Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
LOUISA
Pepin runs across the park to fetch the ball Sam just threw. He stops when he sees a little girl playing off to the side. I run over to him because I don’t want her mother to get nervous. Pepin just stands there staring at her, waiting for me to give him permission to approach her.
On my way over, I see the mom lean over and say something to the girl. The little girl looks nervous, but it’s clear she wants to pet him.
“You can pet him if your mom says it’s okay. He's very friendly.”
Her mom nods to her, and the little girl approaches, and Pepin wags his tail with excitement. She sticks out her hand and pets the top of his head. He licks it, making her giggle. Pepin lifts up onto his hind legs and sticks his paws up on the arm of her wheelchair to get closer to her face.
She doesn’t shy away from him, even though, in this position, he towers over her small frame. Instead, she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a big squeeze. My gentle giant always has the power to make people feel special. I thought about getting him certified to go into hospitals and nursing homes; I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.
While she pets Pepin, I chat with her, asking her name and what grade she’s in. Eventually, her mom calls her back over, saying they have to leave. The girl reluctantly says goodbye and wheels away. Pepin wants to follow his new friend so badly, but I hook the leash on him and walk back toward Sam.
The three of us walk around the lake on a new path near Sam’s house. The fall colors are gorgeous this time of year. When I moved out of state for college, I missed the fall season in Minnesota. Between the view of the trees and the views of this beautiful man walking by my side, I'm not sure how I got so lucky.
Sam and I have been dating for a couple of months now, and I couldn’t be happier. Sure, I still get down sometimes, but nothing compared to how I felt before Sam. I still haven’t told him about my depression or the bathtub incident. I just haven’t found the right time, or the right time comes, and I chicken out because I don’t want to ruin this beautiful thing we have.
It weighs heavy on my mind, though. I often remind myself that even as Sam gets to know me better, he doesn’t know every side of me. He doesn’t know about the side he won’t like. The side that could lead to heartbreak.
Sam squeezes my hand. “Everything okay? You look deep in thought.”
“It’s nothing. Just thinking about my exam.”
That’s not what I was thinking about, but it very well could have been. I passed the first exam the second time I took it. I've just taken the second one and am waiting for the results. Sam’s been doing his best to keep my mind off it, but it’s hard.
Instead of mansplaining and telling me how pointless it is to worry, he’s supportive.
“Is there anything I can do to take your mind off it?”
We stop, and he puts his arms around me, turning me so we face each other. Pepin sits beside us, patiently waiting to continue his walk.
“Well, I could think of a couple things…” I give him the look that usually leads to us being sweaty and tangled up in the sheets.
He looks down at me and tucks my hair behind my ear. We’re hidden behind some bushes, so nobody is being subjected to our PDA. His face changes from suggestive to something I can’t quite read. Is it concern, worry?
“I’ve wanted to say this for a while…”
I’m getting slightly nervous.
“I love you, Lou. So much.” He’s staring into my eyes, and I realize that the look he’s giving me isn’t concern or worry; it’s the look of someone painfully in love, not knowing how the other one feels.
I can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and I stand there just staring back at him, silent.
“You don’t have to say it back. I just needed to tell you before I exploded.”
When he senses that I’m not going to say it back just yet, he breaks the silence by leaning down to kiss me.
I don’t know why I didn’t say it back.
Well, maybe I do. I want to say it to him; I want him to know how crazy I am about him and how happy he makes me. But I can’t. I can’t take the next step, knowing he doesn’t know all of me. I’m sad he got to it first because now I worry it’s only going to make that talk more difficult.
He releases me and takes my hand, continuing down the path. He starts up a conversation like nothing happened. I appreciate him not making me feel bad about not saying it back. My heart flutters when I replay the image of him saying it. I want to say it; I want to rewind and say it back to him, but I can’t.
We’re a block away from the house when Pepin startles me with a sneeze. Or was it a cough?
“Bless you, buddy.” I reach down and pat his side. It feels firm.
Next thing I know, he starts gagging, and I realize it wasn’t a sneeze. I’ve seen him throw up before, so I’m not that fazed. I bend down and rub his back.
“Let it out, buddy.”
Nothing comes up. He stops heaving, and we keep walking. Until it happens again. This time, the coughing produces white foam.
