I don't remember exactly when the decision was made to start looking into getting a dog again but suddenly both of my parents were looking into goldendoodles. We've never bought a dog. We've always rescued them but due to my mom's worsening pet dander allergies, we needed a "doodle" and more specifically a F1b. What exactly does that mean? A F1b is created when a golden retriever mates with a poodle creating a normal goldendoodle. To create a F1b, a goldendoodle mates with a poodle making the dog one part golden retriever and two parts poodle. No dog is truly hypoallergenic but a F1b is the closest you'll come. They don't shed and by my mom's own testimony, she can and does cuddle with our dog with no allergy issues. Each goldendoodle is different and our girl is the greatest combination with the personality of a golden retriever and the body of a poodle.
My father found a breeder in Lancaster, PA and he and I made the two hour or so drive from where we live to see, and hopefully bring home, one of the 10 week old puppies. The second that the woman placed our Rosie in my dad's arms, I knew we had found our dog. She was so sweet, so cute, and proved that what the woman had said - that particular little girl loved to give kisses and kept kissing my dad's face and hands. We drove home and that weekend my other sister came over to meet her and to help name her. We must have read through at least ten lists of "names for dogs" as well as lists of basic female names. We first settled on Cady in large part because we love the Netflix show Longmire and Cady is one of the main characters who has plenty of spunk which fit our puppy. My dad took her out and by the time they returned...we'd changed our minds. When they walked back in we announced that this adorable puppy who we'd just decided we would name Cady and who my dad had been calling Cady while outside, was going to be named Rosie which turned out to be perfect due to her disposition.
Amazingly enough, from the very start Rosie has seemed to just know that I'm different. I always used a wheelchair at home and crutches while out having lost my right leg above the knee years before but at the time, unable to use a prosthesis. She was patient when I'd crutch my way up and down the stairs. She simply followed me giving me space unlike our previous dog who thought that the area where my lower leg had been was created specifically so she could run under me to get up or down faster. I often noticed Rosie watching me with a tilted head almost as if she was examining the situation very closely. She got in the way of the wheelchair once and immediately learned that unless we are playing, that she needed to stay to one side of it. Crutches, even for those of us who would be Olympic champions if crutching ability was a Paralympic sport, can at times be tricky and even the best of us take some rather nasty falls on our own. Add a puppy on a leash full of energy to that and things can get far far trickier. Rosie, however, from the start just knew what she needed to do and I could walk on my crutches, her leash in my hand wrapped around the crutch handle, and not have issues. There was even one time when a rabbit hopped across the driveway directly in front of us which, with her leash in the hands of any other person would have had her taking off at maximum speed dragging the person holding that leash with her, and though she registered it and watched it very closely Rosie knew she was with me and that I am different. She tensed and wanted that rabbit badly but didn't take off after it. She just looked back and up at me and we continued to the car without incident. Rosie is slightly over two years old now and I, thankfully, have been able to start using a prosthesis and still when I'm the one holding the leash she's aware and alters her behaviors.
Rosie has been an amazing source of amusement, distraction, and also a source of calmness during the medical problems I've dealt with since she entered our lives. I've endured a lot in the past 14 years. A "simple" knee surgery led to a severe infection and the first of many emergency life saving surgeries. I stopped counting the number of surgeries on my leg during these past 14 years when I hit the 60th. I've survived sepsis, a severe blood infection, a number of times and months after getting Rosie I survived the worst case of sepsis I've ever lived through - one that many of the health professionals I know didn't believe I would live through. My fever reached a maximum temperature of 106.2 which in layman's terms boiled my brain causing a few seizures and damage to my brain. It is thought that due to that bout of sepsis the bacteria from my leg traveled throughout my body through my blood and marrow and found a home in my right ulna laying dormant until last year. I have since lost most of my ulna to osteomyelitis bone infection, have had massive surgery to insert hardware to strengthen my radius, and am all too well aware that should the infection return I will likely become a double right sided amputee losing my right arm. It has quite honestly been a living hell but Rosie has been there knowing when I need her most to help with anxiety, depression, and fear.
