‘Sometimes, we are not winning.’

I kind of wanted to shake her. You’re a vet. A medical professional, you don’t need to speak in euphemisms. Are you telling me this is serious? Are you saying he might not get better?

I think the thing that I didn’t get was that he was fine. He was perfectly fine. He was a happy, scruffy, active dog who barked when anyone knocked at the door. Who jumped and whined and spun around in circles when he saw you with the lead. Whose ears pricked up if you said the magic word: walk. He was our Zebby, for 8 and a half years and he’d never had a single thing wrong.

But now the vet was calling and saying something was wrong.

And then they were doing tests.

And then they were saying: sometimes, we are not winning.

He came home. And weeks went by. And he seemed better and then he seemed worse and then he seemed better and then he seemed worse again.

Refusing to eat. Spitting out his tablets. Agitated.

And then seizures.

And throughout it all, those words kept playing on my mind. Sometimes, we are not winning. Over and over. I would chant them while I was driving. I would whisper them as I was falling asleep. Sometimes, we are not winning.

 Some days, it wasn’t just about him anymore. It was me. I wasn’t winning. I kept going back to bed in the mornings. Zebby would curl up next to me. I would sleep and sleep until the afternoon and maybe there would be a small burst of energy, there in the early evening, but mostly, it would be gone again within the hour.

Nothing achieved. Nothing done.

Just pushing each dot on the to-do list to tomorrow. And then tomorrow. And then tomorrow again.

So while Zebby kept going back to the vet, kept getting more tests, kept looking for answers, I was going back to the doctor. And back again. And back again. Afraid of the answers they offered. Time to change your anti-depressants, let’s put you on something new. But what if it doesn’t work? What if it makes it worse?

I’m too afraid to try.

Other words joined the chorus…

Sometimes, we are not winning.

Sometimes, you are pointless.

Sometimes, you are useless.

Sometimes, you are worthless.

Actually, most of the time, you are these things. Because you can’t even get up, can you? You can’t tick a single thing off your list. You can’t get better, because sometimes, we are not winning.

While sleep kept dragging me down, deeper and deeper through the night, Zebby was my contrast. Getting restless, waking through the night. Wandering aimless and confused.

And over and over again: Sometimes, we are not winning.

 I thought that all I wanted was an answer. What’s wrong with him? What’s going on? Why isn’t he getting better?

But when it finally came, the answer wasn’t what I expected.

Words like: end-stage replaced sometimes, we are not winning.

Words like: It’s not unreasonable to consider…

Words like: keeping him comfortable.

Words like: sometimes the kindest choice is the hardest to make.

And I guess then I wanted the old words back. Because at least there was room to move in that sentence. There was sometimes. And sometimes meant not always. Sometimes meant there was still a chance.

But here we are and instead of there being a sometimes or a chance or a win instead of a loss, it’s impossible talks with the girls to give them the worst news ever and it’s desperate hugs with Zebby where no one wants to let go and now it’s Zebby who sleeps all day long while I try to stay awake. While I try to get better.

He’s asleep beside me right now. You could glance across at him and forget that there was anything wrong. Because if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t be able to tell. Not until you look closer. Not until you spot the small patches of shaved fur where they poked and prodded and tested. Not until you run your hand across his back and feel the sharpness of his spine. Not until you look him in the eye and you see that his spark is gone.

But I guess that makes sense because you could look at me and not know. You could see me speaking at an event, smiling, laughing, promoting my new book and you could not know. You could ask me how I am and it’s not that I’m lying when I tell you things are great. It’s just that I’m only giving you the surface. Dive underneath and that’s where you’ll see how it murky it is.

I am trying to make it clear though. I am trying to stay awake, to pull it together, to ask for the help, to trust and to love and to hold on and to climb out and to believe that there is a point and to just wake up.

Because sometimes we might not be winning.

But my girls cannot lose their mother when they’re already losing their dog.