Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Remembering Stella (Repost)

(Some good news and some bad news. First, the bad news. After trying a new drug (for me) to calm my mysterious  beast, I am instead caught in the throes of a struggle with it. Weaning off the drug now, so hopefully I'll be back to my "old normal" sooner rather than later. The good news is that all this should make for a pretty interesting blog post, including some outrageous pharmaceutical company shenanigans, the mysteries of my illness, and general adventures in medicine.. In the meantime, for your hopeful enjoyment, I'm reposting the below essay, written in January, 2010 about one of the best friends I've ever had. Thanks for reading, and a new essay will hopefully be up soon…)

My best buddy Stella passed away just a little over three years ago. She was a faithful friend with a huge heart who always knew just how to make me smile and often had me laughing riotously out loud. Stella was compassionate and sweet, and knew exactly how to live in the moment and seize every day. She was faithful, devoted and I knew that I could trust her entirely with my deepest darkest secrets. About the worst thing I can say about her is that she had the unshakable habit of loudly and vigorously chewing her paws in the middle of the night, while emitting strange noises that were impossible to sleep through.

stella%20action%20cu[1]Stella was, of course, my furry best friend, a yellow Labrador Retriever who came into my life in 1998, while I was still living in Fort Lauderdale. A coworker had just given birth to a baby girl and no longer had the time to care for Stella. I'd recently moved into a charming little 1940s Florida cottage with my then girlfriend, and was jonesing for a dog. So, the timing was perfect, and after two "meet and greets", during which Stella gave me the thumbs up, I was a happy new doggy daddy. Stella had just turned three years old when she came to me, and I was five years away from developing MS.

I hadn't had my own dog since I was a kid, but I had bonded with the canine companions of several friends and lovers that I'd met along the journey of my adult life. I was particularly close with a Dalmatian named Briar, whose owner unfortunately turned out to be a pathologically lying serial cheater who delighted in using my heart like a roll of Charmin. Quick life lesson: if you find out that your lover has cheated on every person they've ever been with, don't fool yourself into thinking you can somehow change them. Simply open your eyes to the truth, realize that once a person accepts such behaviors in themselves they will never change, and get as far away as possible, even if they have an adorable spotted four-legged creature with the most haunting eyes you've ever seen...

But, I digress. Stella and I quickly bonded, even as my girlfriend and I quickly unbonded. Turned out my Labrador friend enjoyed spending Sundays sprawled on the couch watching NFL games as much as I did, as long she could watch them while laying between my legs with her head nestled on my belly. We took long walks around the neighborhood together, although she wasn't much for jogging. The one time I took her out for a run, she made it about a block before squatting in the middle of the road and doing what dogs generally do when they squat. After completing that most natural of acts, Stella let me know that jogging just wasn't her thing. No harm, really, because jogging wasn't really my thing, either.

About six months after Stella joined me, the girlfriend and I decided to call it quits, and I decided to get the hell out of Florida, a place I never much cared for, even though I spent 10 years there. I think the tropical sun beating on your noggin causes some kind of dementia, because even though I felt like a stranger in a strange land the entire time I lived down there, for some reason I could never formulate actionable plans to leave. It was like, "gee, this place royally sucks, ooh, I think I'll go for a swim..."

Anyway, Stella and I were soon back in my hometown of New York City, living in a section of the city known affectionately as "Hells Kitchen". For a dog that was born and raised in Florida, Stella took to city life like a socialite. For some reason, she naturally curbed herself (if only the same could be said for socialites), and she loved the wonderful sniffing opportunities that the city streets offered up in droves. She also loved the take-out Chinese joint around the corner from our apartment, which always had partially eaten chicken wings discarded on the sidewalk in front of it. One of the few arguments Stella and I ever had were over her insistence on insanely gobbling down as many of those gnawed on chicken bones as quickly as she possibly could, but a few rounds of very stern "bad girls" helped her kick the habit. You see, she really was a "good girl", and my disapproval trumped the irresistible gristly remains of chicken wings, true testament of her feelings for me.

