A Detailed Account of The Story of Lucky, My Endearing Companion of 10 & 1/2 Years, What Cut My Time With Her Short, & What I Learned From This Experience - The Complete Story

As I type this, the time is 10:31 PM of Tuesday; May 21st, 2013. It is day 6 of my summer break. I made a choice to play ball today. I made a choice to organize my room and priceless possessions. I made these choices instead of staring at the television and subjecting myself to mindless, uncouth sexual jokes. I’ve been stuck in a bit of a rut lately, ever since this summer break started. I’ve failed to sustain myself after waking up at 4:22 AM. I’ve given into temptation. I am not tuned into my goals. Every morning so far, I’ve turned on the lights in the bathroom, voided, and went back to bed. I talked myself out of one of the most important steps to waking up early, washing my face. I hope these two choices I’ve made today can help me gain momentum again tomorrow morning.

When shooting around today, an Indian woman was walking a Golden Retriever puppy by the basketball courts of my elementary school. My eyes were glued to the puppy; so small, young, full of joy and curiosity. I couldn’t help but smile as it reminded me of my beloved dog, Lucky, of ten and a half years. I feel much love and warmth whenever I think of her. Her adorable, friendly, always innocent-looking face, her sassy demeanor with wagging tail and ear perked, filled with love and welcome whenever I’d come home. She was and still is, absolutely dear to me. It’s almost been exactly 5 months to the day since she left. My life has evolved in a way that has gradually fed me portions to allow me to connect the dots to understanding spirituality itself, and science of it. I could make the case that everything I’ve experienced in my life has contributed to my understanding today. My desire for understanding, exposure to being open and accepting of many people’s perspectives, exposure to a strong science background growing up, exposure to many paranormal television shows that allowed me to think about the core of truth in all the myriad of stories, learning about Dolores Cannon in freshman year of college and making connections with what’s happened with Lucky through by taking the opportunity to understand about cancer and how it relates to an afterlife, God, the meaning of life, and who I want to be in life. I mention the growth of my spirituality because it is intricately tied in to the decisions I’ve made in this learning experience, what I take away from this, and how I ultimately feel about what has transpired. This is the only the second time that I’ve written about what has happened, and the first where I will be going into more detail. There is just so much I want to say on this; so many thoughts like that of a gigantic redwood tree with extensive branches of philosophical, scientific, ethical, and spiritual topics, all interconnecting. It’s as if one thought, branches out to another, to another, and all the while, I’m trying to record all the thoughts as they come into my awareness in a logical, presentable order. In this post, I want to talk about the relationship I shared with Lucky, what happened to her, what I’ve learned from these series of events, how it’s impacted who I am, and where I will go from here.

It’s 5:16 AM of Wednesday; May 22nd, 2013 as I write this. I’m writing this in the living room, looking out the windows where the sun has barely risen yet. There’s a beautiful, benign light in the horizon over some short trees from my eastwardly facing neighbors. I love this moment of the day. It’s awe-inspiring. It’s quiet, beautiful, and it’s mine. Where to start? I remember the day I got my puppy and future beloved dog. After doing some chronicling and thinking back, my story with Lucky started in the early summer of 2002. I had just finished 3rd grade and summer was to be looked forward to with no academic work needing to be done yet, back at that age. I must have broached the topic of wanting a dog several times to introduce the idea to my parents and get the discussion going. My mom was relatively open to the idea while my dad must have been the harder of the two to convince. Through the discussion of dogs, came the breed of dog that I wanted. It was down to two breeds: German Shepherds or Golden Retrievers. My grandparents on my mother’s side had a German Shepherd when my mom was quite a young child. While I liked German Shepherds - as our neighbor owned two German Shepherds – I really wanted a Golden Retriever. The Disney movie, Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey, strongly influenced my love for Golden Retrievers. The natural scenery, the touching storyline involving the animals’ struggles, the love and self-sacrifice for each other and for their human companions, put together with the befitting music engraved an unforgettable impression on me.    

I do remember the day, even at that age, of my rendezvous with my future dog. We had been thinking for some time, and my mom found a Golden Retriever breeder in the yellow pages. That one, sunny, summer afternoon, I was sure it was the day. I could feel it in the air, a sense of excitement manifesting itself as my brother, sister, and I were all scurrying around the house, cleaning up and picking up any objects that may be hazardous to a puppy. The breeder’s house was in a suburban neighborhood over an hour away. That was fine with me. More anticipation builds during the wait. I remember what the breeder’s house looked like; it was a corner house. In the front yard, they had the puppies in the puppy exercise containment pen. I had told my mom that I wanted a female one because I wanted her to have puppies so I wouldn’t have to get another dog- yes I realize now that this is out of the league of possibility. Out of the litter, one puppy drew our attention more than all the other ones. When we got there, it was around evening and most of the other puppies were napping. This puppy was a female. She interacted with us while chewing at a sock, as puppies do. My mom preferred a male dog so she asked to see the parents. Of course I was much shorter at that age but the father dog was huge as my mom was also surprise at his size. My mom made the comparison of the father dog to the size of a bear. Uncomfortable with how big the male puppies could potentially become, it was clear which puppy we would chose, or more accurately, would choose us. My mom cradled our puppy home in the car. She sat in the middle row of our big, blue, dodge caravan, holding the gem that was the center of attention. I sat in the back row, which I was highly unaccustomed to. About half way back home, while brainstorming potential names, she let out her first wine. Here she was, with us, for the first day of many to come.

