Praxis 1994-2009

I thought my next blog post was going to be a massive thank you to everyone who participated and publicized the fund-raising auction, and I hate to to take away from that, but then yesterday happened. The picture above is the last one to be taken of him.

As I had to with Esther, I set some ground rules for the end. Praxis had to have the desire to eat, get up on his own, and keep his curly tail up and his eyes bright. If those things slipped away, I needed to let Praxis go. With his body being filled up with cancer I couldn't see, I needed to know when enough was enough for him. Yesterday two of those three things were gone, and I spent the whole day agonizing over how to move forward. Praxis' breathing was labored, all day long. When he wasn't coughing the hacking cough he's had for the last couple of months, he paced around the room restlessly, panting until he exhausted himself and fell into a deep sleep. The sleeping didn't last long, maybe 10 minutes, and then he was back to pacing, coughing and panting. Every cough hurt me too, and as I called City of Angels to see if I could bring Praxis in, I knew that this was a turning point.

My good friend and neighbor, Jeannette called me to see how I was doing, knowing that Praxis was having a hard day, and volunteered to take me to the vet. I took her up on her offer. I was alone when I put Esther to sleep, but I wasn't sure that I could make it home okay if I had to let Praxis go. City of Angels called back and Dr. Rosenberg told me that she would stay late for us to see what Praxis was up against. Jeannette got to my house and I carried Praxis to her car, laid him on my chest and we started the drive to Culver City.

As soon as I was in the door, the staff at City of Angels were on their feet. I handed Praxis off and went into the back, where only Praxis had ever been with the vet techs, and within seconds, 6 people were present to assist with an oxygen mask, heart monitor, and hands ready to help. Praxis was in the middle of a coughing fit when he came in, and everyone was there to help him. Dr. Rosenberg asked me to go up front by his head to calm him, and let him know I was there. I held his head in my hands and tried to bring him back down. Dr. Rosenberg listened to his chest, which gave off a rattle with every short breath, and asked to do a chest x-ray. A month before, I had passed on an earlier chest x-ray to save money for chemo after a discussion with one of his doctors. It was clear then, that regardless of what the mass in his chest looked like, the chemo was the best way to bring it back into remission. I was faced with a choice between an expensive x-ray or spending what I had then on chemo. The whole process of chemotherapy has been a balancing act - deciding what road to go down with the resources available. Gambling with the therapies and hoping that the one we chose would be the one his body needed to beat the cancer.

The chest x-ray showed that not only had the mass in his chest reappeared, but some fluid had entered into one of the lobes of his lungs. He was still getting enough oxygen, he was working furiously with his breathing to get it, but the process was making him miserable. For a moment we talked about options - radiation therapy, or the introduction of new protocols that Praxis had not been exposed to yet. I was open to hear anything Dr. Rosenberg put out there, but all I wanted to do for Praxis was find out what would make him feel better right then and there. That option didn't exist. The radiation would put a strain on Praxis, when he wasn't in a stable place, and just like the chemotherapy, there was no guarantee of any positive effect against the cancer. Eventually we would back where we were and this decision would have to be made again.

Unless I could take Praxis' pain away, I didn't want to put him through anything more. I felt like he was gone already. He seemed far away from me, all he could do was fight for breath, and when he could stop, he wouldn't make eye contact and only wanted to sleep. It hurt to hear each breath, and I knew that I had to let him go.

The staff and Dr. Rosenberg took us to a more comfortable room with a sofa, chair, and rug. There was a small fountain in the corner, and I thought about how many hearts had been broken in this space. Somehow, it didn't feel poisoned by loss, but as soon as that door opened, I felt time moving away from me.

I got on the floor with Praxis, trying to keep him horizontal, but cradled, to keep him from coughing again. I had him stretched out on my lap, and curled over him. I held him as tightly as I could, and soaked his head in tears. I could feel myself inhaling his fur, and my legs were falling asleep, but all I could think about was the time that was slipping away from me. Moving would cause him the discomfort that would trigger his coughing and it wasn't a sound I could bear hearing again. If he was leaving, I wanted him to leave without anymore pain. I was torn between wanting to get up and run out of the room with him, and wanting them to walk in the door that second and take his pain away. Every time my mind moved between those places, I broke down some more. There was nothing in the world except for Praxis. I only remembered that Jeannette was there, or that my phone was sounding off with thoughtful and concerned messages from friends, when I lifted my head from Praxis' and caught a breath of air. I needed reality though.. to remember why were there. Why this decision had been made.

When they came into the room and asked if we were ready, I remember saying yes. If you gave me another 15 years with Praxis, I still wouldn't have been ready to let him go, but I felt like there was nothing else I could do. I had to move Praxis around a bit, being careful to keep him from coughing. The first attempts at getting the needle into a vein were kind of terrible. He kept pulling his leg back, trying to fight what was happening. If he had been more present in that moment I would have felt like he was afraid. His eyes were so dull though... everything was already gone from them.

Eventually the needle was in. Under sedation, I felt him sigh as the drug slowed his panting. I held him tighter and tighter, knowing that in seconds he was going to be gone completely. With the struggling breath gone, I could finally feel his heartbeat. I closed my eyes as Dr. Rosenberg said the second injection was coming and clung onto Praxis. I wanted to freeze that moment, with Praxis heavy in my arms but still breathing. As soon as I thought of holding on, he was already gone. His body became heavy in my arms, and his life melted away from his body, and from me.

I sat there with him for a long time... I'm not sure how long it was. I felt him get heavier, and watched the color leave his skin. He went from pink, to white, and I became afraid. Knowing that the last of the oxygen in his body was gone meant that I was finally alone. I was afraid to move him. I knew that his body would eliminate whatever was left inside of him. I lifted his face and chest up, to see his face again and felt a wetness on my leg. It was time to let him go. Jeannette went to get someone there to take him. She told me later that they said I should leave him there. Without having to ask, she knew that I couldn't leave him. She gave me more time with him, and then went out to get help again. Eventually they came in, and I got up off the ground with Praxis in my arms, and handed him over.

I slept in fits and starts lastnight. I got calls from friends and family, and while I knew I wasn't alone, I felt lonelier than I had in a very long time. There was a silence in the house that was cold, and that coldness was inside of me as well.

Today has felt like sleepwalking. I want to be able to immerse myself in memories of Praxis, and pay tribute to the love he gave me, and brought into my life, but I can't get away from feeling crippled without him. I hope that writing about yesterday will help me move through this feeling, and into the place where I can open up without feeling raw. To survive this, I need to figure out how to let my memories of him give me strength instead of sadness.

A sincere and grateful thank you to everyone who has ever said a kind word about Praxis, given him a loving pat on the head, held him, or let him shed his fuzz all over their lap. A thank you to everyone who took interest in the fundraiser that not only helped him, but other dogs (and human friends) who are walking down the same path we just stepped off of. A thank you to everyone who texted, called, emailed and sent a thought our way yesterday. A thank you to Jeannette for being a strong and true friend during an incredibly difficult time.

A thank you to my Dad who brought Praxis into my life, and most heartfelt of all thanks to Praxis for giving me 15 years of love, loyalty, kindness, patience and joy. You're still here, but only because knowing, loving and caring for you has become a part of who I am. At your kindest and gentlest, I was reminded how to be compassionate and patient. You never gave me a moment of anger or frustration, and you were there to give me comfort through my lowest lows and share excitement through my highest highs. There's never going to be another dog like you, and I'm sure I'll learn how to be grateful for having you for a short time instead of wanting more, but seems like the hardest thing in the world to do right now.