For Remi, my forever girl.

Its been about 2 weeks since Remi passed, and at times, it still doesn’t seem real to me. She was my whole world, what brought me the most happiness in life. I’m finally getting to the point to where I can talk about her and not immediately start crying, but I have my ups and downs for sure. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling completely lost after losing my girl. I had some time to prepare, but if I’m being honest, that didn’t help anything when it came down to those final moments. The past couple of months have been a complete roller coaster of emotions filled with happiness, anxiety, hope, loss, grief, guilt, depression, and gratefulness. Not many people know what happened to Remi, so I’ll explain that later on, but first I want to talk about the profound joy she brought to my life.

I rescued Remi on August 8th, 2020. I had been living in Alaska for almost a year at this point, and one thing I noticed after moving to Alaska was that it seemed like everyone had a dog. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like it was the way to go. A dog is the perfect companion to have in Alaska, especially for a single woman that lives alone. A dog could enjoy the beautiful Alaskan wilderness and go on hikes with me. A dog could help protect me, whether it’s on a hike alone or in the house. Don’t get me wrong, I’d use my guns if I had to, but having a dog around that could alert me of something quickly would give me comfort. A dog could snuggle with me and keep me warm on those cold Alaskan winter nights. At the time, I was dating someone and he agreed getting a dog would be good for me, but I was worried that it wouldn’t be fair to keep the dog in the house all day or night during my 12 hour shifts without being let out. We made an agreement that he was going to help me, and he would either come let the dog out once or just have the dog with him when I was working my shifts at the labor and delivery unit on base. So, we had this established plan, and I started perusing online pages of shelters and rescue organizations nearby to see the dogs available. I eventually came across a dog that caught my eye. Her name was Puma at the time, and she was described by the shelter as “a very mellow and loving girl that loves car rides and going to the dog park.” She had this adorable smile in the photo, like she was waiting for a treat to be given to her, and somehow I knew this was the dog I wanted, without even meeting her. I put in an application, and before I knew it, I was approved to come get her. My boyfriend at that time and I had plans to go pick her up together, but he got too drunk with his friends the night before and wasn’t answering his phone the morning we were supposed to go. So, I basically told myself he could go to hell, and I went by myself to go get my girl. We had dogs all my life growing up; I could do this on my own, and I didn’t need him like I thought I did. Needless to say, that boyfriend and I broke up not too long after that incident. When she initially hopped into my car, she just curled up in the passenger seat like it was no big deal. Then, our life together began, and I had 6 wonderful years with her.

I don’t know the story of how Remi came to be at the shelter at 5 years old. She was the greatest companion anyone could ever ask for from the very beginning of our relationship. I can’t imagine that someone would have willingly given her up. I asked the shelter how she got there, and they told me they couldn’t divulge that information to me, for whatever reason. I thought maybe her previous owner had passed away, or maybe someone was moving and couldn’t take her with them. Whatever the reason was, I wish I could say thank you to the person that brought her to that shelter because they ultimately gave me one of the greatest gifts I will ever have had throughout my lifetime.

It wasn’t too long after getting Remi that I started really noticing big differences in my health and the way I was physically feeling. My symptoms of endometriosis, POTS, and Ehlers Danlos really started to show themselves. Looking back, I don’t think Remi will ever truly know how much comfort she gave me in the moments of when I was in so much pain and didn’t know how to proceed when I wasn’t being listened to by providers. On the days when I couldn’t get out of bed, except to let her out, feed her, or for me to go to the bathroom, she was never disappointed in me. She was just as happy to be snuggling with me in bed as she was to be out in the woods hiking with me. When I would have panic attacks, she was always there, no questions asked, no expectations of me, no asking me of anything in return. How do you even thank a pet for that? How many people in your life can you honestly say would show up for you in a heartbeat with no questions asked and not ask for anything in return? She was just there, always. She never offered unsolicited advice to me. She never made me feel bad or guilty for needing to rest. She helped me see that it was important to take advantage of the times when I was feeling okay, but that it was also okay to slow down when I needed to. She helped me learn how to forgive myself for things I can’t change, and she helped me learn how to love myself. There have been times over the last few years when I have looked in the mirror and didn’t even recognize myself, whether it was because of choices I made or because of the physical changes and pain my body was going through. But I have absolutely no doubt, that when Remi looked at me, she just saw me as me. She saw her dog mama, her best friend, her provider, her companion. She didn’t see me for the pain I was in, my weight gain, my anxiety and depression, my bad choices in men, or my “laziness” when I wasn’t feeling good. I just know in my heart that she just saw love because that’s what she was to me: all love.