Her first steps through our home were comparable to as if I had entered the Taj Mahal, taking slow, delicate steps and observing everything in the surroundings with novelty and awe. We followed her closely to make sure she did not attempt to chew on anything that we had missed when cleaning up the floor. Inexplicably, she squatted down and went number two right in the middle of our kitchen floor. I had promised my mom I would be responsible for picking up her Uh-Oh’s, but being foreign at the time, I thought it was disgusting and ended up having my mom do the job. We set up her puppy pen on the only floor with hard tiles so that it would not absorb any urine in case she went. Just a little later after we situated her into her containment pen, she let out loud, poignant barks, one right after another. Barks which were much more high pitched than I expected a puppy to be able to make. I even joked to my brother that our puppy was just making a loud introduction and marking her arrival to the “commoners”. I remember not knowing how to deal with her behavior and even felt like we may have made a mistake of getting a puppy during her continuous barking fit. Ha! Silly me! Before bed, I remember my mom stopping by in our rooms, cradling our puppy like a baby to say goodnight. She looked adorable. The next morning, we got up early to let her out to the backyard to do her business. I have some pictures of her as a puppy in the backyard. I am uncertain if these pictures are from that day though. In terms of memories of her as a puppy, these are the main ones that readily come to mind. I have a few other quick clips of memories of her as a puppy but they are just glances that come to mind. I do very vaguely remember getting her name tag made with her name and information engraved onto the metal tag, which by that time, we had come to the agreement that her name, would be, Lucky.  

As in life though, there are the not-so-fond memories she experienced growing up. On that July fourth, we decided to bring her to a firework show. Needless to say, due to ignorance on our part, she became panic-stricken and took off after slipping out of her collar. I wanted to get a hold of her. I didn’t care about the fireworks. But my mom took action and told me to stay to continue to watch the fireworks while she went after Lucky. I doubt I was enjoying the fireworks very much. I had no idea how my mom got a hold of Lucky and to this day, still do not know, but thank god she did. I remember being in the van, sitting quietly, looking at her, and stroking her fur as she layed curled up in the middle row, resting. Lucky would serve to be a beloved companion in my life, along with aiding my growth through understanding myself, and helping me learn a couple important life lessons. It was not her time to go. It was way too early. Ever since that year though, she would be terrified during every Fourth of July period when legal or illegal fireworks would be set off.   

My dad had left the door open. As a young adolescent now, Lucky had escaped outside the vicinity of our backyard and home. I hear the commotions of my mom yelling that Lucky was outside in the front yard. I rushed out to see my young, bouncy, energetic girl frolicking around in the grass in the front yard. Acting out of fear of her getting lost, injured, or worse from a bypassing car, I chased after her, just trying to get a hold of her and wrestle her down. I smirk as I write this as I know how ineffective and silly that plan was. Getting a piece of chicken would have been a better idea. I fortunately was able to get a hold of her with the help of my brother. It was all the way on the other side of the street, wrestling her down when my hand finally got some control of her, and with one of my classmates at the time looking at me. Embarrassing, but I didn’t have a choice.

In Lucky’s young years, our overgrown, lush backyard was her home. I was often more worried about her being alone than she probably was. She would run and jump on the windows facing our backyard, look at us inside inquisitively, then scratch the windows with her paws to indicate her wanting something. The winter of 8th grade, for our family trip to Taiwan, we planned to have one of our good friends at the time come by once or twice a day to make sure she was fed, had water, and to check up. That winter, there were strong winds and rain that tore through, and I recollect when I first saw her after coming back, Lucky gave me the impression of being this wild animal with disheveled fur covered in patches of mud, yet having this golden fur that shone through the dirt as she ran excitedly to our arrival. There were tree branches all over the place. It certainly looked like there was a windy storm and yet, she was fine tooth and nail.

Sometime during my late elementary school and middle school years, Lucky would be causing trouble for the neighbors. We had a couple loosened, wooden planks in the fence due to the repeated hits which were a result of all the times when my brother and I would play ball in the backyard. One day, while I was at school, Lucky got through the fence and from what my mom told me, Lucky went wild there and broke a couple things in their backyard and home. I do not mention any of this to disparage Lucky for how she was at a youthful age, but to demonstrate the entirety of who she was.

Many of my pictures I have of Lucky came in her later years with my sister getting a camera along with my brother and I getting Android phones. Some of Lucky’s happiest pictures came at a time after Senior year high school graduation. That summer, before, we headed to the airport, we brought her to run and play at the widespread, grassy field of my very close by elementary school. This was not the first time we had brought her there to exercise. We had this tennis ball launcher that we would use for her to sprint and chase the ball similar to that of a lion sprinting after an antelope. Her ability to run with vigor and a bounce in her step from being excited of playing a simple game of fetch could always light up my day.

