RachelG
Hatchling Member
- Beardie name(s)
- Frank Ocean
Yesterday morning at about 9am, I was devastated to find my beloved 8 year old baby stiff and unresponsive with no signs of life. He was last seen alive and well at 10pm bedtime the night before. There were no obvious signs of anything, no injuries, no blood, no vomit. Just my precious jiggly guy pancaked with a serene smile on his face, halfway on his pet bed like he always is in the morning. It was like I stepped into a nightmare. I didn't even know I was shrieking and hyperventilating until my husband ran in to see what was wrong. He saw me holding my rigored baby and tried to comfort me, but I wouldn't believe it. I couldn't believe it. The blood pounding in my ears drowned him out anyway.
I don't recall leaving the house, but I found myself screeching into the parking lot of the vet's office, begging god not to let it be true. I am blessed to have an incredibly experienced reptile vet here in San Antonio, Dr. Rob Coke is quite literally a reptile expert accredited by the ABVP and his staff... just aces all around. I couldn't ask for better. I burst in, hysterical, screaming for help and the surprised staff jumped up and asked what was going on. I managed to choke out "I think my lizard is dead." They saw my baby and immediately sprang into action, taking him from me and bringing him to the back. I imagined them coding him like we do to people in the ER. I just stood at the counter crying because I couldn't stop. I begged every deity for a miracle. I offered my soul to any entity who would have it, in exchange for Lenny. I tried to convince myself to have some faith in the vet and his capabilities. I reasoned that I've personally worked and witnessed patients come back long after hope had been all but abandoned. The more I thought about this, the more I began to think this was entirely plausible. Likely, even. Reality inched towards me and I was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I was in public with no shoes and no bra. It also whispered that my Lenny was gone. It started to whisper to me about the obvious signs of death but I pushed those horrible thoughts from my head, telling myself that lizards are different than humans, and maybe I wasn't so sure that he was really rigored anyway. I consoled myself by imagining Lenny home alive and well, joking with my husband about today's vet bill. In retrospect, I can't believe I played such a cruel trick on myself.
A little while later, the whole staff came out, sat me down and told me they were sorry for my loss. They explained about the doppler and the lack of vital signs, etc. They were incredibly compassionate and offered me as long as I wanted in a private room to say goodbye. They started to tell me what options they offered as far as cremation, etc., but I wouldn't have it. Everything became even more surreal, and things seemed twisted and distorted. I knew they were wrong. I didn't need a room and I didn't need their "options." I wanted him back, immediately. I needed to get him home and back under his lights to warm up. I've worked miracles with my own goddamn hands before, and by that same damned god, I would do it again. This was no DNR or slow code. These people didn't know what they were doing, but I wouldn't give up. I held out my hands for Lenny. Reality suddenly came back into sharp focus and I took in the look of sadness, sympathy and knowing pity on the face of the tech who gently laid my baby back in my arms. She let me know that they were here at any time if I needed anything further. I hated the way she looked at me and spoke to me because I recognized her countenance and tone. It was mine. I used it when I spoke to families about their loved one's death. Reality retreated once more and I took Lenny and left. I passed my husband in the parking lot, as he had tracked me to the vet and followed, but I couldn't stop for him, I had a life to save.
At home, I checked his basking temps and laid him in the warmest spot. My husband kept asking what he could do, but I saw the wretched pity in his eyes and I hated him for it. I shouted at him that unless he would help me with Lenny, what he could do was leave me alone. I stood vigil next to my baby for a couple hours. His tank that I made for him myself during covid was actually big enough for me to get in, so I did. My poor husband didn't know what to do so he just hovered and gave me reassuring pats. I think he knew that words would fall on deaf ears, and I was grateful he had stopped talking. I decided the basking wasn't enough, so I gave Lenny a nice warm bath in his favorite foot-spa tub. When that didn't work, I figured he might need to be near me, so I took my top off and laid him on my skin. I held my breath and held him, waiting to see him take a breath. When he didn't, I got out my own pedi stethoscope, pulse ox and doppler. When I got nothing, I tossed my things aside, cursing them as cheap trash made for humans anyway. Reality lunged for me again as I glimpsed for the first time his fixed eyes, decidedly more sunken than they had been when I first found him. My husband must've seen the horrible realization dawn in my eyes, and he took the opportunity to gently remind me that we had to pick up the kids from school and break the news to them. I heard him this time, but instead of answering with words, I was busy emitting those horrible, gut-wrenching noises I'd heard from others but never uttered myself until now. I always thought that those sorrowful wails must be involuntary, radiating from the very depths of one soul crying out in agony for another. As it turns out, I was right.