Over the last 6 years, Remi and I have had some epic adventures together. We have hiked a plethora of Alaska trails and mountains. We have travelled and done road trips to some of the coolest spots in Alaska: Homer, Seward, Hope, Talkeetna, Girdwood, Valdez, Tok, Seldovia, Whittier, and Haines to name a few. She was my gardening buddy, as well as my blueberry picking buddy. Once her zoomies were all out when we would be blueberry picking, she would just follow me around to be fed a blueberry for every few that I picked. She was best buds with my friends, and if my friend had a dog, she was likely buds with them too. She just spread love wherever she went. She loved to run around the neighborhood with me while I long-boarded. She just loved to go anywhere with me really, and boy, did I take her everywhere with me, every chance I got. I loved to see her head hanging out the window on car rides, or see her slurp up a pup cup from Starbucks, or share my french fries with her while driving. I happily planned my whole life around her and wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

I planned my whole life around Remi even more once she got sick. On May 10th, Mother’s Day, my whole world turned upside-down. Remi collapsed and wouldn’t get back up while we were at home, and I rushed her to the vet. While there, I found out Remi had fluid around her heart, and they said the most common cause of this is a tumor in the area that is bleeding. Remi had just been treated for pneumonia just a couple weeks before that, so I was hoping maybe she just wasn’t over that quite yet and needed more antibiotics or something or had become septic, but that was not the case. I quickly had to decide if I was going to euthanize her or have the vet do a procedure called a pericardiocentesis, in which they would drain the fluid that had built up in the pericardial sac of her heart. The vet said even if we did the procedure, the pericardial sac would unfortunately probably fill back up with fluid again pretty quickly, and she said they don’t like to do the pericardiocentesis procedure more than twice. I opted to have them do the procedure, simply because I needed more time with her and wasn’t ready to say goodbye in that moment. She had it done and recovered well, and the vet put in a referral to a vet cardiologist that could do a echocardiogram on Remi to see if they could see the tumor that was probably causing this problem. We saw the vet cardiologist 2 days later, and she confirmed that there was a tumor on Remi’s heart. She explained to me that there are 2 types of tumors that grow on the heart that cause this problem. One is called a chemodectoma, and it is the better one of the two to have because it doesn’t spread as aggressively and the fluid accumulation in the pericardial sac is slower. The other one is called a hemangiosarcoma, which is highly aggressive and fragile, often rupturing which causes the pericardial sac to fill rapidly with blood. Once the pericardial sac is filled with too much blood, it begins to compress too much on the heart, causing things like the collapse that Remi had. I had hope after the visit with the cardiologist because she told me the tumor looked more like a chemodectoma and not the hemangiosarcoma. She said Remi was a good candidate for a surgery where the pericardial sac is actually surgically removed from the heart, so the fluid coming from the tumor would no longer build up around her heart but would just drain into her body. Unfortunately, there was no way to really confirm which kind of tumor Remi had until a sample of it could be taken during surgery. After that initial vet visit, I was told if it was a hemangiosarcoma, that Remi could be alive for a couple more days after that first draining of the fluid, or she could maybe last up to a couple of months. If it was a chemodectoma, she could maybe have a couple years. So now I was left with the decision of whether or not to do this high-risk surgery for my dog, to possibly give her a couple more months to a couple more years depending on which kind of tumor it is, yet I won’t know which tumor it is unless I do the surgery. It seemed like an impossible decision for many reasons. I didn’t want to put her through too much, especially if it was the aggressive tumor in which she wasn’t going to last very long anyways. Yet, if it was the other kind of tumor, it seemed well worth it for her if she could be around for a couple more years. Don’t get me wrong, I selfishly wanted to do the surgery either way because even just having one more day with her seemed worth it to me, but I couldn’t bear the thought of putting her through too much at the end of her life. Would this surgery be what she wants? Would she want to try this “hail Mary” knowing that if we don’t, she most certainly could succumb to her pericardial sac filling up with fluid the next time it does. What if I wasn’t around the next time it happened? The thought of that and her being alone absolutely terrified me, so I pretty much kept my eyes on her almost 24/7 after that vet visit on Mother’s Day. On days she was too weak to go up the stairs, I slept downstairs on the couch with her or next to her dog bed on a little blow-up camping mattress. I ended up getting her scheduled for a consult for the surgery on May 26th, so I could at least discuss the pros and cons with the surgeon and then make a decision.