I’m starting to get concerned. Sam whips out his phone and starts typing.
I continue to pet Pepin on the back as he keeps coughing and gagging. It almost seems like he’s choking, but I know he didn’t eat anything. I feel his stomach again and notice his abdomen is distended.
My heart is racing, and I can feel my throat close up from trying to hold back tears.
“Lou, I think we should take him in. From what I’m reading, this could be bad.”
I start to cry because I feel so helpless.
“I’ll run and grab the truck; you stay here.” Sam sprints down the block toward his house.
A couple minutes later, Sam rolls up to the curb and jumps out. The coughing hasn’t stopped, and he’s starting to look like he’s in pain. My face is soaked with tears, and my vision is blurry.
Sam lifts Pepin into the back seat, and I climb back there with him. He places his head on my lap, and Sam peels out, taking off down the road. I don’t even know where we’re going because Pepin’s vet is closed on weekends, but Sam has GPS navigating somewhere, and I trust him.
“It’s okay, Pep.” I continue petting him and trying to make him comfortable. I keep hoping that it’ll stop, but it never does.
“Hey Lou,” he gets my attention, “would you be able to call them ahead of time to start the check-in process.”
I nod and take out my phone. He gives me the name of the place we’re going, and I call them. The lady on the phone is extremely calm, and I feel like she’s not understanding the urgency of this. I’m sure she deals with crazy people who over exaggerate all the time, but Pepin is not okay.
She makes me give an email, make a deposit, and go through the financial responsibility of these visits. I tell her I don’t care how much it costs, I’ll pay it. She then tells me that the estimated wait time right now is three to four hours. I tell her he can’t wait that long, and she attempts to reassure me that the triage team will assess him when we get there and make that call.
It takes us 15 minutes to get to the emergency vet, and I’m still on the phone with someone when we pull up. Sam grabs Pepin out of the back and carries all 65 pounds of him like he’s a newborn baby.
When we walk in, the front desk staff can clearly see that Pepin is in distress, and they rush around the counter and help Sam get him onto a padded cart .
Finally, someone understands the urgency!
I hear people running down the hall calling for an open room, but it’s muffled. My ears are ringing, and I can feel my heartbeat in my toes. I see Sam talking to the vet tech and signing papers. I’m still right by Pep’s side, petting him and kissing the top of his head as he lays on his side, still wheezing.
Someone in scrubs comes over and says something to me. The ringing continues, and I don't hear her.
“What?”
I feel Sam grab my arm. “Lou, they're going to take him back now.”
They start to wheel him away, and he tries to sit up to look back at me. I give him one last kiss on the head and gently lay him back down on the cart. “I’ll see you soon, Pep. I love you.”
They take him to the back, then Sam and I are instructed to wait in the lobby. We sit down on two chairs next to each other, and I lean into Sam. He puts his arm around me and rubs my head with the other.
I’m feeling a little better now that we’re here, but I’m still so worried about him.
After sitting in silence for a while, a woman in scrubs comes out and calls our name. I shoot up and walk over to her as quickly as I can without running, and Sam follows behind me.
“How is he?”
“I’ll walk you back to one of our consult rooms, and the doctor will be in shortly to discuss Pepin’s condition with you.”
Why couldn’t she just say he’s fine? Is he not fine? I look back at Sam, worried, and I can tell he’s trying hard to be calm for me. We sit down in the room and wait .
A woman walks in and introduces herself as the vet. This time, I don’t bother asking how he is because now that she’s here, I’m not sure I want to know.
“Pepin is sedated right now and stable. We were able to get some scans done and determined that he has gastric bloat. His breed, his gender, and his age put him at high risk for it. Essentially, what happened is that Pepin’s stomach flipped. When the intestines get cut off like that, it causes gas to build up in their abdomen.”
"How did that happen?"
"It's usually a freak accident; it likely wasn't anything you did."
I nod, even though I will continue to run through the entire day in my mind, trying to figure out what could have gone wrong.
“So how do we fix it?”
“He needs surgery immediately. We will need to remove the parts of the intestine that have already died and then put the healthy bits back together.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“I think that’s a smart choice. While I’m prepping him, my assistant will come in and go over some stuff with you. If you have any questions, just let the front desk know, and they will come ask us.”
