A week and one day

 

A week and one day ago we said good bye to Noah. It was expected and abrupt at the same time, if that’s even possible. I guess for a long time we thought we would need to help him cross but I kept holding out on hope and a sheer stubborn will to just get him to a point of walking so that he may live out his golden years a little longer.

Noah lost the ability to walk properly. I can’t remember when. It might have been a month or two ago. But we have been carrying him out to the backyard since December, since after his dental surgery, because he couldn’t quite get himself out on to the deck without slipping and falling. He walked fine still then though. When I look back to videos from 5-6 months ago, I can’t believe how well he was moving about. I can’t believe that was Noah. Even more so when I look back at videos from a year ago. Was that really Noah? My Noah?

When did it all go wrong?

When did he begin to deteriorate?

It seemed so sudden and yet my head flashes back to moments here and there to tell me that it had been progressive. I’m still not sure what to believe.

On the morning of Monday, July 6, I woke up with the intention of keeping him going until the coming Saturday. That day he was due for a recheck on his thyroid levels. We had chased different illnesses for a while to get to the bottom of his cognitive issues (Lyme disease and B12 deficiency) but I really believed that he had Hypothyroidism. I had read that some dogs show neurologic symptoms, all of which Noah had, including seizures. Since March I witnesses Noah have four seizures. My heart breaks when my mind recalls the memory of him working through them. His full thyroid panel came back inconclusive with his T4 and thyroid stimulating hormone coming back incredibly low. Typically dogs with hypothyroidism will have a low T4 and a high thyroid stimulating hormone, although there is a small percentage of dogs who are hypothyroid with low thyroid stimulating hormone number.

Despite the inconclusiveness of his panel, we decided to go forth with treatment anyway. It had been advised that if Noah showed clinical signs to go ahead with medication.

Noah was on Thyroid medication and a re-test on Saturday would show us if his thyroid levels have improved, if his dosage levels were correct or if they needed to be adjusted. Just get to Saturday. That was our goal. We had overcome so many little goals together these past few months. This time, all we needed to do was to get to Saturday.

Yangkyu had taken Noah out for a bathroom break. Because Noah couldn’t walk, his way of telling us he needed to go was to lift himself half way and wobble his legs (although after starting his thyroid medication Noah, in some positions where he was lying down, was able to get up on his own). Noah ended up pooping on himself and got it on his behind. He had never done this before. He always pooped cleanly and his poop was always perfect (if you are a mom to a senior dog or more specifically a sick senior dog, you understand the joy of seeing perfect poops). Yangkyu had to give him a quick bath in the backyard because his poop was ice cream soft. Then just a little less than an hour later I took him out for another bathroom break. This time he peed. On his side and got it all over his fur again. He had been peeing on his side for over a week after many attempts at trying to walk and stand. Sometimes we would be able to hold him up while he peed. And other times he was able to hold himself up (with us just shadowing him incase he lost his balance). I remember those moments feeling so triumphant. I used kiss his head as I carried him back inside and whisper, “Oh, what a good boy. Good job.”

The last couple of weeks Noah had a harder time finding his balance. He leaned heavily to his left. Had a slight head tilt to the left - like he had another vestibular episode. And just a few days before we said good bye to Noah I found a hard lump near left side of his jaw. That felt devastating. What is this? What is it that keeps plaguing your body? “Leave Noah alone!”, I silently screamed.

After I had to give him a second bath I decided to give a call to the vet.

I don’t know what made me make the call.

My memory tells me that I think I wanted Noah to have some dignity.

By 2:40 pm - 20 minutes before our scheduled time to bring him in - I felt the whole decision to be impulsive and wanted to cancel. Maybe he’ll get better. Maybe I just need to give the medicine more time. Maybe I just need to give his body more time to produce the thyroid hormones he needs to function properly.

Good byes are so hard. So damn hard.

During the car ride over to the vet’s office Noah rode quietly. He actually slept the entire ride over. He wasn’t crying or getting nervous, which was so out of character for him. No matter how tired he was, a car ride would have always woken him up and he would get incredibly anxious.

Noah’s vet gave us all the time we needed to say our final good-byes - after the first injection that sedates him but is conscious and aware of his surroundings. After the second injection that makes him go into a deeper sleep and no longer feels our touch. To the final shot that stops his heartbeat. His perfect heartbeat.

Each time after those injections, we cried and touched and talked to him. He looked incredibly peaceful. I remember him yawing after the second sedation injection. I replay that yawn over and over in my head because.. I’m not sure why actually. Maybe because it felt like all the other yawns he did at home. After he woke up or before he was going to sleep. It felt ordinary.*

Did he know it was the last time he would yawn?

For Noah I would have done anything. I would’ve carried him. I would’ve been his legs and support. Noah had an incredibly rough start to his life and so when he finally began to understand what it was like to live inside a home and have a family at the beautiful age of 14, I wanted to give him the world. We knew he had kidney disease when we adopted him but we had experience in managing that. He can still have a few years to his life. And that is all I wished for him. For a few years to just live as a house dog. To live with a family. To hold on to his last name a bit longer.

He ended up living a year and five months with us.

I have said this about all our dogs but I don’t think I will ever meet a dog like Noah.

He was special. So very special to me.

Noah Yoo

August 21, 2004 - July 6, 2020

// I had a sweater of Piri’s that I kept as a memory of a dog that I loved with all my heart. My first dog as an adult who got me through so many growth periods during my twenties and thirties. Piri holds a special place in my heart for many reasons. I never intended to pass down that sweater because it just held a huge sentimental value for me. But on a snowy day in January I gave it to Noah. Sometimes I have a hard time conveying how special Noah was to me. Then I remember the sweater and say, “This was how much Noah was special to me.”

*There are actually many moments from this day that I replay over and over again in my head. Him breathing his last breaths, the yawn and when I saw his last breath leave his body. The heaving motion. Like it was the moment his soul left his body.