Preparations.

This post will include BIG triggers, so be very cautious if you are having a rough day.

A friend posted earlier about euthanasia, and how we have the opportunity to put our pets to sleep, while our old and terminally ill do not have the option to end their own lives. Hypocritical, yes. The whole thing really is. We have the right as humans to humanely kill our pets, but we don't have the right to take our own lives if we are suffering. Stupidity at it's best.

This caused a little mini landslide of thoughts in my head. Let me back up several years. 6.8 years to be approximate. (Reminder, triggers involved.)

In 2003 my father passed away. After a long struggle with his health after he suffered a stroke. I know he would have loved to be able to make decisions to end his life sooner, but of course, it was not allowed, and so when he finally passed away, it was hard to bear, but it was also a blessing, he was no longer part of the person he once was, he moved on to be whole, and that made his passing bearable.

In 2005 my family and I made a trip down to Georgia to visit a dear friend, and while down there, my husband at the time, bought me a chihuahua. I had wanted a chihuahua for some time, and I was excited to have a 'baby'. He had a vasectomy, and so even though we wanted more children, (he had two girls, and I had Kae) it was not going to happen, so the chihuahua was meant to fill that hole. I named her Midgie Rae.

She was spoiled. She had sweaters, a carry bag, cute little toys. She was cuddled and loved and carried. She was the 'baby'. My ex and i started having problems, and still, she brought me through it, she was my joy at the time, my 'baby'.

I struggled with the separation, with losing the two girls A had brought into my life, with trying to keep my head on for Kae, with trying to keep things as normal as possible for the kids. Through it all, Midgie Rae was the 'baby' and brought an added level of comfort and happiness.

Then, something happened to her. I *think* I know, but not with 100% confidence, so I'll just say that although I suspect a 'hug' from my ex, I will not swear to it. She was no longer functioning. It seemed that the messages that went from her brain to her back end just got jumbled along the way, and got lost, or confused. I spent months trying new medications with her, bringing her to specialists, having xrays and consults, and nothing was helping. She was in pain, and not living a happy healthy life. She was a day short of a year old when she had the worst seizure up to that point.

I brought her to the vet. He knew how much she meant to me. He watched me struggle through 8 months of constant treatments, and tests, and bi-weekly vet visits. He watched me put thousands of dollars into trying to fix her, or at least make her comfortable. He knew, there was nothing left to do.

The 7th day Jeff was in my life (not just as an some what abstract virtual person he held my hand while I made the hardest decision of my life. I let my 'baby' go.

Little did I know at the time, just how much that small instance would help me in the long run.

(Side note, before I fast forward a few months, one night, I was very sad, it was around my birthday. I was missing Midgie Rae a lot. Jeff suspected I was pregnant because of the emotion involved, he was right. My little disclaimer here, not pregnant now, this post is strictly brought on by a couple different blogs I've read the last couple days.)

March 2007. I just delivered Julian and Tristian at 25 weeks gestation. 15 weeks shy of 'full term', one mere week past 'viability', additionally, they were stricken with TTTS while they were on the inside. Their chances were not good, but they were fighting.

I had a c-section to deliver Tristian, (Julian was a natural delivery, if you want to call it that.) Need less to say, I could not feel or move anything from my waist down after delivery. They brought me (bed and all) into the NICU for a few very short moments so I could at least see my babies, and then they brought me all the way down to the Maternity floor. Since I couldn't move, and was heavily drugged, and exhausted, I fell asleep.

I was woken up by the NICU staff. Julian's O2 levels were low, very low. He was in danger. I was helped out of bed, and brought upstairs, where we were faced with, well, two very sick babies. Tristian was seemingly holding his own (TTTS affects babies very differently after delivery) at that time, so our focus was on Julian.

Long story short. his o2 levels were VERY low, and had been for some time. Nothing was working to bring it up. After talking at length with Dr. M, Jeff and I were left with a choice.

After 25 weeks of up and down, and not knowing what was happening at any given time, our baby was struggling, and would continue life struggling, and with all the information we already had, and with the added information we were given, Jeff and I let our baby go. We held him as he went, he kept trying to survive on his own, without the wires, without the vents, without the tubes, he tried to the point where Jeff and I both felt like we made a mistake, and then he passed in my arms. We spent some time with him after, bathed him, dressed him, loved him more, and just held him.

Then the focus turned to his brother , who was still fighting, and fighting hard. Tristian seemed determined to make it, he seemed determined to fight.

His heart though, after months of pumping blood for two (an issue common with TTTS) was surrounded by fluid. His heart was failing. Dr. M called us back up to the NICU (I had gone back down to rest, and get more pain meds) and he did a heart tap. He didn't feel like it was going to be a success, but it was the only option. Jeff and I told him to do it, without it, Tristian didn't have a chance.

It worked! For a few hours anyway. He needed another, again, Jeff and I gave the go ahead. Again, it seemed to work, but other tests were coming back, not all so positive, and Tristian was starting to fade.

Dr. M. What can I say about him? He is perhaps the best doctor I have ever met. He did everything, and then some.

We were called up to the NICU (again, I had gone for more pain meds), they were performing infant CPR. One look at Dr. M, and we knew. Jeff and I knew. We nodded our heads. They could stop.

We held Tristian while he went, his final moments in our arms. He had gone to join his brother.

Looking back, shortly after losing the twins, I wondered if that was the plan. If fate knew, and so to prepare me for what would be the hardest days of my life, if fate started small. If fate gave me the fight to make it further then I would have.

Yes she was just a little dog, and in no way am I comparing Midgie Rae to Julian or Tristian (well, maybe they were the same size?), at the time, when she was with me, she was my baby.

Was that part of fates preparation? Did fate know that I needed to start small? Did I know that I could endure it, because I had to, or because with experience, however slight, it's easier?

I don't know.

I do feel she made it easier, in some ways. Midgie Rae was my Guen (to Jeff, who also, in her remote way, helped Jeff with his burden of our loss).

I don't feel like there is a 'good' place to end this blog. So I'll leave it here.

Everything happens for a reason, however big, how ever small, it happens. What's important is we take from it what ever we can, and try to apply it elsewhere.

(thanks for keeping up with my blubbering post)