Bringing her to my elementary school does not yield all wonderful memories though. During sophomore year of high school, I lost Lucky. I had developed an irresponsible habit of letting Lucky run on the field to do whatever she wanted, while I played at the basketball courts with my brother and Amrit, whom at the time, we were pretty good friends. The field is spacious but is gated all around with one small exception. Now after the two previous times of having Lucky nearly running off, it’s completely reasonable to be thinking, “why in the world would she be playing in the field without supervision?” I sigh when I type this. I got into a comfortable routine where I felt it was relatively safe that I would always be able to find her when I was done playing ball. There were times where the sun had set 4/5ths of the way, and I would call out her name and/or look for her on the field, and every single time, I had found her after no more than 20 seconds. I realized in the back of my mind that it was not 100% fool proof, but at the same time, since it had always worked before with no real problem, I fell into the temptation of being able to give Lucky lots of time outside, along with myself having fun. Well, one Friday evening, my luck changed. It didn’t feel different from any other day. I let her run loose on the field while I played ball with my brother and our friend. But when it came around evening time, I looked towards the field to obtain a location on Lucky. I did not see her immediately upon my scan. I walked towards the field and continued my scan left to right, to only not see her again. I was hoping my brother would say, “Oh, I see her. There she is”, to give me a sense of relief. At this point, I’m sure I started to worry. My pace towards the field sped up to a slight jog with more anxiety filling my voice. I could not find her. My brother quickly ran down the aisles where the classrooms were to see if he could locate her. Negative thoughts came to my mind. All these thoughts that I previously suppressed and denied that wouldn’t happen to me were popping into my mind. My brother showed up, nothing. There was one different thing today than compared to all previous days, there was a group of high school kids from my graduating year that were in the parking lot adjacent to where we were. In my panic, I did not care of the fact that these were people I did not know or people I never talked to. I quickly approached them and asked if they had seen a Golden Retriever anywhere. One of the guys told me that he noticed a dog go down one of the streets (not a busy street) and thought it was perhaps just that home’s owner’s dog. I felt a bit better, at least we had a location. I ran down the street corner to where he said he saw the dog to look if I could see Lucky. Nothing. I ran back to the group wondering what to do. Some of his friends decided to drive around in the vicinity. As slow as the clock seemed to tick, the sun had been setting for some time and daylight was nearing its end. I was still frantic in my head. I couldn’t show emotion and weakness in front of my friend. My friend offered to drive my brother back home. I didn’t know what he meant. Drive home? Did he mean drive around in the vicinity? We were good friends at the time so I did not feel that he was ditching out on us. But amidst the stress from the situation, this thought did come through my head. Not knowing what else to do, I stayed behind, just in case if my high school cohorts in the parking lot did find something. I remember thoughts of “Oh my God, what have I done?”, “Jesus I’m going to kill myself”, “How am I going to live with myself if I can’t find her or if she gets killed?”, going through my head. I said a prayer in my mind the entire time this was happening. While waiting in the parking lot, feeling overwhelmed and guilty of so much of what had just happened, my mom’s cell phone - which I used back then – ran. It was from home. I had no idea what was going to be said. I opened the receiver. It was my brother’s voice. In that split millisecond where his voiced entered my ears, I was not only listening to the words but his tone of voice for either sadness or relief. He told me that someone had left Lucky leashed up on our front gate. Someone had found her and it even looked like they had bought a brand-new, bright pink leash that was tied to our gate. Oh my god. How lucky was I. How fortunate was Lucky to be found safe. I expressed my gratitude towards my high school cohorts for their help. I wish I could have been more expressive of how appreciative I was of their concern. In the future, I hope I can develop myself and feel comfortable showing my emotions in times of vulnerability. I remember walking back through the basketball courts, which by this time were all empty, looking up at the sky and horizon with the last light of the day peering over the westward mountain down into the valley. I must have blown a deep sigh of relief. But from this lesson, I took away one lesson, when I really needed to take away two. I knew I could not let her run on the field by herself again. Sadly, this was the only lesson I took away from it. I took away a lesson on a task-oriented level where I learned I could not let her loose on the field unsupervised. But failed to see that what I needed to learn was to be completely responsible for her, as well as, to be appreciative of the time I had with her. I was appreciative of the fact that I had gotten another chance with her. But not the fact that I needed to be appreciative of the time I had with her or to be responsible for tending to all her needs. To not let her run by herself is not the lesson I should have learned. But not wanting to be completely responsible for the life that I wanted and chose to have was an area of my personality that I needed growth in.

From this day on, I found myself conflicted between walking her or playing ball with my friend. Because of the school work that I had and my mediocre studying habits, school work and SAT preparation took up a lot of my day after school, as they did for many Asian students my age. If I am honest with myself, walking Lucky was less fun than playing ball and on days that were already constricted on time, often times doing what I enjoyed won in priority over walking Lucky. This gradual development took place well into my years in college where we would only be seeing Lucky on the weekends. If I was feeling unproductive that day, I may have wondered if I felt like walking Lucky that day. I would convince myself that she could go another day without a walk. From there, often times, my motivation to walk her developed out of feeling bad for her being inside all day. This led to walking her, feeling like a chore I had to do. And this developed to, often times, relinquishing the task of walking her solely to my 14 minute older, more mature and responsible twin brother. I enjoyed the time where I would walk by in the house and see her. I would go pet her here and there, roll a tennis ball around with her from time to time, or try and pathetically chase her around the backyard when she would pick up a ball in her mouth and make a playful sound like that of a bark and a howl indicating that she wanted to play. The only other constant interaction I had with her was when I was eating and she would come sit by me, waiting for me to give her some of my food.

During senior year of high school, I became more interested in hanging out with friends outside of basketball. And the day that summer after senior year of high school, before heading off to the airport, my brother and I had fun playing with Lucky. We took some of Lucky’s best pictures then. We brought Lucky to the field to play much of her younger and middle years, but in her latter years after the incident of her getting lost, the conflict I had within myself between wanting to play ball versus giving Lucky lots of time to run on the field, I ended up electing to walk her instead of letting her run and exercise intensely, the way she had the most fun. In hindsight, I feel I should have taken her to the field to run and play with supervision instead of simply walking her around the neighborhood. Or maybe even do both.

That day, before we left for the airport, we planned for Lucky to stay at the house of a good acquaintance of ours. Although we were not leaving her alone with minor supervision and care or sending her to a dog hotel, which she hated, I could still tell that she was somewhat apprehensive about being left behind when my family and I left from my good acquaintance’s house. The first couple times in her life, when we would go on vacations, she would go to dog hotels, and although I do not know how she felt being there specifically, her tail would always tuck between her legs when we had to go there and she would want to be the first one out when we were there to pick her up. I do not judge her one bit for being scared of places like this. Many dogs are. I do want to note that the friend I left Lucky with, it is my honest opinion that he did a more consistent and quality job than I did in taking care of Lucky. Yes, he was doing it for a fee, but regardless. I love my dog a lot. Does that mean a monetary value can be worth greater than my love for my dog? No, it’s not, because money is not a currency that can be exchanged with your relationship with your companion. To do so is not only morally reprehensible but speaks to the character and values of oneself. It’s a similar question to compromising what you stand for, what you’ve worked hard for all your life for zeros on a check. I’m not saying that when it comes to a certain number of zeroes where you have to carefully squint your eyes to count to be accurate isn’t at all tempting, but there is no money on earth that will give you happiness if you are lost in your identity, lost in what you believe in, and living a life without a purpose. To accept it would be to trade your life story, your meaning in life, and in essence, all worthwhile meaning in your life once you accept a trade of this caliber.

Lucky has always despised being left behind, and I have played some cruel jokes on my part. There were times where I wanted to play ball while Lucky was with me so I would let her run for 20-30 minutes with supervision, then leash her up near the basketball courts while I played so she could at least have a change in scenery and not sit inside the house the rest of the time. Then when I was done playing, I would pretend to walk away to hear her whine and bark while stammering her little paws. I know it sounds cruel. I did it because I found it cute how she would get so serious over a “little” joke from my end. In hindsight, I know her anxiety to her behavior of being left behind was stimulated and persisted by me when I did these “jokes”. I did them around five times throughout the 10 and a half years I had with her, so it was not frequent, but at the same time my actions indirectly led to what would be her eventual passing in a seemingly small and seemingly insignificant way that at the time, was due to massive ignorance on my part, and would lead to a grand scheme of things “coming back to bite me in the @##”. If you are an outside reader reading this for the first time, you are understandably confused at what I am talking about. It’s hard for me to put a date for the start of what was to come but if there were a date when my nightmare started, it would be Friday, August 17th, 2012.