On May 20th, Remi collapsed and wouldn’t get up again while we were in the car running errands around town. This time, her breathing rapidly changed, and I wasn’t sure I was going to get her to the vet in time. I kept telling her in the car, “we’re almost there, we’re almost there, please just hang in there a little longer. I’m right here, I’m right here.” At the vet, they told me what I already knew, that her pericardial sac had already filled up with fluid again, and I had to quickly decide again whether to put her down or proceed with another pericardiocentesis. I wanted to get her to that surgical consult so badly, just to see if it could be a possibility for her. I chose to do the procedure again, and since it was the second time and only about 10 days since the first one, she had to stay overnight in the pet ER for monitoring in case it happened again quickly. Thankfully she did okay overnight, and they called me to come pick her up in the morning. The next few days I was a nervous wreck not knowing if she was going to make it to her surgical consult or not. I just needed her to get through the next 5 days. I didn’t want to talk to anyone; I didn’t want to be around anyone. All I wanted was to stay at home and be with her to monitor her. I knew the likelihood of her collapsing again was high and that it would happen with an even shorter interval this time, so my mom came up to be with her and I. I couldn’t stand the thought of putting her down alone if it were to happen again before her surgery consult, and even if that didn’t happen, my mom wanted to be there if we did proceed with the surgery anyways. Even though I would be working from home, there was no way I would be able to keep eyes on her 24/7 after the surgery. I will be forever grateful that my mom made the trip up to be with us during this time. She was so helpful through everything and was such a comfort for me throughout all of this, and Remi loved her being with us too.

Eventually, May 26th came, and Remi was still with us. My mom and I kept things very relaxed in hopes that she wouldn’t get her heart working too hard. After discussing everything with the vet and learning that she could do the surgery on Remi the very next day, I decided we would proceed. I wanted to do everything in my power to give Remi the best chance possible, even if there was a possibility that it maybe wouldn’t end how we hoped it would. Remi was a tough, very strong girl. I knew in my heart that she would want to try everything she could, too.

After a long time of waiting around that next day, I got a call that Remi’s surgery went very well and was a success, but there was a post-op complication going on. I learned that Remi had formed a bullae, which is basically an air-filled sac formed in the lung that is prone to rupture. If the bullae ruptures, it leaks air into the chest cavity causing a pneumothorax (collapsed lung). Remi had a chest tube in place that was keeping the air from accumulating in her chest, but eventually the chest tube would need to come out. The question was whether or not the situation would get better overnight, and if it did, then they could take the chest tube out the next day and I could take her home.

I got a call the next day from her surgeon that we needed to come down there to see her, and it wasn’t the kind of call that was like, “you can come here and see her and then take her home!” It was the kind of call that was more like,”you need to come see her because I need to tell you in person that she’s not getting better and need to discuss your options with you.” My mom and I get there and, of course, I just immediately start bawling when I see her and climb into her cage with her. They hadn’t unhooked her chest tube yet, which I knew wasn’t a good sign. The vet explained that her lungs situation wasn’t getting better, and the only way to solve the issue would be with another major surgery. She had just had major heart surgery and made it through, and I just couldn’t stomach putting her through another major surgery to a separate organ in her body. It didn’t seem right to me and just seemed like too much to put her through. I signed the euthanasia papers, they took the chest tube out, and we took Remi outside to sit in the grass while we waited for the vet to be done with her next case. The vet expected Remi to slowly start to decompensate once they took the chest tube out because her chest would be filling up with air, and it would get more and more difficult for her to breathe. My mom and I sat in the grass with her, and I ordered her a feast of McDonald’s for her last meal. She ate a cheeseburger, fries, nuggets, bacon, and the vet also gave Remi her chicken lunch as well. When the vet came back out, she saw that Remi was still breathing just fine after the chest tube had been taken out, and it had been well over a couple of hours at this point. The vet was shocked, and I could tell she wasn’t feeling great about euthanizing Remi when her breathing was looking so good. Eventually, we made the decision to take Remi home and see how her breathing did over the next couple of days. The vet said it was possible, but not very likely, that the pneumothorax would heal on its own, but that’s exactly what happened. Remi beat the odds, and it healed all on its own. I was so proud of her and so unbelievably in awe of how strong she was. We did end up having to bring her back to the vet a couple days later, and I was fearful that it would be our last day with her, but it turned out she just needed some supplemental oxygen for a little bit, and then we were good to go.

