I have been to this center twice. The first time, I was an overly paranoid dog-mom to a newly…read moreneutered pup that seemed overly lethargic. It turned out to be nothing. Still, at 2 in the morning, a really awesome doctor talked me through why I shouldn't worry, got to know my guy, and since there was nothing wrong with him, I didn't get charged anything. The fact that I was not nickel-and-dimed for a problem that didn't exist earned this place my trust.
Last night, one of the worst things happened. My dog of 15 years went from being her sparkle-eyed, tippy-tappy, singing and dancing self in the span of 24 hours and by midnight, she was puking blood and couldn't get her tongue back in her mouth. I came straight over.
There's always this shame with vets. I've had experiences where I can see the looks, the grumbles, the judgements. When you're poor, you let appointments slide, you want to do better for your animals, but you can't always. My husband and I have been battling foreclosure for the last year or so, and we let some things that didn't seem pressing slide.
The woman at the front desk didn't shame me when I said I wasn't up to date on Molly's vaccines or bloodwork. She didn't shame me when I talked about her bad teeth. She saw the scared human in me and offered grace.
I didn't get her name or the nurse tech's name, but the doctor introduced herself as Angel. Different pronunciation, I'm probably spelling it wrong actually. But it fits. She was exactly what I imagine an angel to be. She was direct. She told me my options. She explained that my dog was essentially a 90 year old in dog years.
I couldn't afford the treatment to even try to get my girl back. End stage kidney disease. My husband wasn't with me, so I had to face this decision alone. Angel sat with me, held my hands, offered what comfort she could, asked about how I was feeling.
I've been through a euthanasia before with another dog. I was not allowed to hold my other dog. I was panicked and I knew my distress was scaring her, but I couldn't hold it in. I watched as her pupils dilated and her heart stopped and her body went limp. I read once that your sense of hearing is the last thing you lose in death, and for years I have carried the guilt of knowing that as her soul slipped away, the last thing she heard was her mama crying "no, oh my god, please no."
But Wake Veterinary Medical Center gave me the chance and the ability to be strong for my baby. I was settled in a quiet room with my baby in my arms. I held her as she went. I held her after she was gone, until her body cooled, whispering how much I loved her.
They didn't take away the pain of grief for me, but they eased the trauma of it. Molly's final moments were calm. She was held and safe and warm. That's more than my others got.
I know I told the nurse tech that I knew it wasn't her job to manage *my* emotions, but she stayed and listened anyway. She held my baby like it was her baby. That's not common, from what I've seen. Something awful was not compounded on by judgmental stares and rolled eyes.
I didn't get the chance to stop and thank them. I was numb by the time I left, just focused on not crashing my car on the way home. But I really, really wanted the people of this place to know how much everything they did meant to me. All three of the women I interacted with, thank you. You gave me something in my worst moments so I was able to be strong for my brave girl. Words aren't enough here. Just, thank you.
