Three Feet in the Grave

Indigo went into atrial fibrillation recently - her heart pounds relentlessly out of rhythm. She pants incessantly so it used to be hard to feel her heart rate...but now, you can SEE it. I found myself zoning out in a daydream/nightmare about what creature would soon be busting itself through her side like something out of Alien - it was THAT dramatic. We put her on another medication (yes, that's 6 now) to reduce her heart rate. It won't return her to sinus rhythm, but she won't feel like she's just run two marathons in a row at a full on sprint either. We're are now at the point that you never want to be when caring for a sick patient...."keeping them comfortable".

She had her appointment with the cardiologist yesterday and that's when they told hubby about this new problem. I was at work in a meeting so I had to miss the appointment. But I called after my meeting and he was still there. We had two options: 1) more medication or 2) more medication plus putting her under and shocking her heart back into rhythm. This shock treatment is temporary they said, it would most likely happen again. Of course the third, unspeakable option has always been lurking in the background, waiting to attack - euthanasia.

It's hard to explain to those that don't know her Indigo's general disposition. So for those of you that have come to know Marley of Marley and Me (book or movie) - that's our dog, only she's black. She is impervious to pain...oblivious to the impending doom. I left work early to meet hubby at home to discuss our options. On that short drive, I prepared my speech about how we need to put her down because she's not going to ask us to. (I should write down this speech, because I will need him to read it to me someday when the wieners have three short, stubby feet in the grave.)

When I walked in the door I took a deep breath, prepared for the worst. But there she was just spinning around acting like a puppy, absolutely excited to see me for no reason whatsoever. She obviously didn't see my true intentions as I came in the door - carrying a large scythe wearing a black cloak with a hood. I decided against the speech. Really, how could I sit there and lobby for putting her out of her misery as she jumps and spins around like a two year old?

It's going to have to happen in the next couple of days. I don't want her to die alone at home while we're at work from a heart attack, I know that much. But I'm going to feel terrible taking this oblivious, happy dog to the vet only to be put down. *sigh*