After all of that, my mom eventually had to go home and get back to my dad. Remi made it to her 2 week post-op follow-up appointment on June 11th and got her staples taken out. She did so, so good. Everyone at the vet had fallen head over heels for her at this point, so everyone was so excited to see her when we came in. The receptionist told me, “I’ve never been so excited to shred signed euthanasia papers before.” I honestly couldn’t believe we had made it to this point. I felt like such a proud mama showing off my strong girl at her post-op follow-up. I learned that even though Remi’s surgery was a success, the tumor did appear to be the more aggressive kind. So even though her pericardial sac was now gone and the issue of heart compression was no longer a concern, we weren’t out of the woods because this cancer was going to spread quickly, if it hadn’t already. I just kept telling myself that whatever additional time I was going to get with her by my side, I would be thankful for.

3 days later on June 14th, Remi and I were having a great day. We went on her first walk around the neighborhood since her heart surgery. She was on cloud nine. We went for a ride to do some errands around town. She put her head out the window and felt the wind and sunshine on her face. Later in the day, she started acting a little off and eventually threw up her dinner. After that, she retreated to the bathroom, which is where she would normally go when she wasn’t feeling well. She kept repositioning and couldn’t seem to get comfortable, and something just didn’t seem right. I took her to the vet where they gave her some nausea meds and did an ultrasound on her. They said she didn’t have any fluid buildup in her chest, so they thought it was just an upset stomach, but I had a feeling in my gut that wasn’t all that was going on. Ever since Remi got sick, I had been cooking her all of her meals (except for that McDonald’s feast), so I knew she hadn’t eaten anything that would give her an upset stomach. We went back home, and I laid with her in the bathroom for a couple of hours, but she seemed to be getting worse. I checked her gums, and they were getting paler. She started having more and more difficulty standing up when she wanted to reposition. Eventually, she couldn’t get back up anymore. I knew it was time, and I took her back to the pet ER. This time, they did a scan of her kidneys, and we learned that the cancer had spread to her kidneys, which were now bleeding into her peritoneum. I was now at the point to where there was nothing else I could do but comfort her and not let her suffer any longer.

I signed the euthanasia papers, now for the second time, and I opted to receive every possible piece of Remi memorabilia that they offered. We got moved to a room that was dimly lit, tranquil, and more home-like than the clinic rooms. I cuddled, held, kissed, and talked with Remi until it was time. I thanked her for every single memory, smile, laugh, and feeling of joy, comfort, and love that she provided me with in my life. I told her she was my forever girl and my soul dog, but she already knew. I told her how this wasn’t fair and how such a wonderful dog didn’t deserve this. I told her that I would do anything for just one more day with her, and how I would do absolutely anything to get rid of her cancer if I could, but I think she knew that too. We tried everything in our power, and I take comfort in knowing that. When the vet came into the room for the final moments, he was so kind and gentle, and listed all of his past dog’s names and calmly said, “please say hi to them for me, Remi. Oh, and you sure had one hell of a mom here on Earth.” The last thing Remi did was put her paw on my arm and look up at me, as if she knew I needed comfort in that moment. She then moved her paw to my chest, like she was comforting my heart. I think she was trying to tell me, “it’s okay mama, I know we tried everything, and now, I won’t need to suffer.” It absolutely broke me, and as much as I wanted to run out of that room and pretend like this wasn’t my reality, I held her in my arms and heard her let out one final big breath, almost like a sigh of relief. I sat there with her afterwards for quite some time, just holding her and kissing her.

I thought that whole process and leaving the vet’s that night without Remi would be the worst part, but getting home and walking into the house without her and knowing she wouldn’t be back in the house ever again was excruciating. As someone who is not married and has no kids, pictures of Remi and traces of her are flooded throughout my entire house. She has beds and toys everywhere. Her hair is everywhere and forever will be probably. Being in my house without her is something I wish I never had to experience. When I got this new work from home nursing job, I was so excited to be able to work from the house and be at home all day with Remi, but now being at home all day while working is just a constant reminder that she’s no longer here. When coming home, I expect to hear her little nails tapping on the floor coming towards me, but she’s not there. I expect her to come running into the bathroom to start licking water off of me when I get out of the bathtub, but now that doesn’t happen anymore either. Any little noise in the house, I think it should be her coming up the stairs, but it isn’t. It’s going to take a lot of time to get used to, and sure maybe I’ll get another dog eventually, but right now, I feel the need to grieve Remi in the way she deserves. She was such a special dog, and everyone that met her knew it too. I honestly can’t believe that I was lucky enough to get to have her.

