When is Being Alive No Longer Living?

This morning is being a difficult morning and I feel a need to vent. This is not a happy, cheer-you-up post, so it’s your choice to read or not.

You know my Bailey girl – my Border Collie/Black Lab mix girl. She’ll be 14 in November, which, according to the internet, is old for girl of her size and breeds. She has what the vet has called as the worst case of arthritis in her hips and elbows he’s ever seen as well as a bad hock. Getting around has become increasingly difficult for her these past couple of years. Lately, her rear feet keep turning under as if we were trying to walk on the back of our hands, in the beginning only occasionally, but the frequency is increasing. Just a couple of days ago she went out on the deck (I’ve had ramps put in from the house to the deck and from the deck to the ground), but couldn’t come back in because her feet simply would not cooperate. I managed to get her in that day, and spent the rest of the day worrying. Then she had a couple of better days.

This morning she went out, but when she didn’t come to the door as quickly as she usually does, I went out looking. She was sitting on the ground, unable to get up and get her feet to cooperate again. I managed to get her upright, and using a large towel to lift her rear parts, finally getting her to step forward with her front legs and we got in the house. It was both feet, then went to mostly the left foot so I wrapped it with sports wrap to try to keep it from turning under. That’s helping a little. I have hock wraps I’ve used for her, but they offer no support for the feet.

All of this leaves me feeling helpless and unsure. She still wags her tail, and her ears perk up. She’s eating well, drinking, seems to have necessary bodily functions. Until she tries to get up or down and walk, all of which is a difficult process. The vet says she’s really stoic, and doesn’t show emotions that much – and I don’t really know what emotions dogs have insofar as comfort and life are concerned. It’s a dilemma. Do I keep her around, trying to work around her disabilities? Or do I let her go?

I feel as if history is repeating itself. My husband, as many of you know, died from prostate cancer that had spread to his bones by the time it was detected. After about three years of treatment, he was no longer able to do the things he wanted and liked to do. He was tethered to an oxygen machine, could not maneuver steps anymore, progressed to the point of needing a walker. He smoked – he would not/could not quit smoking. We never smoked in this house (I had quit in 2006), so he had to go out on a deck to have a cigarette. And he was supposed to take his oxygen off first. He had to be watched, more and more closely as time went on for his last two years. He was a stubborn old codger, disliked the walker and would try to go off without it. Sometimes in the middle of the night as I slept. That usually resulted in a fall, which meant struggling to get him upright again because lifting him was not something I was able to do alone without something for him to grab onto. In the last two years of his life, we exhausted available treatments.

At the beginning of his final year, the prostate cancer spread to the brain and he had to have a huge tumor removed, which required two surgeries. That debilitated him even further. More treatments, including radiation. More pain, pain which continually got worse and worse. It got to the point that all that could be done was attempt to keep him comfortable, which became nearly impossible. Falls, problems, frequent stays in the hospital which ended with his coming home the last time only after he agreed to hospice care.

All of this leading to my point – for the last two years of his life, I often wondered if this was worth it. Was keeping him alive, a life? For me, it would not have been. He had this desperate hope that a cure could be found, that the cancer could be eradicated, that his bones had not already deteriorated to the point of no return. Denial. Not unusual, I’m sure, and likely needed to maintain hope. He died Christmas morning 2013. The diagnosis was made on December 8, 2008, giving him 3 to 5 years of life. His last words were “I fooled them”. He lived just over 5 years and two weeks.

Which brings me back to Bailey. Is her quality of life enough to keep her living? Is it time to let go? I don’t know. It’s a decision only I can make, and I don’t know. When is it enough?