On Tuesday, August 14th, 2013, we had just gotten back from Yosemite. Lucky had her routine annual scheduled check-up on the 17th, just a few days before my Junior One semester of college was starting. So we left and drove to Lucky’s veterinarian clinic. When we got there, Lucky was hesitant about going in, as always. I do remember feeling a little uneasy myself before going into the vet clinic. Call it just an analysis-after-the-fact or an intuition, a thought of “this isn’t going to be just any other visit” ran in and lingered in my head uneasily. Feeling something was just not right, I went in, hoping these thoughts would be unfounded. When we got into the check-up room, this feeling of “something is just not right” nagged at me more. The room was small, cramped together, and may have contributed to my anxiety. It was a warm day. The air in the room felt stagnant and stale. The veterinarian came in and began his checkup. Everything seemed okay until Lucky winced at something. Alarmed, I became more worried. The vet had not accidently stepped on her or done anything in particular to warrant such a response. She was running a fever and found out she was bleeding. I saw the wound and blood parched skin near her private area and under belly area. Horrifying. Unlike a nightmare in a dream I thought I was dreaming. I felt like I was in a twilight state. I was zoning out and could not believe what I was seeing and hearing. The vet was trying to palpate the wound only to see Lucky react in pain. It was unbearable. I heard the doctor say that this will require surgery. I heard that last word: surgery. Oh my god. I seriously thought this wasn’t happening. I feared this because I knew my dad was not going to support surgery that cost exorbitantly for my dog. A small surgery, the veterinarian said. He said it would cost several hundred. Upon hearing these words, I blew a small mental relief. I knew the money for this surgery would be provided by my dad. The doctor said that she needed surgery to remove the necrotic tissue from the area that was infected. The culprit of the crime? Foxtails. Once I saw these sharp and entangled torpedoes in her fur near her belly, I realized where they had come from. They were from our backyard that we had redone in April. We were renovating the inside of the house and also had the backyard redone. This meant removing several large trees that gave our backyard its wooded-like atmosphere. And as a result from the sudden new exposure from the sun and heat, the backyard turned into a yellow field of what I thought was just yellow grass that you see in the hills of sun-exposed open mountain terrain. Needless to say, I never once walked through the sprouting foxtails myself or else I would have known how dangerous these foxtails were. So there I was, stunned at what had transpired. We had to leave her there overnight to do the surgery. She was terrified with what was going on. We could only tell her in English and say to her, “don’t worry Lucky, we will be back!” hoping to get some feeling of security through to her to console her anxiety. We had to drag her into another part of the clinic which looked a lot like a kennel for her to stay until the next day. We all told her that we would be back. But our words seemed like they may have fallen on deaf ears as she did not seem to understand our words unsurprisingly. On the drive home, my mom, brother, and I were all silent in the car. I don’t know what they were thinking, but I was fuming away in my mind. Fuming that these weeds had injured and caused such pain to Lucky. As soon as I got back home, I stormed out into the backyard and said to myself that I was going to annihilate all these weeds so they could never harm her again. My mom said that she would be hiring some yard workers to get rid of them and to save my energy. It was hard to know which emotion to focus on. Whether to focus on the anger I felt towards these weeds or focus on the anxiety I felt of how Lucky was doing and her upcoming operation. Was she calm yet? Was she still terrified? What kind of surgery were they going to do? How invasive was it going to be? Would she get complications from the surgery? I then realized that this injury to her was not completely unforeseen. The week before the trip to Yosemite National Park, my brother and sister had noticed and pointed out to the family that there were a few dried blood drops on the floor of our new kitchen tiles. Being a nursing student, I immediately thought that perhaps my dad, who has type 2 diabetes, may have stepped on something sharp and his foot was bleeding a bit without him knowing, which can be a result of peripheral neuropathy that can happen to patients whose diabetes is not under control. So I went to check his feet and found no signs of bleeding. My sister actually said that it was from Lucky so I went to check her paws, to not find anything either. So I dismissed the notion that there was something wrong and reveled in the idea of going to Yosemite for the first time in years. So consumed with these thoughts, I decided I needed to take my mind off the anxiety. I played NBA 2K12, but to little avail. It would be fair to say that much of the time that I was playing, I was simply going through the motions of playing. I didn’t know what else to do to release the stress. So I sat there, going through the motions, and waited.

As one can expect, I was beyond eager the next day to get Lucky out of that dreaded veterinarian clinic. Back then, my regular waking hour was around 12, but I woke up early to get her out of there. We were there by 10, when they opened I believe. When we had signed in at the front desk, and the doctor released her into our care, she was bolting and ready to head out the door. And that’s what we did. My brother and I waited outside with Lucky while my mom finished up any paperwork. She was panting and I could tell she was still anxious after all that time there. I sat in the back of our sedan with her, petted her head, and told her everything was going to be alright. We were bringing her home and hoped this was the end of it.

She went back in for a follow-up appointment two weeks later on Friday, August 31st, 2013 with everything apparently okay.

Oddly, No more than a few days later after the follow-up appointment, she began limping on her right hind leg. I thought it was perhaps from a reopening (dehiscence) of the wound healing from the surgery. We examined her surgical site several times to find no obvious signs of incomplete closure. We decided to wait to see if would get any better on its own. One Friday afternoon, I asked my mom on the way back if Lucky’s leg was getting any better. She told me that she felt it wasn’t and in fact was getting worse. I didn’t want to admit it, but my brother and mom felt we needed to take her to the vet again.

