I almost cried at the vet last night

I took Rosie to a new vet last night because she was due for her annual check-up. I researched a ton of vets and this one had like 1,000+ five-star reviews, so I scheduled her appointment and was fine waiting six weeks to be seen due to the wait.

The vet is incredible. The clinic is amazing and the vet is so thorough and informative, it’s a dream environment. So why was I on the verge of tears?

He first asked if there was anything I wanted him to know before he cared for Rosie. I took a moment and thought about it. Triggered. Do I tell him about Daisy, Rosie’s biological sister who died? No, that was abuse. What she died from wasn’t a medical condition or betrayal of her own body. It was my abuser who killed her. But then I was doubting it for a moment because the vet who had done the autopsy the night Daisy died had labeled her cause of death as “undetermined” due to trauma. She had told me it looked like Daisy had died from a mesenteric rent, where her organs had twisted around each other and caused the ruptures, ultimately causing her to bleed out. Was that the reason she died? Should I tell the vet that? No, she died from blunt force trauma, when my abuser kicked her. She died from abuse. Kirby, too. It wasn’t a medical failure that caused my dogs to die. It was Mathew Berry. And I wasn’t ready to disclose my truth, my trauma, to this stranger, no matter how kind and caring he was.

He started the exam. The vet and vet tech began examining her. The vet tech started feeling Rosie’s underbelly and hind legs and I began to feel panicked. That was where the issue had been with Daisy. What if they found a similar issue with Daisy? Panic.

They continued to examine her. The vet held the light up to her eyes and I held my breath. What if he found a problem with her? What if he found something and had to tell me that Rosie was dying? I looked away to collect myself and wipe away the tears that had begun to gather in my eyes.

So far, everything was fine. He went to get his stethoscope to listen to her heart. Panic. What if he hears a problem with her heart? What if he tells me that she’s dying? Her heart is fine.

The vet tech took Rosie away to give her her annual vaccinations. The vet stayed behind and talked to me about a few things (how she has hair growing in her ear canal that could lead to infection down the road and how she has plaque on her and here’s what I can do for that). The vet tech came back and Rosie was her playful self once again, rolling around on the floor and happy to see everyone, rolling around on the floor. I felt relief.

I think the start of my being triggered yesterday happened when Rosie and I were alone in the exam room before the vet came in.

She was laying on the ground, just making herself comfortable on the cool floor, and I had the realization that Daisy never got her 1-year check-up. Mat killed her before I could take her in to the vet for her 1-year check-up. Wow, that hurts. And then I thought about how Rosie is 15 months old and Daisy only got 13 short months on this earth, with me. My eyes are brimming with tears as I write this. I thought about how I didn’t even get a full year with Daisy. Mat took her from me three weeks before the 1-year anniversary of Daisy coming home with me. That will hurt me forever. It’s so wrong. I don’t have any other word for it. It’s a severe injustice done to this world. My Daisy deserved better. I deserved better. We should’ve had so much more time together. I should’ve been able to take her to her 1-year vet check-up. She should’ve been there for that small yet huge milestone. She should’ve lived longer. My heart aches for her, I’m angry for how I lost her, I’m angry at the world, I’m disgusted by the truth. I hate this.

And so the vet finished with Rosie’s check-up and my anxiety took a little while to calm down. This morning, Rosie threw up on the bed and my first thought was, “oh my god she’s dying, she’s having a reaction to the vaccine and she’s dying.” But then I remembered this happened last time and the vet explained that her getting so many vaccines at once affected her system, not in an allergic-reaction kind of way. And then I woke up this morning at 5:45am and Rosie was hiding under my bed eating something. I couldn’t get to her no matter what I did. So my mind starts racing that she’s eating something that’s going to kill her and this will be my fault for not watching her (even though I had just been sleeping). I finally coaxed her out by pretending to leave my apartment and she came running out. We are currently laying on the couch together and Rosie is back and forth between snuggling on me and next to me. I think she’s ok, but this anxiety, my PTSD, it’s brutal.

When I took Rosie outside after coaxing her out from under my bed, I had a realization that if something happened and Rosie died, I’d want to die too. (Disclaimer: I’m not suicidal, really). But really, if she died in a tragic way like this before her time, right now, I’d want to die too. I don’t think I could do it again. This grief, this trauma, I just… I’m strong and I will overcome it all, but right now I wouldn’t want to. Rosie and Joey are my saving grace, the ones who gave me love and showed me how to love again after the most profound loss, the deepest grief and hurt and pain and suffering, of my life. What am I without them? (Disclaimer: I know that I am a lot, I’m in therapy, but these are my inner feelings and thoughts)

Today I’m going to get a tattoo and I am so excited for it. I’m going to get the birth flower of each of my fur babies tattooed on my ribs. I’m so excited to have this symbol of each of my fur babies, including Kirby and Daisy, together in one bunch on my side. The beauty of their birth flowers, the beauty of their life, the beauty of their souls, on me forever. I’m honored and so excited for this. Now, wish me luck because getting a rib tattoo hurts like a biiii!

Love and light, love and peace. Always. 🤍