Shhhh...

It has been some time—a long time—since I last wrote about Bailey’s and my journey. Lately, my creative energies and time have shifted back to songwriting and photography. This is true, but only partially so. As much as a conscious refocusing, this shift has been a flight away from writing and talking and even thinking about the path we have been on or where it might go. I am afraid to talk or write about it. Afraid of jinxing the incredible run of good fortune that we have had. Afraid of getting my hopes up. Afraid of being crushed when the streak ends. So I have avoided talking about it and I have avoided writing about it. Out of site, out of mind.

Instead I have written songs about love and life, and I have taken pictures of blossoms and children and kites. And I have developed backaches and headaches and stomach aches. It does not take a Ph.D. in psychology to draw some conclusions here but, having one of those, it is even harder for me to deny the obvious. It is never out of site, and never out of mind. Not really.

I hoped, but never expected that Bailey might see the beginning of March. No one providing care to her thought that she would possibly see the end of it. But here we are on March 31st and Bailey is laying beside me still breathing, even if heavier and more congested than in February. Still, she is alive, comfortable and very happy.

Yes, there was a stretch of exceptionally low energy and a few days that were not at all comfortable or happy. Yes her arrhythmia has gotten worse and she has more (still intermittent) periods of labored breathing. And, yes, we have had to adjust to a new normal where days are not judged as good or bad, but more as comfortable versus “please feel better.” Yet, within this new normal, Bailey is still happy most of the time, and still gets ridiculously excited by small things like the call for dinner, the sight of a neighbor or a knock on the door. And a visit with a friend not seen for a while, especially one with treats, is met with too much exuberance as the excitement now leads to gasping for breath. Yes, the old girl is still bouncing, just not as high and with a little more loss of air upon each landing.

So, now I write again. I will still remain silent about the future and I will still try not to entertain hopes for anything more than the rest of each today. But, I will not suppress my sadness that the path has trended downward and the ball is being deflated. And I will express my joy, gratitude and affirmation that Bailey continues to live fully and joyfully as much and as often as she can, and that she continues to bounce with excitement despite the immediate and potential costs.  

We have reached the end of March and Bailey is laying here beside me, resting comfortably, still breathing—even if a little heavier and more congested then in February. She is still happy and excited by life, and for that I am happy.  

plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose - trois

Thirteen Years in Three Photos

Act 1 (11 weeks)

Act 2 (5 years)

Act 3 (12 years - 9 months)

Is It Time?

Today was the first time that I had to consider, “Is it time?” Oh, the thought has popped into my mind previously, but only in a second of panic that was quickly replaced by Bailey doing something silly or energetic or just normal.  Indeed, I had begun to think that I would never need to ask this question as Bailey’s continued energy and lack of many symptoms supported the notion that she would at some point just collapse and bleed out.  But things are different now.  Today the question of whether it is time arose to conscious thought and did not immediately recede.  The answer was clearly no, it is not time, but today, for the first time, I had to consider the question.

Things began to change a little more than a week ago—the weekend before last. Since then, Bailey’s energy level has decreased almost daily. The decline has been very gradual—almost imperceptible from one day to the next.  But, everyday respiration has become just a little more labored and motility a little more difficult. Everyday she responds a little bit slower and sleeps a little bit longer. Yes, she still gets ridiculously excited when people come to visit, but the excitement fades more quickly.  Yes, she still bounds with exuberance to greet other dogs at the park, and even plays with a puppy on occasion.  But her exuberance soon gives way to gasping, and the amount of time needed to recover has been increasing. She is still bouncing, just not as high and not for as long.

I wanted to take Bailey to the Potomac River where she can really swim. I wanted to take her to the unofficial dog beach on Theodore Roosevelt Island one more time while still alive—one of her very favorite places and the place where I have decided to return her after she dies. I awoke yesterday excited about bringing her to this treasured place, but soon knew that she would not be up to it. This morning she awoke much more energetic, so I was again hopeful. But her energy and my hope were gone after walking only up the block and back. The temperatures will dip again for several days and Bailey may or may not be alive or able to swim when warm weather returns. I still hope that the next time I return to the dog beach on TR Island she will be racing ahead of me. I hope that the next time I look over the Potomac from there I will see her swimming toward Georgetown before turning back to the island. But, this week she was clearly incapable of the walking required to get to the beach. For the first time, she was unable to enjoy an activity and a place she loves.

Today I had to ask myself whether it was time and, while the answer ultimately was no, for the first time I had to consider the question.