The assistant comes in and goes through the financials with us. The surgery is $4,000, and that’s not including aftercare, medicines, and spending a few nights here to recover. I sign the papers, only thinking about Pepin and how much I need him to make it.
“The surgery will take several hours. You guys can go home and rest. We will call you with updates. There’s really no point in waiting here since you won’t be able to take him home tonight anyway. ”
I don’t want to leave him here alone, but I’m exhausted.
Sam puts his hand on mine. “We can wait here if you’d like.”
“No, we should go home. There’s nothing we can do here.”
We gather up our few things and walk to the car, hand in hand. As we drive home in silence, I stare out the window at the leaves starting to change colors. Fall is my favorite time of year; something about it just feels so warm and cozy to me. But looking out at the beautiful fall colors right now, I don't feel any joy. Just sadness.
SAM
When we get home, I make dinner, but Lou barely eats anything. I can tell she's riddled with anxiety, and I feel helpless. She's been in a daze ever since I pulled up to the curb with my truck and loaded Pepin in the car. I tried to handle a lot of the logistical things for her so she wouldn't get too stressed.
It's been three hours since we left the clinic, and still no word. We're sitting on the couch with a movie playing on the TV, but I know neither of us is watching it. Her head is lying on my lap, and I'm playing with her hair and rubbing her back. Every now and then, I feel a tear drop onto my thigh.
Her phone rings on the coffee table, and she shoots up, almost hitting her head on my chin. It's an unknown number, so I assume it's the clinic. My mind flashes back to last fall when I got the call about Jacob. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I feel sick. It makes me wonder if that trigger will ever go away .
She answers, and I can barely make out the voice on the other end; all I hear is Pepin's name, so I know it's the vet.
Lou puts her hand over her mouth, trying to choke back a sob. Her eyes fill with tears, and I can't yet tell if she's relieved or devastated. She doesn’t say anything, just mumbles "mhmm" occasionally. I put my hand on her back and try to lean in closer to hear what they're saying. All I hear is, "...give us a call back when you make a decision." Then Lou drops the phone down to her lap, and she breaks.
I know now that it can't be good news.
I wrap her in my arms and hold her close. She can barely breathe through her sobs, tears soaking my shirt. My heart aches for her, and my own eyes start to fill with tears. Though a brother and a pet may be different, I know what loss feels like. I know the pain and the disbelief that this is happening to you. I know the feeling you get, like you can't breathe, like your head, your heart, and your lungs are all going to implode.
I try to control my breathing, taking deep, slow breaths in hopes it will help slow hers. After a few, she sucks in a deep breath, holds it, and slowly lets it out. I say softly into her hair, "Thatta girl. Just try to breathe." Her rhythm matches mine, but her body still shakes. I pull her onto my lap and tuck her head into my neck. We sit there for a while before she finally speaks.
She pulls back and looks at me. Her words are choppy and muddled with sobs, but I can still understand her. "Too much of his tissue has died." She sniffles. "She said they could finish the surgery, but there's a chance he wouldn't make it long or wouldn't have a great quality of life." Her breath catches, and she takes a moment to clear her throat. "She asked me to decide if we want to try or if we want to let him go. "
I tread carefully, knowing there is no right thing to say in this moment. "Are you leaning one way or the other?"
Her palms press into her eyes as if she's trying to stop the tears from falling out. "I know what I should do, but I just can't do it."
She has an incredibly hard decision to make, and I almost just wish he would have passed. Giving her that decision may seem like a good thing, but no one wants to be the one making a decision to end a life. No one.
"He's old, and I just don't want him to be in pain for a few weeks or months and then pass anyway."
"I am not trying to sway your decision one way or another, but I do think that Pepin had a pretty awesome day today. Some people don't get the chance to give their pets a great last day, and if we were to wake him up, you can't guarantee he'll go peacefully. But I completely understand if you don't want to…let him go." I almost said "give up on him," but that's not what she'd be doing, knowing the odds look so bleak.
"I know, that's exactly what I was thinking." She curls up in my lap again and cries.
“And Lou…”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t just give him a great last day; you gave him a whole year of being loved and cared for.”
She sniffles and nods, too choked up to reply.
