Rebecca
04-29-2004, 07:15 PM
Oscar 8/2000 – 4/25/04
Oscar was and will always be my sweet baby boy. He has been my world. This is not a realization I came to now that he is gone, but one I’ve know since the moment we made eye contact 2 years and 10 months ago. Oscar spent the first 11 months of his life neglected, caged and regularly smacked & yelled at. The prominent caregiver was a man and Oscar never completely recovered from the abuse. He was terrified of men and had serious trust issues with all people. He knew, wholeheartedly however, that he was completely safe and totally loved with me. He was my little shadow. That’s one of the reason making the excruciating decision to put him down was all the more agonizing. He suffered with diffuse intervertebral disc disease and had at least 5 calcified discs. And those were what were evident on x-ray. His first injury happened while I went away for 4 days in early March and he stayed with Grandma (my Mom). He was in so much pain but he had no gait instability nor any paralysis. It was because of this injury that I was made aware of the degree of his disease. I altered his lifestyle, all the while in somewhat a state of denial. I just couldn’t believe that his feisty little boy could be so compromised. Once he began to feel better it was even harder to believe. His wonderful vet reconfirmed for me that these discs were “time bombs” waiting to happen and I had a challenge ahead of me and even with all the changes to his activity and lifestyle, a rupture was probably inevitable. I took on the challenge, I just never thought it would be so much sooner than later. I ordered a nice ramp for the living room and downloaded directions on how to build one for my bed. I stopped allowing him to take the steps at the apartment. I banned him from the bedrooms while I wasn’t at home (he liked to sleep in my bed while I was at work). I started consistently saying “no jump Oscar”. I didn’t let him jump on and off the couch. I didn’t even want him hopping the curbs when we walked. Once I had the bed ramp built, I brought it home this past Saturday and it freaked him out so terribly. He ran in to the spare bedroom and I can only assume he tried to jump on the spare bed and all I heard was agonizing cries. I ran to him and he was unable to move his right leg. I knew exactly what to do and I scooped him up and rushed him to the emergency pet hospital. The vet consulted with the on-call surgeon and it was decided that since he was not paralyzed in both hind limbs that they would put him on IV steroids, pain meds and fluids. He would be observed over night. I was given some comfort in knowing that it wasn’t as bad as it could be because he still had use of the left hind leg and had pain sensation in the right paralyzed leg. I was terrified, but knew he was going to be ok. Oscar took a turn for the worse as the night progressed and the vet called me early Sunday morning to tell me the on-call surgeon was on his way and that Oscar had gone down in the left leg. My heart dropped and I raced to the hospital where the surgeon met with me and recommended surgery. He was very matter-of-fact in that he told me Oscar had excellent chances of regaining mobility after this surgery but that the likelihood of additional ruptures was probable given his youth and the degree of his disease. He told me that if it were his dog he would do the surgery but that money wasn’t a concern for him. I could have just died right there. I would have sold everything I owned to generate the $2,000 needed for the surgery if only I felt that Oscar wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life restrained and restricted from being who he was; feisty and oh so active. The first year of his life was spent caged, I just couldn’t bear him spending the rest of his life crated when I wasn’t with him. I also couldn’t fathom how I would pay for the first surgery (although I would have figured it out), let alone multiple surgeries. Oscar died in my arms where he always felt safest. The guilt I feel is cutting me deep but not as deep as the anguish of losing him. I love him more than words can say. I miss him terribly and don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself.
I LOVE YOU OSCAR AND YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MY LITTLE BUBBY. I LOVE YOU. I MISS YOU. IT’S SO EMPTY HERE WITHOUT YOU. YOUR MOMMY WILL LOVE YOU ALWAYS.http://atlantic.photoisland.com/sessions/89024944582/24486216lg.jpg
Oscar was and will always be my sweet baby boy. He has been my world. This is not a realization I came to now that he is gone, but one I’ve know since the moment we made eye contact 2 years and 10 months ago. Oscar spent the first 11 months of his life neglected, caged and regularly smacked & yelled at. The prominent caregiver was a man and Oscar never completely recovered from the abuse. He was terrified of men and had serious trust issues with all people. He knew, wholeheartedly however, that he was completely safe and totally loved with me. He was my little shadow. That’s one of the reason making the excruciating decision to put him down was all the more agonizing. He suffered with diffuse intervertebral disc disease and had at least 5 calcified discs. And those were what were evident on x-ray. His first injury happened while I went away for 4 days in early March and he stayed with Grandma (my Mom). He was in so much pain but he had no gait instability nor any paralysis. It was because of this injury that I was made aware of the degree of his disease. I altered his lifestyle, all the while in somewhat a state of denial. I just couldn’t believe that his feisty little boy could be so compromised. Once he began to feel better it was even harder to believe. His wonderful vet reconfirmed for me that these discs were “time bombs” waiting to happen and I had a challenge ahead of me and even with all the changes to his activity and lifestyle, a rupture was probably inevitable. I took on the challenge, I just never thought it would be so much sooner than later. I ordered a nice ramp for the living room and downloaded directions on how to build one for my bed. I stopped allowing him to take the steps at the apartment. I banned him from the bedrooms while I wasn’t at home (he liked to sleep in my bed while I was at work). I started consistently saying “no jump Oscar”. I didn’t let him jump on and off the couch. I didn’t even want him hopping the curbs when we walked. Once I had the bed ramp built, I brought it home this past Saturday and it freaked him out so terribly. He ran in to the spare bedroom and I can only assume he tried to jump on the spare bed and all I heard was agonizing cries. I ran to him and he was unable to move his right leg. I knew exactly what to do and I scooped him up and rushed him to the emergency pet hospital. The vet consulted with the on-call surgeon and it was decided that since he was not paralyzed in both hind limbs that they would put him on IV steroids, pain meds and fluids. He would be observed over night. I was given some comfort in knowing that it wasn’t as bad as it could be because he still had use of the left hind leg and had pain sensation in the right paralyzed leg. I was terrified, but knew he was going to be ok. Oscar took a turn for the worse as the night progressed and the vet called me early Sunday morning to tell me the on-call surgeon was on his way and that Oscar had gone down in the left leg. My heart dropped and I raced to the hospital where the surgeon met with me and recommended surgery. He was very matter-of-fact in that he told me Oscar had excellent chances of regaining mobility after this surgery but that the likelihood of additional ruptures was probable given his youth and the degree of his disease. He told me that if it were his dog he would do the surgery but that money wasn’t a concern for him. I could have just died right there. I would have sold everything I owned to generate the $2,000 needed for the surgery if only I felt that Oscar wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life restrained and restricted from being who he was; feisty and oh so active. The first year of his life was spent caged, I just couldn’t bear him spending the rest of his life crated when I wasn’t with him. I also couldn’t fathom how I would pay for the first surgery (although I would have figured it out), let alone multiple surgeries. Oscar died in my arms where he always felt safest. The guilt I feel is cutting me deep but not as deep as the anguish of losing him. I love him more than words can say. I miss him terribly and don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself.
I LOVE YOU OSCAR AND YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MY LITTLE BUBBY. I LOVE YOU. I MISS YOU. IT’S SO EMPTY HERE WITHOUT YOU. YOUR MOMMY WILL LOVE YOU ALWAYS.http://atlantic.photoisland.com/sessions/89024944582/24486216lg.jpg