#been scratching at the fucking health system with my claws for years and barely anything changed like the fuck

[i--am-ironman]

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[spacecadetayayron]

Not gonna lie, it's been a rough month for me. Probably the hardest month on my life. I went through finals not knowing if I was going to pass my classes or not. Never in my life have I been that afraid to fail a class, and I don't think I've ever been closer. But once my toughest week finals was done I had a sense of relief. Pass or fail it was over, but my troubles had only began. I came home to find out that my dog Pelé, that I've raised since his birth had fell really ill while I was taking finals. My parents were smart enough not to tell me until I got home. He's been my best friend since I was 9 years old, and to see him being weak and barely able to stand hit me hard. He was in such sad shape, my mom and I had to hand feed him food, otherwise he wouldn't eat. We found out later that he had two types of anemia. One where his bones did not produce enough red blood cells and another where his immune system attacked his red blood cells. When we brought home to the animal hospital he was nearly dead. His red blood cell count was at 6% when it should be anywhere between 30% and 50%. If we had taken him a day later he wouldn't of made it. After a blood transfusion, a diagnosis, and a prescription of a shit ton of pills (all of which costed $1500) he was nearly back to his old self. Even though he was looking better I knew that he didn't have too much time left. I thought he would pass after I left back for school. Now before I complete Pelé's story lets talk about what happened the day after I got back home. I woke up that morning and everything was totally normal when my mom received a call. It was really quiet for a second and then I heard a very panicked "oh shit". Turns out my grandmother of 88 years old fell and broke her hip. Now for someone who is in their early twenties or teens like I assume most people reading this are, a broken hip isn't a huge deal. Yeah it hurts like hell, but we will make it no problem. When you get to your elder years you become more susceptible to things like infection, and you heal a LOT slower. These were things I didn't think about at the time. When my dad was leaving to check on his mother being transported to the hospital, I saw him cry...like way more than I've seen him do in a long ass time. My mom told me right afterwards that his grandmother died from an infection that was made possible by her breaking her hip. Note that great grandma died after I was born, and 90s medical knowledge was definitely capable of treating such a thing. But when you are 93 there is only so much you can do. It then dawned on me that my grandmother was in a lot of danger. After a surgery and some PT she got sent home where she is today. We are just hoping to God that she doesn't fall again, but knowing her and how stubborn she is, she probably will from not using her walker that the Physical Trainer fucking taught her to do. I just don't know if she can make it through another one. Now note that all that went on at the same time that Pelé was having issues and it happened around this holiday season. I love this time of year but it's hard to be jolly when you don't know if the the people you love will live to see Christmas or New Years. I was really afraid of the holidays being a downer for me for the rest of my life. The one time of year where I can relax and enjoy the people around me crowded by thoughts of loss and death. Thankfully that didn't entirely happen. After the visit to the vet Pelé started to improve. He had more energy and he was actually eating on his own! He still wasn't completely himself, but it was much better than how he was before. A week after the initial visit to the doggy hospital we went to have more blood work done to see if his medicine was working. It turned out that it had been working quite well. He still wasn't at optimal with his scores, but he was improving a lot. Not even a week later Pelé started to act weird. He acted like he hurt his leg. It was like he couldn't use it to walk. We thought it might of be sore from the vet drawing blood from him so we didn't think too much of it. On the day after New Years I woke up with my mom laying on the couch beside Pelé. This wasn't weird because the medicine he was taking caused him to use the bathroom a lot so my mom would sleep beside him to let him out every few hours. She told me that he wasn't eating much of all and I noticed that he didn't even try to look up at me. I had to bring my self to his level for him to do so. I left that morning to my GF's house hoping that he would improve. Not even 2 hours later my mom calls Cameryn (my GF) crying on the phone. Pelé had suffered a really harsh seizure and wasn't hardly responding to anything. She told Cam to drive me to the vets office where we would meet them. She called Cam because she knew that I was going to drive like hellfire to get to him if she called me. On the way to the vet with tears in my eyes and a hyperventilating voice I told Cameryn "this is it...I'm losing my dog today". My mom and my neighbor TK got to the vet same time me and Cam did. TK is a good friend of ours and he had to lift up Pelé because my mom just couldn't do it. When we got out of our cars my mom and I walked towards each other, and I have