Eight years ago, I had an arterial hemorrhage from my stump nearly bleeding to death on my own couch at home that required surgery, many blood transfusions, and opened my eyes even more to the fact that my health situation was precarious. I also learned that I'd gotten lucky because had I been asleep when the artery blew, there's no doubt that I would indeed have bled to death. The realization several days ago that this past week has been the eighth anniversary of that event triggered my PTSD and caused me to have to deal with flashbacks, panic attacks, and reliving certain moments of it as though it was happening in the here and now. Rosie has responded by sticking very close to my side and more than once I've awoken from a nightmare with Rosie snuggled closely to my side nearly smothering me with her concern, protection, and love.
To top it all off, and I'm sure it's because I'm already on edge from the PTSD caused by the events of eight years ago, I had a breakdown over the death of my sister. I was asked by my family at the time if I'd be OK with Michaeleh coming home for hospice care knowing she would live her final months and die about 20 feet from my room. I, of course, said yes knowing this is where she would want to be if she were able to voice that to us. I was the family member in charge of the midnight pills because I'm a night owl and I'm often a roamer at night when I can't sleep. I spent every night for almost two months spending the midnight hours with my sister. Due to where her bed was, the minute you opened my bedroom door you could see my frail dying sister which is what I faced every single morning when I opened the door. At night around 10PM or so I would retreat to my room. I'd shut my door until midnight, open it, give her the pills she needed while she could still take them, and spend at least one to two hours with her in the middle of the night. That was my routine every night. It wasn't easy but if I had to choose and do it all over again, I'd choose and do the same things.
It isn't often, but now and then when my anxiety is already high, I'll open my bedroom door with the intent to get a drink from the kitchen or to look out at the darkness thinking about things and stare at that space where my sister spent her final months and where she died and not even realize I'm frozen in the past. That is what happened last night and before I knew it the tears were falling. Rosie had been upstairs fast asleep at the top of the stairs (I know because she was snoring). I hadn't made a sound as I sat there reliving touching but very hard moments when out of nowhere and out of a dead sleep Rosie flew down the stairs to my side covering my hands with kisses. She followed me to the kitchen for a drink and followed me back to my room hopping up onto the bed. She watched my every move closely and once I settled in bed she laid herself on me. Her chin was on my chin, her body was laying down the length of mind, and she stared at me. We stayed that way, my dog and I, until she was sure that I was OK and only then did she climb off of me. She found a comfortable spot at the end of the bed and kept her eyes on me for the next half hour with one paw on my only leg until satisfied that I was doing better. It's not the first time she's done nearly exactly this and I know it won't be the last.
Rosie is not a trained therapy, PTSD, or Emotional Support dog though we are working on training her as a therapy animal. She may not be fully trained or certified, but she is every single one of those things without the training and certification and not just with me. It can be another family member having a hard time or a family friend staying with us struggling with something in their life, she senses it and she reacts to it with love and support. She's been that way from almost the moment we brought her home and she realized that I'm different that most people. I go to therapy for my PTSD which has been hugely helpful but I also greatly credit Rosie for the fact that I'doing better with better control over it. A fact that most people, even those living with PTSD, don't know is that a single PTSD episode can last for up to 72hrs before you're back to your true self again.
I credit my therapist but also greatly credit Rosie for the episodes I do have lasting for less time than they ever did before. I tell people all of the time that she has played a big role in saving my family after Michaeleh's death. My other sister isn't a dog person and yet she loves Rosie and you can see her face light up when Rosie is around and is happy to have her come with us to she and my brother-in-law's house when we all. Rosie has certainly saved me from some seriously dark and scary points during my difficult journey through life. I'm not a very religious person but I am spiritual and I do believe in guardian angels and I wholeheartedly believe that Michaeleh knew that for us to be OK, we needed Rosie and made sure she was the dog who became a member of this family.
As I type this, much calmer than I had been a few hours ago but still coming down from the anxiety attack, Rosie is sleeping peacefully at the end of the bed with a paw on my leg slightly snoring as if to say, "I'm here, Meg. I've got you and I'm not letting go."
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| Rosie taking care of me. Under the blanket with me when I got home from the hospital. Resting with me. Laying with her head up near mine. Sleeping on my stump. Happy to let me fall asleep with my arms wrapped around her which, on an ordinary day, she's not a huge fan of. Her paw holding my hand. |
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| Chilling in bed completely comfortable with my prosthetic leg knowing it's an important part of me. |
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| My adorable (and spoiled) Rosie girl, being a lazy bum comfortably sleeping on one of my pillows, playing in the snow, and showing off why everyone who sees her immediately comments on how cute and how beautiful she is. |