For about a year, Stella and I were strictly a duo, spending lots of time at neighborhood dog runs and in Central Park, where she'd occasionally take an ecstatic jump in the lake. She absolutely lost her mind during that winter's first snowfall, which was the first snow the native Floridian had ever seen. If pure joy could be embodied in flesh and blood, it would be Stella burying herself in mounds of freshly fallen snow and then wriggling on her back to make canine snow angels. Her glee was infectious, and soon I too was a snow-covered whirling dervish, joining Stella in her carefree frolicking, covered head to toe in the powdery white stuff blanketing the fields of Central Park.

After about a year back in the city, late one night in a neighborhood bar I met a girl named Karen, who, despite my best efforts, didn't seem very interested until I mentioned the fact that I had to get home to walk my Labrador Retriever. Turned out that Karen had grown up with Labradors, and, figuring that a single guy with a Labrador couldn't be all that bad, she gave me her number. Just about two years later, we were married. At first, Stella didn't exactly welcome Karen with open paws; after all, Karen had supplanted her place on the couch. But the two soon became buddies, and Karen even succeeded in getting Stella to lose a little weight (for a while, we referred to her as "Jabba the Pup"), much to the veterinarians delight.

For a year, everything was hunky dory, until one very cold day in March 2003, when I took Stella for a very long walk along the Hudson River. About 2 miles into our trek, I noticed that I'd started limping. I didn't think much of it, but in the following weeks, the limp in my right leg grew worse, and I felt my right arm starting to weaken. Several doctors visits and an MRI later, and I found myself sitting in a doctor's office listening to words like "multiple sclerosis" and "progression" and "spinal tap" somehow become associated with the words "me" and "holy shit".

Strangely enough, just about the same time, Stella also started having all kinds of health problems. I honestly believe that she was so empathic that she somehow shared my distress and manifested physical illnesses of her own. Between 2003 and 2006, Stella developed mast cell cancer and autoimmune hepatitis. She had multiple surgeries to get rid of the cancer, and was put on a variety of medications and a special diet to address the hepatitis. For a while, we were actually both on the same immunosuppressants, bought from the same pharmacist. On several occasions, it appeared that Stella was on death's door, but she always managed to somehow pull through, often to the veterinarian's surprise. He'd smile, shrug his shoulders, and offer the only explanation he could, "She's Stella..."

Through it all, Stella stayed Stella. Though she would suffer a while from her painful surgeries, and the hepatitis would sometimes rob her of strength and appetite, as soon as she felt a little bit better, her tail was wagging, her eyes were bright, and she was ready to embrace whatever joy that the day had to offer. In so many ways, she taught me how to deal with my own illness, which progressed continuously through the ensuing years.

Stella didn't waste any time bemoaning her fate, or thinking about what might have been, because she was blessed to simply not have the capacity to do so. As my condition has continued to worsen, I've often thought of Stella, and have realized just how right she had it. Feeling sorry for yourself or worrying about future calamity only serve to poison the present, and the present, the now, and our place in it, is the only thing in the entire universe that we have any real control over. Endeavor to live your life like a Labrador, attack each day like it's a great big rawhide bone sent from the heavens.

Eventually, Stella's illnesses and advancing years got the upper hand; the cancer returned, and my sweet little girl started slipping away. Over the Thanksgiving weekend of 2006 we boarded her at the veterinarians while we visited my mom in Florida, and when we returned the vet told us that Stella's condition had worsened, and he recommended we put her down. He brought her out to us with an IV already inserted into her leg, but upon seeing us I could see that familiar spark in her eye, and she started eating the treats I tried to hand feed her. We decided to bring Stella home, to give her the chance to make one more rally.

By this time I was no longer able to walk Stella, and most of her caregiving fell to Karen. Stella actually did rebound a bit for the first few weeks, but I guess the power of love can only go so far. A few days after Christmas, we brought Stella back to the vet one last time, held her, and said goodbye. Those weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas became one extra month of bonus life for Stella, during which Karen took Stella to Central Park almost every day, and Stella ate all of the chicken and turkey she wanted.

Stella saw me through many transitions; from Fort Lauderdale to New York, from single to married, from well to Multiple Sclerosis. Aside from my wife, there is no being I have ever felt closer to, or more intimate with. I miss her still, and will for the rest of my days. Karen and I now live in a building that is wheelchair friendly, but doesn't allow dogs. If I somehow beat this thing, first thing we're doing is moving out of this place and getting ourselves a great big pooch, who will take Stella’s space, but surely not her place.

