Remortgaging to give my furry friend a chance

T was probably diabetes, serious but not life-threatening, the vet said as he handed my wee dog Jessie back into my arms. She had been sedated for tests. There was definitely something wrong with her. She had been drinking what seemed like gallons of water and peeing in the house.
Every time she did it, she looked sorry, her eyes wide with worry.

I knew by then that she couldn't help it, so there was no point in scolding her.

In the eight years since we had been together, she had barely put a paw wrong.

Jessie the west highland white terrier was the first dog I had owned as an adult and I loved her so much I also bought her a sister, Bonnie, to keep her company.

You never have a bad day when you live with a dog – or rather if you have the worst day in the world (Shock. Husband has girlfriend. But there's more. Shock, horror. Girlfriend is pregnant.) they always make it better. The husband was the loser.

Cheeky, intuitive, loyal. Their love is unconditional. Whatever happens in your day, they welcome you home with unsuppressed excitement.

Like my parent's westie, who lived for 18 years, I expected Jessie to live forever paid the vet's bill and he sent me off to see a specialist for more tests. Just in case.
Jessie was losing more weight but she could still wag her tail like a trouper.

The specialist also thought it was diabetes but suggested an ultrasound ($280), radiographs ($255) and a body function test ($165). More tests than any human in my family had ever had. Certainly more expensive.

He walked back into the consulting room with wee Jessie, groggy from drugs and with her fur shaved on one side. She had cancer, a tumour on one kidney.

It is rare in dogs but it could be worse, he said. Dogs can live long and happy lives with one kidney. He said they could operate and remove the cancerous kidney.

I didn't need to consider it. I booked her in for an operation and didn't even ask how much it would cost, didn't even care.

I paid the bill of $1117.05 and went home to wait. Four days later we went back.

I can still see Jessie's look as she turned her head and gazed after me over the vet nurse's shoulder as she was carried into the surgery area. Dogs are more intuitive than humans. She knew more than I did.

I left her in the care of the experts along with a $2000 deposit. They gave me a Take Home Information Sheet. That was a hopeful sign. She had her operation the next day and everything looked good.

The receptionist was very helpful. Of course I could talk to the surgeon, she said. They encouraged people to talk to them about their patients. But he never returned my calls.

Then Jessie died. Of course it wasn't as sudden as that. But as her condition deteriorated, no one said she would die.

You might think I would have worked it out for myself but I trusted the experts.

Two days after the operation I got onto the surgeon. I made notes as we spoke and have kept them. The cancer may have spread to her brain, he told me. She'd had a seizure – but I knew that, didn't I, he said. I think I would have remembered if I had been told.

The surgeon was totally offhand. Obviously he preferred dealing with unconscious animals than people who can talk back. I wanted people to know who he was but the lawyers would only have taken his name out.

It was touch and go for another two days. I hoped for a miracle. There wasn't one. The nurses called me in the middle of the night and by the time I got there Jessie had died.

I hugged her body, which was still warm. Four days' treatment cost me $11,767.60. Yes, it was a fortune. I had to remortgage the house.

I would have been happier if it had saved Jessie's life but I don't begrudge one cent of that money. I had to give her the best chance that I could while the vets were saying that she may have survived.

I cried for weeks. I report on horrific crime and do not cry. But I still cry as I write this. I'm not crying about the cost but, as time has passed, I have become increasingly bitter that perhaps the vet hospital strung me along to make money.

I like to think I was not keeping her alive for myself. If any of the vets had said there was no chance, that my dog was in pain and the best thing for her was to have her put down, I would have done it.

The only thing to do was get another westie to keep Bonnie company, wee Hinnie – a Geordie term of endearment, and she is living up to her name.

Folks who don't have dogs think we are completely mad. It's a shame as they don't know what they are missing.

Would I do it all again if my other two dogs became as ill? You bet. I would do anything to save their lives.

But this time I have pet insurance. All it will cost me is the $100 excess. And I would find a different surgeon, one who didn't bark and had a bedside manner.


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