She grabs her phone and calls the number back. My heart starts racing. I know what I just said, but dialing the number and officially giving a decision carries such a heavy weight, even more than it did minutes ago. A tear falls down my face and lands on Lou’s cheek.
She lifts her head and catches me crying. I was really trying to hold it in for her, but it's just coming out of me. She touches my cheek and wipes away another tear with her thumb.
"I'm supposed to be the one doing that for you, not the other way around." My voice is weak and shaky.
She huffs, "I'm glad you're letting me see you. All of you."
The phone rings in her hand, and someone answers on the other end. Lou talks to the receptionist, who forwards her to the vet.
LOUISA
I walk through a sterile feeling hallway lined with doors. The tech leads us into a room on the left, opposite the one where we talked to the vet a few hours ago, with hopes that Pepin would be okay. We walk through another hallway and enter a room that is somehow less welcoming than the hallway. Of course the operating room needs to be this way, but I never imagined walking into one under these circumstances.
There he is. My baby. My Pepin.
I reach back and grasp Sam’s forearm, unable to move closer.
“It’s okay; you can come up and touch him.” The tech’s voice is sweet and encouraging, clearly having done this several times.
My hand is over my quivering lips, and I can already feel my face soaked with tears. I’m surprised there’s anything left in there.
Seeing him lying there like this isn’t what I expected, though I hadn’t actually put much thought into this. He’s covered in a polka-dot fleece blanket from the neck down. All you can see are his head on one end and his fluffy tail poking out the other.
I walk up to the table, still squeezing Sam’s arm. At some point, his other arm came up to rest on my shoulder, which is also shaking. Or is it Sam’s hand that’s shaking? I can’t tell.
I reach out and pet his soft head that I’ve kissed too many times to count. I lean down and kiss the face I’ve held in my hands many times as I look into those big dark eyes that I know were staring back at me, into my soul. Pepin always had a way of making me feel seen, especially the times I felt most lonely.
Getting this dog was the best decision I ever made, and I honestly don’t know if I’d be here today without him.
“Hey, Pep.” My voice cracks, my throat tight and hoarse from crying. I take a peak over my shoulder; Sam’s now standing a few steps back, giving us a private moment.
I look back down at my baby, who I hardly recognize with the tube down his throat. But if I close my eyes and lay my head on his, I can almost pretend we’re snuggled on the couch back at the apartment.
I gently stroke his soft ear as I whisper to him. “I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.” An uncontrollable sob breaks loose. “And I wanted to thank you. You know what for.”
I know he doesn’t—because he’s unconscious—but I can feel him nuzzling his head into my neck the way he always does. I can hear his soft, deep bark. I can see him running through the park, well, more like frolicking.
I can’t tell if it’s a laugh or a sob, but some kind of noise comes out of me. I bury my face into his neck, letting his fur soak up my tears. “Goodnight, Pepin. I love you.”
It's been a few hours since we got home from saying goodbye to Pepin. I can't even say his name without crying.
Eventually, I crawled out of Sam's loving arms, though I could have stayed there for the rest of my life. He makes me feel so safe, so protected. I can't thank him enough for his support. I could not imagine going through this alone.
I know I wouldn't survive it.
Sam and I are sitting on a blanket on the floor of his living room, having a picnic. After I finally released him from my tearful clutches, he went to the kitchen and brought back fruit, cheese, and crackers. He also made us each a mixed drink, and I asked him to make mine extra strong.
We've talked for a while, and my tears have slowed. But my mind continues to race. So many thoughts flooding my brain. So many things I want to say while, at the same time, I don't want to talk at all.
I take a sip of my drink, then take in a big breath. Looking at Sam, I swallow my pride and decide to do something I should have done a long time ago.
"I feel dumb making this comparison, but all that's happened with Pepin has had me thinking a lot about Jacob. I know losing a pet is nothing compared to losing a brother, but there's something I want to talk to you about."
"Lou, do not minimize your grief for my sake. I know how much Pepin meant to you."
"That's the thing, I don't think you do."
He looks at me with curious eyes.
"I mean, you know that I adored him and spent a lot of time with him. You know that I got him after my break up and that he helped me feel less lonely when B wasn’t around. But there's more that you don't know..."