Here's my favorite photo of my pal Stella...

stella door effect

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  1. Feel better soon, Marc. Your Stella story was lovely. It was touching as well for me because my own pooch is quite ill, and we are trying to figure out what to do. So far, he's rallying on and off, and with each rally, hope surges again. They are precious beings. There is nothing so spiritual as when my Hotshot looks deeply into my eyes with his own bottomless brown eyes.

  2. The timing of this repost couldn't have been at a better time for me. I had to put down my 12 yr old Maltese on Friday. Meeka was a great small dog that loved people, loved being with people and loved life to the fullest. She was puppy-like until the end. As Judy said above, we too, struggled with what we should do. After a few days of going back and forth, the answer became clear and we put her down. Watching my 7 yr old daughter go through the experience was tough. She bravely stayed in the room with us when the time came. We all cried and said our goodbyes.

    So Marc, even though this one was not focused on MS, it was what I needed to hear tonight. I sound cliched but I truly mean this when I say it...Thank you so much for all of your postings, every one of them. They inspire me, give me hope, allow me to cry, divert my attention from other things for a while, and just plain allows me to read a good read. Please get well soon and I look forward to your next blog post. I raise my virtual glass to Stella and Meeka...


  3. Zippy, Hap, Natty (Bumppo), Amber, Tess and Juice....the dogs I have known and loved and been taught by.....

  4. I couldn't have said it better myself... Hugz, Heidi...
    The Perfect Truth about Dogs
    From "The Darkest Evening of the Year"
    By Dean Koontz
    Dogs’ lives are short, too short, but you know that going in. You know the pain is coming, you’re going to lose a dog, and there’s going to be great anguish, so you live fully in the moment with her, never fail to share her joy or delight in her innocence, because you can’t support the illusion that a dog can be your lifelong companion. There’s such beauty in the hard honesty of that, in accepting and giving love while always aware it comes with an unbearable price. Maybe loving dogs is a way we do penance for all the other illusions we allow ourselves and for the mistakes we make because of those illusions.

  5. How timely. We just said good by to our dear pal. I miss him terribly!! I do hope you are improving...hopefully it was not the drug you recently wrote about. Oh those pharm-asses can be a pain. Be well.

  6. I have a little French bulldog. We'd always had cats, but we got him to fill a huge hole in our lives when my husband died. In 2008 my MS became very aggressive, and I was spending a lot of time getting infusions, limping around, trying to hold it together for the kids. I started taking my adorable little dog to the dog park so he could get some exercise, and noticed, one day, that he was only turning in one direction. Knowing, sadly, a bit too much about neurological insults, I recognized one when I saw one. As I watched more carefully, I realized his gait was a little off - he flung his forepaws out in what could only be described as the doggie equivalent of foot-drop.

    It took a while for me to convince his vet that there was an issue, but she referred him to a veterinary neurologist. He got an MRI and was diagnosed with an inflammatory brain disease. He ended up, as Stella did, on many of the same drugs that I take or have taken - steroids, gabapentin, etc. We never thought he would pull through but he is still with us, four years later, and still loves to play and still sleeps on my youngest's bed. It definitely slowed him down - he's not too sharp, doesn't see or hear very well, has occasional seizures and needs another round of cytosar, but he is a lovely little guy and I like having him around even though he isn't quite how he was. Hopefully people feel the same about me! Some people look like their dogs - my MRI looks like my dog's!

  7. Here I sit up at 3 am thinking of my much loved dog Casey who passed away just a few short weeks ago. He saw me through many transitions (moving into a new home following divorce, new job, diagnosis with MS, paralysis, my return from my devastating diagnosing attack and my relationship with my fiance). He was such a integral part of my day that his absence is felt so deeply. Like others, I echo that this post is a timely one. Thanks Marc. I hope you are doing well. Kim

  8. Perfect repost! Recently I'm dealing with a flare up that seems to be clinging on and my dearest dog is my constant companion and friend (snoring next to me as i type). Related to your story as she too transitioned from NYC to rural living, well to not so well, etc etc and she's been my comfort at some really difficult times and my friend at all times over the last decade. Beyond grateful she's in my life.
    Hope you feel better soon Marc

  9. Your post is really touch my heart.. Stella was really a good friend of you ...and her pic is also nice..:(