I laid with Lenny on my chest and just cried my eyes out until it was time to pick the kids up. Lenny was technically my teenge son's pet, a pet he's had more than half his life. Lenny's mansion is a furniture fixture in my son's room, and I knew he would immediately notice Lenny not in there. My preteen daughter was not as attached, and I figured her less likely to take it AS poorly, but still, I had to come up with something. My cruel rational brain corrected me: no, you will not "come up with something," you have to tell them the truth. So I did. My daughter was sad, my son was crushed, to put it mildly. I tried to be strong for him, and I managed to hold back those mournful cries that are just... so terrible to behold. But I didn't hold back the tears and we cried together. We got home and I retreated to my room to hold Lenny. My son joined me and up until bedtime we just cried with tv in the background. My husband picked up fast food for everyone, but my son had no appetite and the thought of eating made me gag. How could dinner and the rest of the world just continue on without my baby in it? How could this be happening?
At bedtime, my teenage son wanted me to sleep in his room. He hasn't asked me to stay in years. He was clutching the cat for comfort. A cat that we had before we even had our son. A cat that was my first baby and should've been a comfort to me as well. A cat that was so intuitive he knew where he was needed, always and had followed me around all day, though I shunned him. My sweet cat was no comfort to me. All I wanted was Lenny, and I was torn between honoring my son's request and being with Lenny. In the end, I laid in bed with my son until he fell asleep and then slunk back to my room to hold Lenny through the night. I didn't sleep. I just cried and begged god to let me wake from this nightmare. I crept back into my son's room at 5am, miserable, exhausted, and so sad I thought I would surely die. I laid there crying quietly, wishing I was still holding my lizard.
At 645 this morning, Lenny's lights went on, and I had to stifle my sobs before I woke the kids. I told my son he could have the day if he wanted, but I don't think he could bear watching me holding Lenny and crying all day. He opted for a late start and I took him out for coffee, a treat he usually loves. Today both our coffees sat untouched. We talked about Lenny. I read him some excerpts from a book about pet loss that resonated with me. I knew I had to get it together at least a little for him. He seemed comforted, and I found that I was a little comforted as well. He went to school. I went home to my baby.
When I rushed upstairs to finally take him in my arms again, my horrible brain teased me... what if he was actually ok? What if this was one of those "I thought he was dead" situations? Maybe when I got up there I'd see he had moved! I ran, as if I'd miss it if I didn't hurry. When I got to him, that awful reality hit me again and I could see that he was bloating. I wailed anew. My baby was gone. My precious Lenny was dead. My Jiggly Guy would not jiggle ever again. I couldn't bear it. I still can't.
I made clay prints of his little hands and feet, and his sweet tail with the tiny kink he's had since we got him. I made 2 sets, one for me and one for my son. I stroked him and spoke to him and finally I admitted to myself that I had to take him back to the vet and arrange for his cremation. I ordered his beautiful urn, and lizard urn keepsakes for my son and I. Just as I was about to get in the car to make that trek to the vet, I couldn't. I felt like I needed more prints, more keepsakes, more of him. I couldn't find the remaining clay I'd just used. Suddenly I HAD to have more. I couldn't bear not having more. I went to the craft store for new clay. I returned to Lenny and used up the whole 5lb tub of clay.
I don't recall leaving the house, but I found myself screeching into the parking lot of the vet's office, begging god not to let it be true. I am blessed to have an incredibly experienced reptile vet here in San Antonio, Dr. Rob Coke is quite literally a reptile expert accredited by the ABVP and his staff... just aces all around. I couldn't ask for better. I burst in, hysterical, screaming for help and the surprised staff jumped up and asked what was going on. I managed to choke out "I think my lizard is dead." They saw my baby and immediately sprang into action, taking him from me and bringing him to the back. I imagined them coding him like we do to people in the ER. I just stood at the counter crying because I couldn't stop. I begged every deity for a miracle. I offered my soul to any entity who would have it, in exchange for Lenny. I tried to convince myself to have some faith in the vet and his capabilities. I reasoned that I've personally worked and witnessed patients come back long after hope had been all but abandoned. The more I thought about this, the more I began to think this was entirely plausible. Likely, even. Reality inched towards me and I was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I was in public with no shoes and no bra. It also whispered that my Lenny was gone. It started to whisper to me about the obvious signs of death but I pushed those horrible thoughts from my head, telling myself that lizards are different than humans, and maybe I wasn't so sure that he was really rigored anyway. I consoled myself by imagining Lenny home alive and well, joking with my husband about today's vet bill. In retrospect, I can't believe I played such a cruel trick on myself.
A little while later, the whole staff came out, sat me down and told me they were sorry for my loss. They explained about the doppler and the lack of vital signs, etc. They were incredibly compassionate and offered me as long as I wanted in a private room to say goodbye. They started to tell me what options they offered as far as cremation, etc., but I wouldn't have it. Everything became even more surreal, and things seemed twisted and distorted. I knew they were wrong. I didn't need a room and I didn't need their "options." I wanted him back, immediately. I needed to get him home and back under his lights to warm up. I've worked miracles with my own goddamn hands before, and by that same damned god, I would do it again. This was no DNR or slow code. These people didn't know what they were doing, but I wouldn't give up. I held out my hands for Lenny. Reality suddenly came back into sharp focus and I took in the look of sadness, sympathy and knowing pity on the face of the tech who gently laid my baby back in my arms. She let me know that they were here at any time if I needed anything further. I hated the way she looked at me and spoke to me because I recognized her countenance and tone. It was mine. I used it when I spoke to families about their loved one's death. Reality retreated once more and I took Lenny and left. I passed my husband in the parking lot, as he had tracked me to the vet and followed, but I couldn't stop for him, I had a life to save.