Something I wasn’t expecting to pop up during this grieving process was the amount of guilt that I would have, but I’ve read that it’s normal to second guess things and have these types of feelings throughout the grieving process. I found myself thinking back on times I got angry at her for misbehaving or making an accident in the house and being so mad at myself for being angry with her. But I guess, in the end, we’re all human. I felt guilty for being away from her at times the last few months because I wanted to spend time with my parents in Florida while they are having to deal with my dad being sick with his stage 4 cancer. I also went to spend some time in Florida after my break-up, just so I could “reset”. I have found myself thinking, “did I put her through too much in the end?” But I’m past this now. I know that I did what I could for her, and I know that she knew that I fiercely loved her with all that I had. There’s no reason for me to doubt that, and I don’t need to do that to myself.

As someone who elected to have a hysterectomy due to severe stage 4 endometriosis, I will never have kids of my own, and I’m okay with that. But because of that, Remi really did feel like my kid. I’ve never loved a living thing so much in my entire life, and I know this is going to hurt for a long time, possibly for the rest of my life. It hurts so much that I even considered downloading dating apps again to distract myself from the pain. I thought to myself, “maybe the constant disappointment of the men of my generation will distract me enough from the disappointment of losing Remi.” But then I thought again and said, “hmmm, yeah no thanks.” We always had dogs growing up at home, but they were the family’s dogs. Remi was mine. Fully mine. I now understand what my parents went through when we lost dogs growing up, and I can’t imagine it was easy taking care of kids while going through that. I haven’t really wanted to talk to anyone or be around anyone through the loss of Remi. Friends and family have been very kind with letting me know I’m in their thoughts and prayers, but I’m just not the type of person that wants to be around people when I’m upset. My nosy neighbor was calling, texting, and knocking on my door so often to check on me after Remi was gone, and I finally had to tell her to cool it because she was being too overwhelming for me. Boundaries are a cool thing, and she was crossing mine. But I really do want to send a sincere thank you to everyone who has reached out, and especially for the prayers that were happening when Remi was sick and having her surgery.

It’s interesting when you lose someone, how everyone else’s lives just keep moving on, but you feel like yours is at a standstill. I guess eventually my life will keep moving on too. This has been a rough few months; I’m not gonna lie. I feel like my heart is being tugged between Alaska and Florida. I love Alaska, and I love my house here, but it’s hard to picture life here without Remi right now. Things may change with time, and maybe I’ll eventually open my heart up to another dog when the time is right. Between my dad’s diagnosis, a break-up this year with someone I once thought would be my forever (but I was very wrong), having my hysterectomy, and now losing Remi, there have been times recently when I’ve wanted to scream and be mad at God and say, “why are You allowing this to happen?” But I think there are some things that we just aren’t ever meant to understand, and I also think that sometimes we must suffer to be reminded of how precious life is and how we must make the most of it. We endure the bad to appreciate the good. Although losing Remi is by far one of the most painful things I’ve ever been through, I do think it is worth it for all of the happiness we got to have together. My heart would just fill with joy when I would see her big smile while hiking, when I would see her turn to look back at me on hikes to make sure I was still there (because she was always ahead of me), when she would look up at me with those big brown eyes, or when she would get her daily dental stick and take it to her special spot she would eat it every day when I would get home from work. I’ll never forget the times when I would find granola bar wrappers in my couch, knowing that she somehow got ahold of one, ate it, and then hid the wrapper in the cushions of the couch thinking I would never find it.

It’s sort of beautiful in a way….the fact that Remi and I started our relationship alone, just me and her, and then it ended, with just me and her. I just have to believe that I’ll get to see her again one day, once I’m up in heaven. I refuse to believe that God would create dogs that have the ability to have this amazing companionship with humans, all for them to not be in heaven once you get there. When I die, I hope I see Remi running towards me when I get to heaven, with her soft ears flapping up and down and that big goofy smile on her face. I hope she has her favorite hedgehog stuffy with her. I hope she’s rolling around in all the smelliest things like she would always do on our hikes. I hope she’s getting to eat all the bacon in the world and getting to have ice cream every day. I hope she’s getting all the cuddles, chin and butt scratches, and love that she deserves. Then once I get there and get to be with her, I can take over cuddle duty, and both of us will have no pain ever again and only feel joy, no sadness. Until then, I’ll be missing her every day of my life and wishing we had more time.

And also, one of my first questions to God when I get to heaven is going to be, “why couldn’t dogs live longer?”

Peace & love, Sarah