The vet clinic, I can understand why people loathe hospitals. Places of disease and death. Places where good news and good feelings are just not abundant. Friday, September 14th, 2012. Of course Lucky was petrified of being there again; no judgment when I say that whatsoever as I can understand why she felt that way. The same veterinarian examined her wounds as we tried to soothe Lucky who we had to try and pin to the floor in as nice a manner as we could. He couldn’t find anything. He checked the Range Of Motion of that leg and compared it with the other leg. He couldn’t truly make a good call from his assessment. He recommended we take an x-ray to see what was going on. We reluctantly agreed, knowing that it had to be done to get to the bottom of what was going on. The entire procedure would take about 15 minutes. My brother and I waited outside the clinic, discussing what we thought it could be. Osteoarthritis? Rheumatoid Arthritis? Didn’t seem exactly right though based off the symptoms. I didn’t know what else this would be besides the conclusion that was lurking in the back of my mind, not wanting to confront or acknowledge the possibility. It was a long 15 minutes. When the results were in, I saw the x-ray.

A tumor. A tumor of the bone, in medical terms, an osteosarcoma, most likely. We didn’t know if it was benign or malignant but I saw that thick runaway hyperplasia tissue of the bone forming off the side of the femur where it should have been straight. I’ve seen television shows where people were in disbelief and all they could say were short simple sentences to describe their emotions. When watching these shows, I would think to myself, is that all you can say about it? Well, I’m trying now but I’m not sure I’m doing any better. It’s a moment in time that you never expect YOURSELF to be in. I know my facial expressions were void of any discernible emotion but I was in disbelief inside. It felt like someone could have snapped me out of it and told me to wake up. How did it happen to me? How could it happen to me? This isn’t supposed to happen? These things don’t happen to good people! I know as flawed as this statement is, it sure didn’t feel that way. We were referred to an oncologist.

On the drive back, my sister and I were sitting with Lucky in the back row while my brother drove and my mom sat in the front passenger seat. We were all silent with the noise of the freeway to provide background noise. I was sitting on the right side with Lucky in the middle. I had my left arm wrapped around her. I looked out the window, as far as the view allowed me to, and the inevitable question of “how much longer do I have with my precious girl” could not be denied. I had always known since that one night, some time in freshman year of college, where my brother told me about the work of Dolores Cannon, that her work would come back to console me at a time of difficulty. My mom started crying in the front with no need of explanation. My twin brother, just 14 minutes older than me, would begin his first of many demonstrations of examples of leadership to take charge and be the calm in the storm. He put his right hand on her shoulder. And that was all that needed to be done. No words spoken. I witnessed this and knew that I would have to grow from this experience, no matter how it turned out. The time for thinking only about myself was over. It was time I took up the responsibilities of tuning into the needs of others and most importantly, doing so.

When we got back, Lucky was sitting in the grassy corner of the backyard. She looked peaceful. My brother and I stroked her soft beautiful fur. While standing around in the backyard, I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the late afternoon, early evening. The blue, clear sky around us and the tranquility of the environment allowed me to think. I talked to my brother, asking him how to think positively. I wondered if music would help. We hoped for the tumor would be benign but we needed to bring her to the oncologist for them to do tests to know for sure. We talked briefly on our beliefs on spirituality. I looked at my beautiful girl, wondering about the road ahead.

The next day, Saturday, out of the corner of my eye, I saw “cures for cancer” trending on Yahoo searches. Just mere coincidence say atheists, something a little more than coincidence say believers in something more than the pure material world, and “who knows for sure so stop arguing” say agnostics. There’s something I need to get off my chest real quick here. I know I have previously told my friend that I was agnostic. I don’t believe I lied. Depending on the exact definition of the word, a general consensus is that agnostic means uncertain of the existence of god. Well this simple definition is quite complex and multi-layered. To be certain of something means to acknowledge the impossibility of the opposite of being true. To be certain means to know for a fact. I do not entertain the idea that atheism is completely right or wrong. Atheists ask some good questions but for those that remain open-minded, they will find that there actually is a substantial amount of evidence that points in the direction of consciousness existing outside the physical body and that the physical world is not all there is. There are many independent fields of science that are piecing together a lot of the concepts Dolores Cannon has found in her work. Simultaneously, I am not saying that there is no possibility that what she has found is wrong either though. The fact is that no one knows for certain, so why impose our beliefs and conclusions onto other people? Why should we feel threatened about what others believe about life after death? No one knows for sure. At the end of the day, people do need consolation from death of a loved one. Everyone needs it. Atheists get it from their unique perspectives and so do those who believe in an afterlife. I do want to make it abundantly clear that spirituality is not the same as religion. Nowadays, I do consider myself spiritual. I am not religious. Religion entails certain, specific details of history such as who did what and when, but when people argue over these details, they are completely violating the true pillars of what religion is supposed to be about! Religions teach about compassion, understanding, acceptance, forgiveness, love. Do atheists not practice the same thing? Are atheists people who practice the opposite of these? Maybe there are some, just like there are devout individuals who don’t practice these teachings, but I don’t find atheists to be people who don’t care about others. Are we not violating the same teachings of life, teamwork, and cohesion of our progression of the human race when we belittle others for believing in something that they find comforting and reassuring, regardless if ultimately true or not? People believe what they believe for experiences that they have gone through in life. Look at anyone’s life story. When you truly understand them, you can understand why they believe what they believe. It’s not a question of intellectual capability and reasoning that determines our beliefs. It’s the experiences that we have gone through and how we interpret them, that form our beliefs. And if perception is reality for each and every one of us, whose for others to say that it isn’t real? Just because we can’t perceive it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Just like how many channels exist, the television can only tune into one frequency at a time. We can’t see UV rays but does that mean they don’t exist? Just because we don’t, through our everyday experience, perceive the world to be round, does that mean it is not? I digressed, but I needed to get that off my chest.   