At home, I checked his basking temps and laid him in the warmest spot. My husband kept asking what he could do, but I saw the wretched pity in his eyes and I hated him for it. I shouted at him that unless he would help me with Lenny, what he could do was leave me alone. I stood vigil next to my baby for a couple hours. His tank that I made for him myself during covid was actually big enough for me to get in, so I did. My poor husband didn't know what to do so he just hovered and gave me reassuring pats. I think he knew that words would fall on deaf ears, and I was grateful he had stopped talking. I decided the basking wasn't enough, so I gave Lenny a nice warm bath in his favorite foot-spa tub. When that didn't work, I figured he might need to be near me, so I took my top off and laid him on my skin. I held my breath and held him, waiting to see him take a breath. When he didn't, I got out my own pedi stethoscope, pulse ox and doppler. When I got nothing, I tossed my things aside, cursing them as cheap trash made for humans anyway. Reality lunged for me again as I glimpsed for the first time his fixed eyes, decidedly more sunken than they had been when I first found him. My husband must've seen the horrible realization dawn in my eyes, and he took the opportunity to gently remind me that we had to pick up the kids from school and break the news to them. I heard him this time, but instead of answering with words, I was busy emitting those horrible, gut-wrenching noises I'd heard from others but never uttered myself until now. I always thought that those sorrowful wails must be involuntary, radiating from the very depths of one soul crying out in agony for another. As it turns out, I was right.
I laid with Lenny on my chest and just cried my eyes out until it was time to pick the kids up. Lenny was technically my teenge son's pet, a pet he's had more than half his life. Lenny's mansion is a furniture fixture in my son's room, and I knew he would immediately notice Lenny not in there. My preteen daughter was not as attached, and I figured her less likely to take it AS poorly, but still, I had to come up with something. My cruel rational brain corrected me: no, you will not "come up with something," you have to tell them the truth. So I did. My daughter was sad, my son was crushed, to put it mildly. I tried to be strong for him, and I managed to hold back those mournful cries that are just... so terrible to behold. But I didn't hold back the tears and we cried together. We got home and I retreated to my room to hold Lenny. My son joined me and up until bedtime we just cried with tv in the background. My husband picked up fast food for everyone, but my son had no appetite and the thought of eating made me gag. How could dinner and the rest of the world just continue on without my baby in it? How could this be happening?
At bedtime, my teenage son wanted me to sleep in his room. He hasn't asked me to stay in years. He was clutching the cat for comfort. A cat that we had before we even had our son. A cat that was my first baby and should've been a comfort to me as well. A cat that was so intuitive he knew where he was needed, always and had followed me around all day, though I shunned him. My sweet cat was no comfort to me. All I wanted was Lenny, and I was torn between honoring my son's request and being with Lenny. In the end, I laid in bed with my son until he fell asleep and then slunk back to my room to hold Lenny through the night. I didn't sleep. I just cried and begged god to let me wake from this nightmare. I crept back into my son's room at 5am, miserable, exhausted, and so sad I thought I would surely die. I laid there crying quietly, wishing I was still holding my lizard.
At 645 this morning, Lenny's lights went on, and I had to stifle my sobs before I woke the kids. I told my son he could have the day if he wanted, but I don't think he could bear watching me holding Lenny and crying all day. He opted for a late start and I took him out for coffee, a treat he usually loves. Today both our coffees sat untouched. We talked about Lenny. I read him some excerpts from a book about pet loss that resonated with me. I knew I had to get it together at least a little for him. He seemed comforted, and I found that I was a little comforted as well. He went to school. I went home to my baby.
When I rushed upstairs to finally take him in my arms again, my horrible brain teased me... what if he was actually ok? What if this was one of those "I thought he was dead" situations? Maybe when I got up there I'd see he had moved! I ran, as if I'd miss it if I didn't hurry. When I got to him, that awful reality hit me again and I could see that he was bloating. I wailed anew. My baby was gone. My precious Lenny was dead. My Jiggly Guy would not jiggle ever again. I couldn't bear it. I still can't.
I made clay prints of his little hands and feet, and his sweet tail with the tiny kink he's had since we got him. I made 2 sets, one for me and one for my son. I stroked him and spoke to him and finally I admitted to myself that I had to take him back to the vet and arrange for his cremation. I ordered his beautiful urn, and lizard urn keepsakes for my son and I. Just as I was about to get in the car to make that trek to the vet, I couldn't. I felt like I needed more prints, more keepsakes, more of him. I couldn't find the remaining clay I'd just used. Suddenly I HAD to have more. I couldn't bear not having more. I went to the craft store for new clay. I returned to Lenny and used up the whole 5lb tub of clay.
