It's been just over a week since we learned about Duncan's cancer. On Wednesday we went in to the vet to put him to sleep. This time we ended up seeing a different doctor, and she thought Duncan had improved a bit and that it was worth doing an oncology consultation. It was like getting slapped in the face. We'd already said our goodbyes as best we could and now we were given this small glimmer of hope. The vet prescribed a few things for Duncan and we were on our way home. I called an office that specializes in cancer for dogs and got an appointment for the following Thursday. We tried some of the drugs and that night we saw some major improvement. On Thursday he was acting more like himself. Barking at the door, running around the yard, eating and drinking. Sometime during the day, a nurse with the oncologist left me a message that they were concerned they might not be able to help him soon enough to make a difference, but with his improvement, I was optimistic enough to dismiss their concern.
Then Thursday night rolled around, and Duncan started panting, and he wouldn't stop. He was panicking. I'd been giving him anxiety medication since the initial diagnosis Monday, but it just wasn't helping enough. I stayed out in the living room with him and he just couldn't relax. I stayed on the couch, and he spent most of the night climbing up and over me. He'd climb up onto the top of the couch, climb back onto me. This happened for hours. He'd rarely stay in one position for more than 30 seconds. I gently hugged him as long as he'd stay still, hoping to alleviate his anxiety. Around 3am he came into our computer room and hid under a table in the corner of the room. Around 5am, he finally calmed down and went to sleep.
I started thinking there's no way Duncan would make it another week. I slept a couple hours. But then by the time I woke up, Duncan seemed to be doing much better. He was acting like himself, though a little tired. He spent some time outside, running around, sniffing the wind, barking at some construction guys. Then I couldn't get him to eat anything. He barely drank anything, though he laid down next to his water. I couldn't get him to take the anxiety meds, and without eating, I couldn't give him his other medications. Throughout the day, he just seemed to give up. I let him outside one more time, and he seemed happy to be out there, but then he just kind of gave up while relieving himself, and just laid down right in it. I brought him inside and gave him a quick wash, but he barely moved again after that. I didn't think he would make it through the weekend.
That's when we agreed it was time. I called the vet and they told me to bring him in and we'd be on stand-by. We waited in the car for maybe 45 minutes and got called in. Yet again, a different vet, and he asked if I was sure. I told him everything that had happened and how Duncan had been doing. He didn't tell me whether he thought it was the right decision or not, and I can't stop thinking about that. I've second-guessed myself over and over. He gave Duncan the first injection, and less than a minute later, he lost all strength. We helped him lay down, and I just held his head in my hands, gently petting him and scratching his cheeks. He just stared at me and I could almost feel him asking me, "why?" He didn't move again, and his eyes just continued staring at me, even after the vet confirmed he was gone. I can't stop seeing that final look he gave me and I'm riddled with guilt.
So many things remind me that he's gone, but I just can't seem to accept it. Chopping carrots reminds me of Duncan because I always gave him one whenever I was cutting them up. When making breakfast, I always cooked an extra egg for Duncan. Every time we have to pick food off the floor, it's a reminder than Duncan isn't there to immediately snatch it up. Every time I walk through the living room, I glance at the couch to see where Duncan should be lying down.
I'll go out to the garage and Duncan's not there to follow me out. When I get out of the shower, Duncan's not waiting for me. The screen saver on my phone is mostly pictures of Nolan and Duncan together, and every time I see his fluffy little face pop up I can feel tears coming to my eyes. When I stayed up later than Lynda, I always had to let Duncan know I was going to bed. He'd pause before jumping off the couch, and I'd try to get him to shake off before going to the bedroom. If he didn't, he'd trot up to the bed, jump up, and then he'd shake himself off, probably waking Lynda in the process. He liked to hide under the futon in Nolan's room. He barely fit, but it was one of his spots
When we'd jump in the car for a random drive, Duncan always went with us. I'd taken to driving around on weekdays for an hour or two to get Nolan out of the house for a bit while Lynda was working. They still weren't playing together, but Duncan would hop up on the back seat so he could sit next to Nolan's car seat. Before Nolan was born, he always wanted to ride up front. He always got excited when going out to the car with us, and I think he really enjoyed those rides.
I miss you so much, Duncan and more than once I've found myself wishing I could have died with you in that room. You deserved so much better and I'm so sorry you had to experience so much fear and anxiety. I hope I was able to provide you with some comfort in the end. Love you forever, buddy.
I should probably add something here.