I had made an appointment with the oncologist. My brother and I would not be able to be there as the earliest was the following Tuesday (September 18th, 2012), when we would have clinical for our nursing program. My mom and sister would bring Lucky there. When the time arrived for her appointment, we were about done with clinical. Normally I would be joyous to be out but this day, there was only one news that could have made my day. My brother’s phone rang. It was my mom. I looked at my brother eagerly trying to overhear, yet part of me not wanting to really know. My brother told me that my mom had just brought Lucky there and they were doing tests right now. Why would she do that?! Why would she tell me that within 15 minutes they will find out if it is malignant or benign? Is she trying to torture me?! As if I wasn’t pacing back and forth already. I looked at the clock every two minutes thinking about this impending result. Part of me did not want to know. It’s so conflicting. It would be past 15 minutes, and there would still be no call. Where is this call? Why is it taking longer than they said? What does it mean?! In my mind, I was racking up a storm. My brother had told me to consciously visualize positive thoughts. I began to slow myself down. I walked slower, chest higher, back straighter, head up, breathing in, breathing out. If I couldn’t have full control over the results of the tests, I was going to control how I would respond to the results. Unsurprising from an intellectual understanding on the dynamics of our physiology and its effects on our emotions, I felt more in control. Lo and behold, my brother’s phone rang. The answer would either provide me with relief or a continuation of a nightmare. My brother handled the conversation with the oncologist tactfully and with respect, even when we learned that it was malignant. My reaction, intellectually, I wasn’t surprised. Knowing the circumstances under which it occurred, even when I didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility, I will say in hindsight that I was unsurprised. Emotionally, I maintained my emotions with my body language, breathing depth and rate and took the news in stride. Certainly it was not the news I wanted to hear. The oncologist recommended we amputate the leg and do chemotherapy and/or radiation. I inquired about the possibility of just doing the amputation, knowing the toxic side effects of these cytotoxic drugs. To not my understanding, the oncologist told me that amputation itself would not yield survival time by much. My understanding is that if the cancerous cells are removed before they metastasized, wouldn’t that solve the issue? I asked this question to my clinical instructor and she said chemo and radiation is still usually needed. I could have prodded more to see why but I was even having doubts if I wanted to amputate that leg. Did I want to deform her body? What would Lucky’s reaction be? How would she adapt? What kind of quality of life are we looking at? I knew chemo and radiation were out of the picture. I was not going to subject her to that pathetic quality of lifestyle for an extra several months where she would be suffering from the inhospitable side effects. As hard as it was for me to make that decision, it was a no brainer for me and my brother. No question. We finally left our clinical agency, but I did not walk away an emotionally battered individual. I had learned something the previous day, an adjunct to the online search of “cures for cancer” that I had saw on Saturday. And it was empowering. It gave me hope. It was another foundation for me to stand on during this difficult time. It would also turn out to be a very important resource that has contributed to my new-found understanding of cancer that I have today.

Dr. Bruce Lipton is world-renown author, speaker, and scientist who is merging quantum physics with cell biology and through doing so is also helping to contribute to the merging of science and spirituality. To put it briefly, through his research, he has found that our perceptions of our environments operating via epigenetics, change our DNA’s and control which genes are expressed and as a result have a direct impact on our health, well-being, and explains how our beliefs significantly contribute along with our ever-growing toxic physical environment, to the chronic diseases of this century, just like cancer! Dr. Bruce Lipton is one of the pioneers of epigenetics. Pay specific attention to the words that I used. It is our perception of our environments that control which genes express themselves. He changed the idea of us being victims of our genes through being automatically expressed by a result of having the unfortunate genetic inheritance, to us being the ones responsible for our health and well being. And if you have studied Dolores Cannon’s material, you will have made the connection with one of the things she has found, that being, you make yourself sick.

So through my strong background in science which started through high school, to learning about the idea that you make yourself sick from Dolores Cannon, to hearing about how science is independently corroborating many of the things Dolores has found through her sessions with her clients, I felt I had discovered something of great importance. I had a plan to save Lucky. It was a plan I was willing to do without the toxic side effects and serious collateral damage caused from chemotherapy and radiation.

Number one thing I needed to do was to decrease as much stress from her life as possible. This means I did not want her going back to that clinic again. Although I wasn’t there at the oncologist’s office, I think it’s fair to say that she wasn’t comfortable there either, which is a place she would have to return to at least once every three to four weeks for the chemotherapy. Not going to do that. If anyone has read about Bruce Lipton’s work and has a relatively decent understanding of biology and the human body, you’ll know that chemotherapy suppresses the immune system. The immune system is the one that kills foreign intruders like bacteria and eliminates cancerous cells! Every single person in their body has cancer cells. Normally, they are killed off by the immune system! It is only when your immune system has been suppressed for so long, that these cells have grown and spread to the point where it is detectable, that the doctor can diagnose you as having cancer. My brother has written an extensive article that I’ve posted here on this blog called The Cancer Cover-Up, compiled from spectacular resources talking about the true nature and beast we are “going up against”. I put that in quotations because if you read it, you’ll understand why chemotherapy does the exact opposite of what needs to be done, why it doesn’t work, the real causes of cancer, and the despicable money/profit making bastard multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical companies’ role in aggressively influencing legal and political powers like the FDA to keep cancer in business. Yes you read that right. Think it’s just a conspiracy theory? Do the research and you’ll find that there have been cures for cancers that are natural, plentiful, and most significantly, non-patentable that have all been outlawed by the FDA!

Bruce Lipton recommends the use of Psych-K, a method of replacing negative beliefs with positive ones permanently. I have never used or tried psych-k but this isn’t something that is for Looney toons and crackpots to try out and squander. Do the research and you’ll see that it’s far from that. There wasn’t a way to do psych-k on Lucky obviously, so the best I could do was to keep her stress levels low (stress suppresses the immune system; notice why more people get sick around finals week of school?).                

