Facing Death Together

When we adopted Hiei, I knew I would share my life with him, but I had no idea he would help me live through some of my darkest times.

I named him Hiei after an anime character who’s coloring matched and who was notoriously grumpy because even as a brand new puppy I could tell he had an attitude. And I loved him dearly.

Hiei was our second dog and even our older dog, Tiberius, spoiled him rotten by letting him have his way. He was only as big as my hand and I carried him around everywhere. Whenever I put him down he would just look at me as if to say, “What, you expect me to walk on my own?” and he would stay there until I moved him. When we tried to crate train him for night time as we’d done with his older brother, he literally threw poo (I still have no idea how he managed to get it that far) outside the crate.

All he wanted was to be on the bed with everyone else. And he let us know that – even aside from the poo throwing – by barking and whining for hours. Literally hours. We always joke that Hiei prepared us for our newborns better than any parenting class could warn. Of course he ended up getting his way. He always does. I think we all have that person or animal in our life who gets away with things no one else would simply because they dare to and we love them unconditionally. That’s Hiei.

When I was 29, I was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. It was aggressive and though we caught it early, the doctors wasted no time in starting treatments. Within a week of the diagnosis they had installed my port for chemo and within a week and a half I’d started chemotherapy.

People are generally familiar with the fact that chemo can make you lose your hair. They’ve also heard that chemo can make you nauseated and ruin your appetite. All these were things that I was prepared for. What I wasn’t prepared for was the smell. The chemicals were coursing through my body and not only did I feel terrible, but I smelled like poison.

I had a nine month old baby at the time I was going through treatment. Babies know their mom best through smell. He had a hard time recognizing me. My mother lived only a few minutes away and took over caring for my oldest child, three at the time, because I could hardly get up (the treatment was as aggressive as the cancer) and to protect me from the germs that small children will give you by rubbing them on your face or unapologetically sneezing in your mouth. My husband was working as much as he could to support us because I was unable to. I was lonely. I was lonely and afraid.

My oldest dog didn’t want to be near me because of the smell. And I didn’t hold it against him. Dogs are sensitive to smells and I smelled like poison. No matter how much I showered the smell wouldn’t go away because it was coming from inside me. But what I didn’t expect was Hiei’s reaction.

Hiei was stubborn. He had an attitude. And we’d spoiled him rotten. But he stuck to me like glue.

Anywhere I went – which wasn’t far; I could barely make it to the bathroom and back some days – Hiei was there, trotting next to me. If I stopped he sat. If I took a step, he took one too. When I went to sleep, Hiei burrowed under the covers to sleep curled up next to me. When I woke up, he was there to lick my face. When I took a shower, he laid outside of it waiting for me to finish, then licked the water off of my legs to help me dry.

When I was afraid I would be leaving my small children without a mom, Hiei was there. When I thought I couldn’t take any more of the side effects of the chemotherapy and didn’t want to go, Hiei was there. He gave me peace. And he gave me love in a time and way only he could. Hiei, my little grumpy ball of fluff, was my angel. He helped me live during a time when death was very much on the table.