Our sweet puppy Oliver, 2004-2012
Six years ago, my husband and I got our sweet dog Oliver as a companion for our first ‘furr baby’ together, Zeke. They were like our babies before we had our two human babies. When I got him from the pound in Mustang, Oklahoma, Oliver was about as sad a dog as you could find. He had been found wandering on a farm, terrified in a thunderstorm. He quickly stole my heart. He was a beautiful shih tzu, with black and white tuxedo markings, and had one retina that didn’t work. It didn’t hold him back at all.
We taught Oliver many things, and he taught us many things. We helped him learn how to walk on a leash, go potty outside, trust people and feel safe. Having Oliver taught us patience – especially as he ruined the carpet in our first apartment! He taught us loyalty, especially when we had just had another baby and had so many creatures depending on us that it sometimes felt like a good idea to surrender at least one dog. And he taught our whole family that you always need to make room on your lap for one more creature who needs warmth and affection.
A few weeks ago, our dog walker said Oliver was acting strange, not wanting to walk. He was quirky so I didn’t think much of it. Last Monday I came home and saw him literally fall from standing, for no reason. The vet and I kind of comforted each other that evening when she said, “It looks like it’s originating in his brain.”
It was at this point that I started down an unfamiliar path. It was the first time I was staring down the loss of a pet – and the first time I was faced with making a healthcare decision for a loved one based on my ability – or inability – to pay. She referred us to a dog neurologist, which I found would cost almost $300 just for a consultation. They would likely order an MRI, which started at almost $2,000.00. After that, I forsaw a winding road of drug and surgery decisions of escalating costs. I loved my dog but was it worth dipping into savings, going into debt to find a diagnosis, follow treatment that ultimately may not help him? It was a weird place to be, feeling like I was weighing the worth of my dog’s life against money, and feeling terribly guilty about that. I loved him, after all.
I have always had health insurance. I’ve been very fortunate to have never truly had to worry about making a health-related decision based on cost. But here I was, faced with that very situation – literally, life or death. My mind wandered. What if it this were my child instead of my dog, and we didn’t have insurance? You better believe we’d be going into debt, calling on friends and family, trying to get insurance and save my child’s life. For too many people out there, this is the type of real decisions they are faced with when a child or loved one is sick and they don’t have insurance. Do we go through with the expensive procedure, knowing they could diagnosis something that we could in no way afford to treat?
Within 2 days, Oliver’s condition had gotten so bad so quickly that we had no choice but to put him to sleep. I feel grateful that the decision was made for me, that it didn’t come down to a matter of money. I’m grateful he didn’t have to suffer long. The whole experience left me drained. I miss our dog, my little friend and companion, his presence, his bark. I’m sad thinking about those who have to make these types of decisions – whether for their pet or, more frighteningly, a family member. It reinforced my belief that health insurance is an invaluable resource everybody should have access to, most importantly children.
We kept him home that last night, so the the kids could give last hugs and I could say goodbye. I was honored and humbled to hold him while he passed from this world. Oliver’s final lessons are still congealing in my brain, something having to do with the beautiful fragility of life, and about death being a natural part of life that perhaps we shouldn’t fight against and fear as strongly as we do. And that while every life matters and we should fight to preserve and enhance what we can of it, nobody’s meant to live for ever. And the amount we are able to do or spend trying to save a life has nothing to do with the actual value of the life lived.
About Mary Beth Cox
