Survivors and Celebrations

Adella Thompson's Story

(I began to write this two days ago, Mon., Dec. 28 as I sat with Juma in the ICU ward @UT’s vet hospital... I knew she was dying and had made up my mind to take her to home, even though the attending vet was hopeful. He even encouraged me to not make the decision to put her down “yet” and asked me to wait after she showed some improvement yesterday.... She died on her own this morning, Wed., Dec. 30 at 5 a.m.): No matter how much I try to prepare myself for this, it never works. My dog is dying. She's been dying since June 11. Now she's in ICU @UT's vet hospital. There's an IV in one of her front legs, drugs are seeping into her body which keep her hydrated, medicated, and sedated. She's a very sick dog. When I left her yesterday, she was alert, but very sick. Today, as I sit beside her in her kennel, she's groggy and weak. She's still stubborn and independent, and wants to go home. I wish I could do that very thing... right now.  She'll receive one last dose of a different chemotherapy drug -- which I'm sure the doctors have prescribed for my sake more than hers. Tomorrow (Tuesday) or the next day, I'll take her away from here and make the drive back home, to my vet, and together we'll put her down. What horrible thing to have to do. What a generous thing I'll have to do for the most intelligent, noble, and magnanimous dog e.v.e.r. It’s Wednesday, a day later, and my dog is dead. She simply died. She is the greatest dog ever. I hate that she got sick, got sicker, and then died alone. I hate it that all our efforts to help heal her. I love it that so many still do. I love it that she raised so many children: John Mark, Jackson, Samuel, Ben, Nate, Jonathan, Isla, Jake, Lauren, Caleb, Hunter, Savannah, John Barry, Jordan, Mary Gene, Buddy, Hayley, Mary Courtney, Clay, Tessa, Troy, Lauren, Crissy, Colby, Kate, and many, many others. Her huge heart and intelligent eyes have welcomed hundreds of friends, many of whom learned wisdom and patience, kindness and grace, fierceness and loyalty from her stoic, noble presence. She is the world’s greatest dog. Her grave was dug this morning. I’ll go to UT, pick her up, bring her home, bury her in her yard overlooking the back field. I’m very sad, but mostly very thankful. I’m thankful for her life and her patience with me. I’m thankful she died on her own. I’m thankful I didn’t have to be the one to make the decision to put her down. I’m thankful the Lord is sovereign and stands before and beside me. I’m thankful for the ways she endured six months of treatment after the surgeons removed an enormous tumor in June. I’m thankful for “my” vets, vet techs, and staff at “my” clinic in Lenoir City who loved her, smiled at her, took extraordinary care of her at all times -- (even when she wasn’t sick.) I’m thankful a UT vet directly answered my questions about Juma’s prognosis and was able to precisely determine how long it would take for the disease to win. “Six months,” she said. She pretty much nailed it -- Juma lived and extra two weeks past this estimation. I’m thankful for every day I had with Juma, and I miss her like crazy. I’m thankful for friends who prayed for her (and me). I’m thankful for parents and sisters and a brother and a brother-in-law and nephews and nieces who know she was just the greatest. I’m thankful for nephews and nieces who ran through the fields with her, who let her sleep in the bed with them, who romped on the beach with her. I’m thankful for the gift of a dog who knew how to raise small children, run through fields, sleep in beds, and romp on the beach. I’m thankful for a text from a friend who said: “She’s an amazing dog. The people of Lenoir City owe Juma a debt of gratitude for getting rid of all the lions.” She kept me safe, she kept me in her sight, she stayed by my side... always. She is the world’s greatest dog. Jan.1, 2010: Juma was buried in the backyard on Wednesday afternoon. She is greatly missed. I miss the way she’d trot into the kitchen each time she’d hear me crack an egg on the side of a glass bowl. She knew that was the cue for her to catch an egg yolk in her mouth -- she had incredible eye-mouth coordination. I miss the way she stayed by my side all the time -- even though it could be a little too much sometimes. I miss her riding in the car with me every single time I got behind the wheel. I miss the way she’d cock and tilt her head whenever I spoke to her. I’m pretty sure she understood everything I said. I miss the way she’d look at me -- always alert, always aware, always attentive, always ready to go, always ready to wait, always ready to do whatever I asked. I miss her sleeping on her bed in the corner of my room every night -- so far, my other two dogs won’t go near it or her bed under the piano. During the past two weeks, I noticed they’d sleep on either side of her. (What are they able to sense about her absence?) I miss her quietness, her kindness, her sweetness, her intelligence, her constant presence. She is the world’s greatest dog.