That Tuesday, we began planning our plan of attack for Lucky. With the thought of serendipitously discovering the work of Bruce Lipton, my brother wondered if there was any already existing treatment or cure for cancer that was hidden from the public’s knowledge. That Tuesday, we stumbled into Quantum Touch, which is “a method of natural healing that works with the Life Force Energy of the body to promote optimal wellness to focus, amplify, and direct this energy, for a wide range of benefits”. My brother found this website on Saturday, September 22nd, 2012 and emailed it to me. I have not done much research in how quantum touch may work but reading a story about it: http://www.abovetopsecret.com/forum/thread511571/pg1 and reading about quantum touch on their website persuaded me to try: http://www.quantumtouch.com/index.php?view=article&catid=187%3Aspecial-topic-reports&id=942%3Aquantum-touch-and-animals&option=com_content

This website here does a decent job describing how it works: http://www.transperception.com/quantum-touch-healing.htm

As you can see, it’s similar to Chi Gong. I remember feeling awkward calling so many strangers, who were practitioners listed on the quantum touch site, but I got over my fear of calling strangers as a positive side benefit. I got in contact with Mrs. Schilly and after telling her my situation, going over questions I had of how the session would go about, her background, experience, and how to know if the session would work, we made an appointment session to be done over the phone on Saturday 11 AM, September 22nd, 2012. The session was done in a quiet place, with my hand on my dog, moving to different areas as directed. From her experience, she has been able to extend lives, allow patients to find peace and relieve anxiety, but her patients have still passed away from cancer. After the session, I did not notice any noticeable changes. That was the end of that. I felt like we needed someone with more experience in the matter. I felt like she was a good person, and has done good for those that she has helped, but I was looking for something that was more potent, impactful, and direct. On the 18th, the day of Lucky’s diagnosis, I also called a handful of other people. I was looking into getting a Dolores Cannon Quantum Healing Hypnosis Practitioner to perform a Past Life Regression and see what the “Subconscious had to say about it”. ßRead about Dolores’s work and you’ll know what “The Subconscious” is (not the same as in psychology). On September the 22nd, later that day, after bringing Lucky onto the car for a ride with us and her refusing to budge down off the car after getting back, I did not know what to make of it. I did not know if she just stubbornly wanted to stay on the car or if her right hind, limping leg was further exacerbating her ability to walk on her three healthy legs. I felt this was getting more and more out of hand. I searched up a dedicated DC QHHT practitioner and made the call.

It was a memorable experience. I don’t know if I want to go into details of what was talked about as that is a whole another story in it of itself. But through the session, I did gain a lot of understanding of what I was doing in my other life, why I am in the nursing profession, what I am here for, why Lucky got cancer, and all in all, obtained some answers and understanding to many of life’s questions that pertain to myself.

On Wednesday, September 26th, 2012, I had scheduled an appointment with Dell Morris the cowboy healer. My brother handled the call and an information that he yielded differed from that what the SC told me during the regression.

On Monday, October 8th, 2012, we had gotten back from Los Angeles after making an appointment with Chi Gong Master Hong Liu. It was a face to face appointment and we brought Lucky there with us. Master Hong Liu mentioned something that caught my attention, the fact that Lucky, ever since this cancer diagnosis, has been voluntarily been sitting outside on the concrete a whole lot more at night. This is significant as towards Lucky’s latter years, she would want to come into the house whenever we were inside as well. Master Hong Liu, happened to mention that dogs are more in tune and can absorb or channel the energy from the ground to help heal themselves. Specifically hard ground, not soft ground like a grassy patch. Apart from the session, my memory of Lucky moving around the gas station on the way back from highway 5 was one of overall, a slight concern as there was no significant, noticeable change to Lucky’s status. I’m not sure I expected to see anything miraculous. But that’s not to belittle the fact that just because I can’t see the change, that it did not benefit. http://undergroundhealthreporter.com/quigong-ancient-chinese-healing#axzz27EVWO3lB

Reading this and finding out about Chi Gong master Hong Liu has definitely played a part in my mom taking up Chi Gong, so even though there was no miracle, counter to his book “Mastering Miracles”, I would not say it was a waste. And plus, it would only contribute to my knowledge of how Chi Gong helps fight against cancer.

On Wednesday, October 10th, 2012, I bought a book called “Dog Cancer: The Holistic Answer” by Dr. Steven Eisen. I wanted an already walked path, a path with a role model who had obtained the outcome that I wanted. I wanted a natural method, with no side effects to give Lucky the longest survival time with the best quality of life. None of that bullshit survival timeline of chemotherapy and traditional cancer patients where the survival time and the money the hospitals gain from the patient’s sickness are all that’s truly cared about. This book and the knowledge and resources it provided me were the foundation and backbone of what Lucky’s treatments were. It also gave me the foundation for my knowledge to naturally treat cancer, what causes it, and what can be done. Up to this point, we would walk her every day, but she would be limping every where she went. I hated how everyone who drove by all turned their heads and looked. It infuriated me that people would look out of curiosity. I get why people look. But each time someone looked, only negative thoughts and feelings came to mind. Thoughts that either reminded me of the predicament Lucky was in, thoughts of looking at Lucky as if she was some deformed monster, or thoughts of myself as a bad owner would fire up my temper. In my mind, I was thinking, “what the fuck are you looking at?!!” I hated seeing a car come down the road because I would see them looking and turning their heads as they drove by. I despised it so much because of the pity people would show. Pity and sympathy can be heart-warming, but when everyone starts looking at your dog as if, “oh, poor girl”, their pity boils my blood. I mean every time I see someone looking, I start feeling this way. It’s a matter if enough people look during that walk, that’s enraging. Intellectually I understand why they look, but when enough people look again and again and again, it’s equivalent to one person staring, and staring is rude! Why is staring rude? I don’t know and in my cantankerous state of mind right now, it does not matter! I just wanted to be treated normally. Even all the attention is not ill-minded or ill-hearted, when it comes to a handicap, everyone just wants to be treated normally because the extra, special attention that is placed, even if well-intentioned, constantly reminds them that they are different! If it’s attention for something that is positive and makes them be more respected and admired, then of course people would love that attention, but if it’s negative, that well-minded attention has the reverse effects! I wished for Lucky to be healthy again, just so I could walk and play with Lucky free of this feeling of being in an abnormal predicament. Before this her diagnosis, I was lazy to walk Lucky and disliked it because it felt like a chore. Now I appreciated the exercise she would get for the effort she would give, even when she was tired and resting every few steps, but with a glaring face staring my way as they would drive by. I wanted Lucky to enjoy the time she had outside, but I loathed it when someone was coming my way.

