I very unexpectedly lost my first born dog this weekend, Max. You've seen me blog about him before. He came down with a cough on Friday and it just tragically went downhill very fast, by Sunday he was gasping for air and I wanted to die just watching him suffer so much. I called the vet and she said to bring him in overnight, and I knew in my gut and my heart he wasn't going to make it through, but I wanted him to be comfortable and for them to try and help him so I brought him in. As I was in the shower getting ready to take him, I heard him battle the stairs so he could come sit outside the shower - our daily ritual - even though he couldn't breathe, he still came up the stairs just to be next to me. When he got into the bathroom he started to couch pretty badly and then proceeded to throw up blood. He sat there and really fought falling down. His body so desperately wanted to lay down and I think give in, but he really kept fighting it. He was such a little fighter, he got hit by a car when he was a puppy and nearly died. I have another dog Pazzo, but Max was my baby. Max never left my side. Max followed me everywhere, and was the first to great me, cuddle with me, follow me to bed, follow me into the bathroom, lay outside the shower, wait for me by the door. He really truly loved me. When I got really sick before my first transplant he never left my side. He looked at me every time I coughed. He would lay in bed with me for hours, and forgo cookies and food. I will miss him very much, and I will miss him even more when I get that sick again before my second transplant. I'll miss little Maxy watching over me like no one else. I wrote this a few years ago and I would like to share:
I knew everyone wanted me to get new lungs for them. But the credit is owed to two individuals that aren’t even human. I have two dogs Max and Pazzo. When I came home from the hospital the first time—before the very last time, Max started to obsessively lick his paws to the point that they would bleed. I could see the worry in his eyes. I knew he sensed how sick I was more than any human ever would. My mom brought him to the vet, as I didn’t leave the house much anymore, and she told her he was chronically depressed. Imagine that. When I was in college and would go home for weekends and return to school, before I got really sick, my mom would tell me how Max would sit at the door and just wait for me. He would sit there and sleep there and never move until I came home. She even took a picture of him once sitting by the door staring out of the glass. I realized at one point that if I died everyone around me would have the luxury of grieving. They would know the fight I put up and understand what happened to me. Not Max and Pazzo. It broke my heart more than anything in the entire world to think that Max would sit at the door the rest of his life and wait for me to come home when I wasn’t going to. I needed new lungs for Max and Pazzo and even though I felt like I wasn’t going to wake up sometimes, that I would stop breathing in the night, I would fight for them because it would not have been fair to them if I didn’t. They would always be the first reason that I would fight.
Miss you little Maxy.