Diabetes and my Dog

Tia is the best dog in the whole world.

I know that those of you who have dogs will both understand this completely and disagree entirely (because your dog is the best dog in the whole world). But she is. When I was too poor to relax, she helped me to find joy, when I was too depressed to get up she stayed by my side, and when my world fell in on itself she and her brother were all I fought to keep from the relationship. He got the house (which in fairness, his mother fronted the deposit for), the furnishings, and what was left of my self-esteem. I got the dogs, my gerbil, my life back, and a fair share of our joint friends.

“Dogs’ lives are too short. Their only fault, really.” – Agnes Sligh Turnbull

On the days when I wanted nothing more than to die, it was the certain knowledge that no one else in my family could take care of her, her brother, and their rodent sibling that made me put down the blade and pick up the meds. But it was Tia who stayed by my side without fail. If I lay in bed all day, she stayed by my side, her head on my stomach or back or chest, until it was time to eat, walk, shower. Her empathy is endless.

It is shameful, then, that in recent years I have neglected that empathy. Not her, of course; the dogs have always been well-fed, had their shots, been walked, had toys. They have never been cold or hungry or been left without the care they deserve. But I have been busy - I started to write, working for myself, when I lost my call center job as a result of mental illness. I was so determined to break out of the pit my failed relationship left me in that I worked 30, 40, and 50-hour weeks. Tia and her brother were fed and walked and cared for, and they were hugged and petted in the morning and the evening, and thanks to my grandmother they were played with. But they weren't getting enough of me.

Then, about two months ago, Tia got sick. Really sick. She lost control of her bladder, at first, and started to drink excessively - I thought she had a UTI, but the symptoms persisted. She had always been a little chubby because we got her spayed young (a mistake I will not make again, it has too many negative effects), but she quickly became thin. She went from 27 kilos to 22 in just under three weeks, she became lethargic, shaky, and stiff.

I really thought she was dying. And to be fair she was - or she would have been if we hadn't acted quickly. The list of possibilities was short and grim: cancer, kidney disease, total kidney failure, liver disease or failure, and diabetes. While we waited for the results my work-life ground to a halt.

People recommended I make her sleep on the floor on a plastic sheet - can you imagine that? Being so sick and sore that you can't control your bladder, and the one person you rely on to care for you making you sleep alone, on the hard floor, on a plastic sheet when you have slept by their side for your whole life?

I invested in a bulk pack of puppy training pads, and a waterproof sheet for my bed. I found a cheap set of sheets that I was willing to ruin. Then I slept like a new parent; three or four hours at a time, with one hand on her side and one eye half open. She cried in the night and wet herself consistently, and each time I got up and changed the puppy pads, the bed sheets, the blankets. I bathed her with warm water and spoke quietly. I told her that it wasn't her fault, that I loved her, that it was ok. I don't know if she understood, but she stayed close to me and never snapped or growled, even when I had to lift and move her weary, aching body from one place to the next.

Then the results came back - I was so relieved that it was diabetes because of all the options, this one gave her the longest to live. According to my research, a senior dog diagnosed with diabetes can live upwards of three years if they are well cared for.

All it takes is a total lifestyle change. Fast-forward two and a half months; there are dog treats in my house, but they are almost entirely home-made and comprised of mostly meat and vegetables. They are given out sparingly, just before meals because Tia needs to keep her blood sugar stable and that means regular meal times at the same every day. My life now revolves around her insulin injections - my family are learning how to give them so that I can travel for work or pleasure at some point in the future. But there was never any doubt that this was how it would be.

“The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven not man’s.” – Mark Twain

Tia takes her injections without complaint, morning and night. her insulin has its own spot in the fridge and we have a sharps bin to safely dispose of the syringes. I tell her that she's a good girl and kiss her head, rub the spot between her shoulders where the needle goes and she does what she has always done; she loves me, and whether she knows it or not she has forced a positive change in my life. Thanks to her medical needs I cannot work myself into the ground every day, not anymore. Thanks to the age of Tia and her brother, I need to take more time to walk them. Slow and sure, we make our way around the fields and paths that they have known since they were pups. In re-learning how to care for them in the last years of their lives, I am learning how to care for myself again.

Tia is the best girl in the whole world. And so is her brother, Bilbo, and when their younger inter-species sibling Gandalf (yes, he was grey) was alive he was the best gerbil in the whole world. What I'm getting at here is that I love my pets, as we all do, and I know they love me. Diabetes isn't the razor to sever this tie, it's just another opportunity to pay back the love I've been given. I was there when Tia and her brother were puppies; I helped housetrain them, I nursed them when they ate something wrong or sprained muscles, I shielded them from flaring tempers, though not as well as I should have at times. They have been my children and will be my children until I help them through the final door.