7 Stages of Grief

There are seven emotions one experiences when grieving.
First comes shock when one first finds out what happened or what is wrong.
Second is guilt when one thinks to his or herself "I should have...".
Third is anger when one usually searches for someone or something to blame.
Fourth is depression, the stage where the magnitude of loss is realized.
Fifth is the upward turn, when depression begins to lessen.
Sixth is reconstruction, when one actually begins to move on with their life.
And finally, seventh is acceptance, when one finally looks forward to planning for the future.

I have experience these seven stages repeatedly in my life. One experience that is still quite vivid in my memory is when I learned that I would not be able to carry a healthy baby in my belly.

The first day I was in shock. I gave one big cry after I got off the phone with my doctor. I spent the rest of the day repeating to myself "Holy Crap! I can't believe it." Later, I tried to dismiss it and told myself "Its not a big deal. We'll adopt." But inside I was still in shock.

The second stage caught up with me that night. I laid down to rest my head for the night and my emotions began to overwhelm me. Guilt was setting in. I cried and cried. I told myself that I should have never been born. The world would be so much better without me. I cried some more. I imagined every dream of every child I wished for slipping through my fingers. I cried in Brett's arms. I wanted to die (though I wasn't suicidal, I just wanted God to take me). And I cried myself to sleep.

The next few weeks I would spend blaming God for making me endure such a trial. Amidst the scowls at the heavens, I blamed my mother for giving me such a trait. Bless her heart, she had no idea. But that didn't matter to me. She gave me that wretched gene(which I now jokingly call my "stupid gene") that made me infertile and she and God were to blame. I also hated every pregnant woman who stepped into my line of sight. I loathed the baby bumps I seemed to see everywhere I turned. I wanted to scream!

I eventually got over the anger stage. I apologized to Heavenly Father for cursing him the past few weeks. I also apologized to my mother for blaming her for something she had no clue was in her DNA. And I resolved that all those pregnant women couldn't help that I wasn't in their shoes. Then, I became sad. I became very, very sad. Morbidly depressed might describe it well. I cried again, and again. This stage must have taken the longest to get through, or so it seems.

A few months after I got the devastating news, the depression finally began wearing off.

Soon after that I found myself smiling and laughing more often.

Then, about March, I had heard that Austin's birthmom was looking for a couple like Brett and me. And that's when the seventh and last stage of grieving finally entered my world. I began planning what my life would be like with a little tike again. It was the greatest thing that ever happened to me...not the whole grieving experience, but Austin coming into our lives when he did.


I learned a lot from the stages of grieving I went through recently. But it wasn't something I wanted to go through again so soon.

Have I mentioned how much I love my dogs? They are family to me. When I lose a loved one, even a dog, I cry hard. I love Macy and Clyde with all my heart.

We took a healthy and happy Macy in to the veteratarian clinic to get spayed on Monday. We assumed it would be a routine surgery with zero complications. What unfold the next few days after her surgery was enough to send me back into the 7 stages of grief.

Brett went to pick up Macy from the vet clinic to find her in serious pain. The vet assistants just told him she was "being a baby." We didn't really worry about it at the time. We just made sure to take extra care of her. The next morning, we noticed that Macy wasn't getting out of the shade & off the ice she was laying on and into the sunlight, like she usually does on a nice sunny day. So, I went outside to pick her up and move her into the sun. I assumed she was just in far too much pain to move, I would move her. As I picked her up, I notice that she didn't wince. As I toted her across the fenced back yard, I noticed that she wasn't moving her hind legs or her tail. Again, I attributed it to her painful recovery from being spayed.

After a while, I went to a friend's house to work on a project. Brett called me on the phone to tell me that he was taking Macy to the vet, that her hind legs were still out of commission. He said he went outside to feed the dogs, when Macy started her way to the back porch, her legs dragging behind her. I was shocked! I thought surely she would regain the use of her legs that evening after the pain settled a little. My heart was broken for her.

Once at the vet, we learned that Macy had a swollen disc in her back. How on earth could this have happened? Doc gave her a steriod shot to reduce the swelling. We hoped that would cure the paralysis. Still in shock, we went home and resigned to waiting it out through the night.

The next day they did another x-ray. No signs of swelling or fratures, and no signs of Macy walking. I began to feel guilty for even suggesting we get Macy spayed. Maybe she would be ok if we'd waited a month or two. Maybe the vet & vet assistants would have been in a different mood and nothing would have gone wrong. Maybe things would be different.

After a couple of days of Macy being kept overnight by the vet, we started trying to put things together in our heads. And that's when the anger set in. Macy had gone into surgery happy and healthy and walking. She came out of surgery in writhing pain. And the vet assistants paid no mind to the amount of pain she was in, writing her off as "being a baby." If they'd only took her seriously and checked her out, maybe they would have found something. Maybe she'd still be walking. It also makes me think..."What did they do to her? Did they drop her before or after the surgery? Did they break off the tip of the needle in her spine when administering anesthesia?" Someone is to blame for my dear Macy's misfortune and I'm not letting this fall by the way side. That is where I am now. I am angry. I am livid! I'm losing one of my best friends! I love Macy! I'm beggin God to be merciful to my 3 year old mutt. Please, God, give relieve us with a miracle! I miss her terribly. I want to bring her home and have her frolic and play with Clyde in the back yard. I want to play "keep away" with her favorite bone again. But because of someone's mistake, I only have a very very slim chance of that ever happening again. I'm so mad!

I'm completely aware that this stage will pass. I will move through this and I will move on. But if I'm going through this over the loss of Macy's legs, will I start this whole thing over again if we have to put her down?

I don't think I can.