never seen her face so red. I could tell she had been crying hard since it happened. I asked her if he was always gone and he wasn't. TK went to grab him and I couldn't hardly watch. I never wanted to see Pelé like that, but I had to be there for him. We brought him in and he wasn't moving. He was breathing and his eyes were open but he wasn't moving. My mom and I were wrecks. My mom was trying to tell doctor Allen what happened and she barely got though it. Not long after we had been there he started to seize again. All of us took a hand in holding him still while he was being given a sedative to knock him unconscious so that he wouldn't seize. The entire time his body was uncontrollably shaking I was losing it. I didn't hold back my emotions. I was watching my best friend die in my arms in one of the ugliest ways possible. The table was covered in piss, drool, fur, and blood and so were my sleeves minus the blood. He seized one more time before my dad showed up. He drove an hour and a half from my grandparents place to our hometown. He was with them to get them reacquainted with home. After the 3rd seizure Dr. Allen gave him s really strong sedative that knocked him out quick. When dad showed up Pelé was asleep, but not even a minute after him arriving Pelé seized again. Note that I don't see my dad cry very often let alone ugly cry, but he did right there in that vet office on that foggy and rainy day. Allen explained to us that it was a neurological infection on the brain that was causing the seizures. It makes sense that an infection grew, because Pelé's meds caused his immune system to be less effective. It had to in order for him to fight the anemia. Pelé was dealt one of the shittiest hands as far as physical health goes. He was being attacked on three fronts. We had the option to try using strong antibiotics on him, but it wasn't guaranteed too work and we didn't know how much damage the infection had already done. I would say that I was a tough choice to have him pass, but there really wasn't much of a choice in the eyes of me and my parents. We couldn't stand to watch him suffer anymore. We had done all that we could do. When Pelé was being put down I wanted to stay in the room with him until the bitter end, but as soon as his body had a natural convulsion I lost my fucking mind and barged through everyone and to door to get out. I was already traumatized by the seizures, and the to have my final moments with him being him twitching and pissing everywhere made me go mad. Looking back on it I've never cried that hard in my entire life. It wasn't even loud. I could hardly breath, everything hurt, and and I wanted to vomit. TK came out and talked to me trying to calm me down. After a minute or two I mustered all that I could to go back and be with Pelé. As soon as I got to the table that he was on he completely passed. To this day it doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem real that he isn't breathing any more or in my hallway right now at 4 AM sleeping. My parents and I held each other long and hard. It was like we lost a member of the family. Our family of 4 was now a trio and it tore us up. When Dr. Allen brought the cardboard coffin into the room I told them I was going to put him in there. I wanted to truly be there from his beginning to his end. I lifted his still warm limp furry body and laid him gingerly into the box as if he were still alive. My final image of him was his body curled up as though he was cold and asleep while in that cardboard box. I rubbed his head and belly one last time and said, "goodbye old buddy. I'm gonna miss you". We carted him off back home and buried him in my parent's backyard with a circle of rocks indicating where he permanently lays. It's been almost a week and I still get teary eyed every time I look at his grave through our kitchen window. What really gets me though is the little things. Me being at home has totally changed. I don't have to watch out for him when I get up off of furniture. I don't have to fill his water or food bowl any more. His metal dog tags don't wake me up in the middle of the night. I don't hear his claws scratch against the hardwood floor. But what gets me the most is that I won't see that happy black and white face through our glass door to greet me when I come home. I will never see that dopey smile ever again and I am losing it typing that thought out right now. The morning after he died I found my mother laying on the couch red faced again but asleep and covered in a tiny blanket. Her and I cried a lot that day. And the next day. Even my dad is taking it just as hard as us. He gets hit hard by the door greeting thing too. I've never seen my parents hysterically sad before, and i never thought it would be over a dog. Now looking on it though, Pelé was like another child to them. After I left for college that's all they had. For 4 years he was it. He was their kid... Death is an ugly fucking thing, and you don't know how it will be ugly when someone you know goes, but what out shines the ugliness is the beauty of life. It's hard not to think of my last moments with Pelé. The images haunt me everyday, but I have to look at the beautiful life he live with me and my parents. I have to remember that we gave him a great life and in turn he vastly improved mine. He help me though a lot of hard times. I just wish he was here to do so one last time. He truly was my best friend.