all, so I could pet her soft fur and let  her know how thankful I was that she came into our lives.

As I look at this last season of parenting my kids, all three in high school next fall, I hope to apply the lessons Sugar taught me. I know there will be things that irritate me, but I hope to embrace each moment, knowing it might be exactly the thing I miss most when they are gone. Teenage emotions are tricky sometime, but for this season, for this time, I want to do the best I can to embrace my kids, to enjoy their highs and comfort their lows. Because the day will come when my kitchen will be quiet, the picked up room will remain clean, when I can choose more of the meals for Walt and me as opposed to what they prefer, when I'll long for the noise and the chaos. If I don't embrace this time now, to abandon my to-do list and take them on more adventures, to put down my book and invite them to play a game, to find the joy in their crazy schedules and the moments to connect, I will regret it later.

Sugar taught me that the very thing I wish I didn't have to do anymore will be the thing I might miss the most.

I found one of Sugar's tennis balls shortly after her death, hidden under a table. It tugged at my heart, another reminder of what we lost. Yet, it also reminded me of what we gained because we opened our home to this dog, a dog who poured out love and loyalty. God certainly wrapped a golden bow around our kids' childhood with this one amazing dog.

Goodbye, sweet Sugar. You were the best dog any family could hope for. 

New Doctor Visit

Time sure flies in the spring. I started this posted weeks ago and have been so busy to finish it until now. It's been two weeks since I went back to see my new oncologist for the results of my blood test and discuss my health. The front desk  of the clinic is the same, the paperwork only slightly different. Because it's been six glorious months since my last visit, I had to fill out some kind of overall health survey sheet. The nurse came to retrieve me before I completed that.

Dr. Kohn's nurse was alway chatty as we walked back to the scale, but this nurse seemed new and unsure of herself. She left me behind after recording my weight as I frantically tried to slip on my shoes. Fortunately she came back because we turned the opposite way down the hall as I had been used to.

After the usual blood pressure, temperature and question, "Have you fallen recently?" she quietly left, leaving behind her silence. In case you were wondering, I didn't check my lab results online before the visit, so I tried to rest confidently in God's shadow. That morning, I was reading in Psalm, "He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty" (91:1).

I turned on my kindle and read from Annie F. Downs's book, " Let's All Be Brave." I thought it was a good idea to read about being brave as I waited to hear if anything scary was going to pop up on my blood tests. Annie writes: "When God tells you to be brave, he will make it work. It won't be perfect. It won't be easy. But it will be your story and your best story."

When my new doctor knocked and entered, she smiled as she swiftly rubbed hand sanitizer on her hands. After it dried sufficiently, she shook my hand and offered, "You are one of Dr. Kohn's patients?"

I was accustomed to reading Dr. Kohn's expressions if there was a problem with my blood counts. Dr. Van Haelst smile, therefore, put me at ease. She then asked questions about my diagnosis, scanning the papers in front of her, what chemo I went through. "Oh, your tumor was quite large," she remarked. "Did you find it yourself?"

I told her it was found on a routine mammogram and she was surprised I hadn't felt it myself. I wonder about that myself, but all I remember is feeling a slight thickening. I should have been more aware, but at the time, I honestly didn't think I was at risk for cancer. I should have realized that being a woman was enough of a risk.

She then asked me if I had my blood drawn recently. What? You haven't read the info and prepared like I was used to from my previous doctor? Now, I realized I my confidence in her smile was mislaid.

She rolled up the chair to the computer and  pulled up my info. Glancing quickly, she said, "Everything looks fine. Even that marker that Aimee said is sometimes high is normal."

Okay, I can breathe again. Thank you, Lord. That is great news. She, too, was perplexed why that marker would range high, since I wasn't a smoker. Then she started sharing with me info that made me instantly feel positive of her as  my new doctor.  She told me that my prognosis is very good. That the drugs I had for chemo have been very effective at treating my type of cancer, especially the Herceptin. She worries more about her estrogen negative patients now, because she has seen the cancer recur with them more often than us triple positive types. She said that perhaps we could have treated my cancer with just the Herceptin and the aromatase inhibitor (the estrogen suppressing drugs), but it was good insurance to throw everything possible at it when we could. As hard as chemo was, looking back now in this land of uncertainty, I agree.

She confirmed that the chances of me not recurring is probably in the mid 90%.  This was the first time, since Dr. Hunter, my radiation oncologist, who confirmed the percentage. As much as I loved having Dr. Kohn as my oncologist, I felt like every time I was in her examining room, she was looking for cancer. With Dr. VH, I felt more that she was confirming that cancer wasn't there. It's a small difference, but when I live frequently with the fear of cancer coming back, it feels big.

I've been hesitant about thinking I'm "cured." Almost like taking the verse in proverbs, "pride goes before the fall," and exchange pride with "confidence of a cure" goes before the fall. I know in my head that's not correct. That it doesn't matter what I think. Maybe an err towards caution is good because it motivates me to keep walking, try to eat better, and be aware that my one glass of occasional wine doesn't turn into too many.

Yet, my trust needs to be in Jesus, who is the "author and perfecter" of my race. He knows if my race will include more cancer or not. Today, it is cancer-free. I'm thankful I can be confident in that.

Because my only risk factor is the late age I had my first baby, Dr. VH also doesn't agree in having yearly MRIs as Dr. Kohn did. If I had extremely dense breasts, she would probably be more inclined, but she feels confident in once a year mammograms at this point. She did extend me a chance to voice my opposition to her opinion, but, honestly, I'm okay with it. I do not like MRIs, and the stress leading up to them is not healthful. I'm kind of glad I don't have to do one.

So, I left the office feeling pumped about another clean bill of health, with instructions to have my mammo and bone density scan in October. I stopped by scheduling on my way out, and the nurse took my paperwork, told me something was wrong with the computer and she would schedule it and let me know when my appointments were.

It's been two weeks and I haven't heard. I may wait another week and make sure it's in the works. Without Dr. Kohn running the show, I can see how things might fall through the cracks.

For now, it feels amazing that I have a whole summer before me and time to hopefully get settled into our crazy fall schedule (three kids in high school!) by the time I grace the door of the clinic again. And, I might need to go Whidbey Island to get my cup of Whidbey Coffee. Who's in?