Sometimes I wonder if one of the reasons I haven't gotten pregnant is because I'm not strong enough emotionally. Before losing my dearly beloved golden retriever, Brandy, last year, I often thought about if I'd be able to handle it when Brandy and Bailey passed away. I thought about how they were like my children, only in dog form, because I took care of them in a motherly way. I fed them, bathed them, thought (worried) about them, nurtured them, loved them, talked to them, made sure I gave them the attention they needed, etc. As they started getting older, I would think about how my life might be different without them, and those thoughts always brought me to tears. I couldn't bare the thought of losing either one of them. They were my buddies.
When the time came for Brandy to leave last year, it was as bad as I had thought, but there were things I learned from her loss that I hadn't anticipated. When Brandy was diagnosed with cancer last summer, I wouldn't leave her side. All I wanted to do was to be with her every last second. Of course, we took her to a specialist and they offered us an exploratory surgery option, but knowing my Brandy, that would have put her under too much stress. She hated being away from us, and hated vets even more. She would have had to stay in the hospital for about a week to "recover". I still vividly remember how much it hurt having her be taken into the back room of the vet's office while we spoke with the vet about her different options. All I wanted to do was to hold her in my arms and never let go. I wanted to console her and tell her everything would be okay, and that I would always love her. When they brought her back to us, she ran to me and I cried as I hugged her. Brad and I both knew that exploratory surgery wasn't what she'd want, so we took her home and monitored her quality of life. I remember thinking that giving humans the choice to end a life was cruel - how would we really know when the time had come to have someone put her to sleep? What if it was too early? What if she would miraculously recover?
My therapist told me that dogs will hang on longer than they should for their owners. Even if they are ready to pass away, they will hang on a little longer. I remember telling Brandy that I didn't want her to stay for me, and that I'd be okay, but I didn't really believe I'd be okay. I remember telling her that she could leave when she was ready and to show us signs. A couple days later, she stopped eating. I had been making her chicken, rice, and eggs - all of her favorite foods. When she turned away those things, and wouldn't get up, we knew that was her form of communication saying she was ready.
My therapist also told me about a mobile vet service that would come to your house and put your dog to sleep for you. I couldn't bare the thought of taking her to the vet, and not being able to hold her as she took her very last breath. The mobile vet idea aligned with Brad and I. Brad called the vet and they came to our house that same evening. When they arrived, they explained that they would sedate her and then put her to sleep. Brad and I were able to console Brandy, which meant the world to me, and Bailey was able to be with us, too, which helped her. To this day, she has never once looked for Brandy. She knew that was the last time she'd see her in this life time. I remember sobbing into Brandy's fur, squeezing her so tightly, whispering consoling things into her ear. I also remember hoping that the tears I shed on her would miraculously heal her and that she'd get up and be her usual self.
After she had passed, the vet service took her away, with her doggy bed, blanket, and favorite stuffed Eeyore. They were going to cremate her with Eeyore. Brad took care of the paying part, etc., because I was a wreck! I went outside in our backyard and threw the tennis ball to Bailey. Then, Brad came back inside and we took Bailey for a walk. That was my first animal loss. I had lost family pets, but Brandy was my own dog. I didn't know how to mourn her loss, so I did what I do best - I talked. I talked about things I'd miss about Brandy. I talked about how special of a soul she was. I talked about how much we loved how Brandy would run down the hallway to get a stuffed animal and bring it back to us when we walked in the house each time. I talked about how Brandy used to make a "hungry dog" noise (that's what we called it anyway) when she was waiting for us to put her food dish down for her. I talked about how Brandy loved to sunbathe under the pine trees in our backyard, and about how cute she was when she chewed on the pinecones holding them ever so gently with her adorable paws. I talked about how Brandy's snoring always brought me comfort. I talked about how Brandy was always there for me when I was at my lowest points - on those days each month when I started my period (instead of getting pregnant). I talked about how she was there for me from the very beginning of our infertility journey, and about how she used to let me hold her and cry into her fur never moving until I was done, which was normally after I had soaked her fur with my tears. I talked about how Brandy used to "flea bite" her stuffed animals and make cute grunting noises. I talked about how she loved all food, especially fruits and vegetables, and about how she could hear the sound of a banana being cracked open from anywhere in the house. I talked about how she'd be fast asleep in our bedroom, and then suddenly wake up when Brad was opening a banana for his breakfast and run down the hall into the kitchen expecting a piece of banana. I talked about how she used to love being groomed by Brad and I and would lay upside for hours while we brushed her. I talked about how she had the cutest butt hairs, how she had swag when she walked, and about how she always found water in a gutter or shade to walk through on our daily walks. I talked about how she would let me dress her up. I talked about how she was a part of our daily routine, and that I loved everything about her. I talked about what it would be like without her. When we got back home from the walk, the house seemed sad. I didn't want to be in it anymore. I could no longer say, "girls", and I no longer heard Brandy's footsteps coming down the hall. I no longer heard her snoring next to me. I no longer could stare into her eyes and wonder what she was thinking. I could no longer be in our living room and feel comfort because I would always look at the spot in the living room where she had been put to sleep.
The next day, I fell apart. I cried for about a good week, and when I wasn't crying, I was on the verge of tears. Brad was so supportive during that time, and he never once rushed my mourning process. He was sad, too, of course, but it took me longer to get back to reality. I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to do anything. Losing Brandy broke me. Brandy took a piece of my heart. What lessons did I get out of the experience? Well, I learned that life does go on, and that everyday does get better. I learned that I am stronger than I had thought because losing Brandy didn't kill me. I learned that loved ones that have passed away are always with you in your thoughts and heart. I learned to be grateful for the time that I get with Bailey and our new dog, Betty. I learned that my heart could expand and love a new dog without replacing the love that I have for Brandy. I learned that worrying about Brandy passing away before the time came didn't benefit my life in any way - in fact, it stole some of the time that I actually had with her. Instead of focusing on the moment while I had her in my life, I was worried and fearful of the future. What does that have to do with me not getting pregnant? Sometimes I think about how much love I had/have for Brandy, and she was only a dog (not a human that I had given birth to). Is it possible to love something even more and to see them get sick, to see them get hurt, and to see them suffer and it not break me? Am I strong enough emotionally to experience what being a mom of a human entails? Seeing things suffer causes me internal pain, as if I was experiencing the pain right along with them. Will I be in pain when my child is, and if so, will I be strong enough to handle that pain or will I break?
Learning what I have learned from Brandy, I choose to focus on the present moment. Worrying about if I'm strong enough doesn't benefit me because I will never truly know until that moment gets here. Worrying about anything takes away from the present moment. I am robbing myself of something sacred - the present. I am strong. I am strong. I am strong.