My brother and I were walking Lucky. It was drizzling and started to rain harder. With Lucky’s three healthy legs, you’d imagine that walking mediocre distances that she used to be able to do would be somewhat of a challenge. I did not know at the time that training her left hind leg by going long-distance was not a favorable action or training methodology to undertake to strengthen that hind leg. I found out later that there are certain programs out there that help train three-legged dogs adapt and gain strength back. So there we were trying to get Lucky to move faster due to the increasing pouring rain, and from our actions of rushing her, in hindsight, we may have pushed her too hard, as when she reached our gate, she collapsed and just rested there. We covered her up with our rain coats, went inside to fetch an umbrella, and opened it over her. She was spent, evidently. I do not know if that just tired her psychologically or actually impacted her physically, but on days afterwards, her walks would be a lot shorter and most of the time just consisted of her sitting down and resting on a grassy sidewalk or on a patch of some neighbor’s lawn. And as you can guess, it resulted in often times, us explaining to the neighbors who would come out, about Lucky’s condition. Not fun. I found it tiring how I had to repeat the type of cancer it was and telling others details that I’ve had to repeat multiple times over. There was even one time I ended up explaining to a neighbor who got mad that I was not taking Lucky to the vet after I told him several days before that “she just hurt her leg”. Not fun at all feeling like others are judging me as a bad owner for not wanting to explain to others whom I have no connection with about all the details of her cancer and unknown status. Again, just another case where I understand why they ask and are concerned but emotionally, felt irritated by others constantly reminding me of this “incurable” disease that she had. I certainly was not going to be telling them about my spiritual beliefs or what I’ve learned from Bruce Lipton to justify the decisions I’ve made for her treatment protocol-wise. I would tell them about Dr. Steven Eisen and his book but I was not going to go in depth in discussing something that at the time had no real conclusion to yet. This is one of the reasons I did not write about this on my blog prior. Until there was a conclusion with Lucky’s situation, I did not want to write about it, because anything I write is pure speculation of how it would turn out. Second, I did not want to subject myself to all the possibilities of what may occur without anything actually occurring. Why subject myself to that torture? Thirdly, if I was to actually write about it, every day, my mind could have wandered into a very dark place, which is something I could not afford, being in Nursing School and having the toughest semester, Junior Two, coming up.

As I said previously, and even more after really going on walks, she spent a lot more time outside in the backyard than she would prior to her diagnosis. I couldn’t help but feel like things were, although surface wise seemed alright, things were gradually going downhill. To be honest with myself, things were not going uphill in terms of getting better, and with Lucky becoming less mobile, the quantum touch session, the session with Dell Morris, the session with Chi Gong Master Hong Liu, with what I learned from the Past Life Regression, and with a long-standing belief since I was a kid that deep down, been worrying about Lucky, my intuition told me that I was running out of options.

To clarify this last part about “a long-standing belief since I was a kid that deep down, I worried about Lucky”, I remember as a kid in middle school worrying and being somewhat OCD about Lucky. This will sound a bit silly, but it’s very true nonetheless. Our television always had a channel that was blocked out and would yield in static if selected to that channel. It was channel 11. Channel 9 and 10 were KQED, which I watched, channel 12 was either the CW or the television guide – I can’t remember which – and channel 13 was the WB, I believe. I’m not here to recount the channels I grew up with in correct order, but I know that there was one channel in between these channels that I watched that was not receivable and yielded static. For some reason, I took this as something negative that would happen with the year or number 11. I know, it has no scientific value whatsoever, and I could have interpreted the drop in the series of television show as something completely otherwise, but I did not have a good feeling about that growing up. This is one example of me, deep down, worrying about her. The fact that I would worry about her when she was living in the backyard day and night is another example.   

I remember when my Junior One semester was over and I was coming back from my apartment in SF for my 6 week winter break, I just knew as an intuition, that if something was going to happen, it was going to happen before I came back for my Junior Two semester. Either something bad would happen during break or if Lucky made it through my winter break, she would be with me for some time until the older years of a dog’s life, with the exception of just having one bad leg and being diagnosed with cancer.  

Approximately two weeks into break, on Monday, December 24th, 2012, my mom was complaining of trouble urinating. We suspected it was a Urinary Tract Infection. My brother and I drove our mom to the hospital. I remember Lucky sitting in her spot in the kitchen corner, and I gave my sister the responsibilities to give Lucky the scheduled, immune-enhancing and anti-tumor supplemental modalities we were giving Lucky according to the plan we had layed out for her from Dr. Eisen’s book. This trip to the ER room just made me feel uncomfortable about everything that had been going on. It was just another thing of all the stress I was holding up. My mom was given some medications and things were fine.

Wednesday, December 27th, 2012 was the first day of the end days as some would say, or as I believe, the beginning of preparing to send her back to The Source and everyone and everything’s true home. I refrain from the word, God, not out of disrespect by any means, but because God in many people’s eyes is personified into this all-mighty individual sitting up in his throne ready to judge you. This is not at all the case of what Dolores Cannon has found but to spare the controversy, I merely used the term, The Source, as Dolores has put it. I remember the afternoon of whichever date it was. By Thursday, the end days had begun for sure. I can still see it clearly, Lucky sitting in her corner of the kitchen that is crowded by the kitchen island (table), refusing to get up. At least it seemed that she was refusing to get up. Being in her corner, there was not enough space for me to do any real assessment. All I could do was hope she was just being lazy and did not want to get up. After time went by, and seeing her not even move to change the way she was positioned, deep down, I knew something was awry. This was not like her, even after her diagnosis. Her reluctance to move was abnormal and out of the ordinary. I remember trying to move the cushions she was laying on to see if she needed some help to get up. We pulled her cushions out of the crammed kitchen corner, and tried to get her up, to no avail. We weren’t sure what was going on, but it certainly was not reassuring. As I write this, part of me wants to remember what happened exactly so I can document it as it happened. But my memory on this is unclear, and it’s probably best it stayed that way because the days that will follow are some emotionally tough days. I remember receiving a text on Wednesday, from a good friend of mine inquiring if I could play basketball the next day as one of his friends from college was coming to play. I never responded, which gives me thinking that this new issue Lucky had started on Wednesday. On Wednesday, I also bought some slip resistant mats, which also leads me to believe that she was having trouble standing on Wednesday and not Thursday. So I never responded to my friend’s text on Wednesday. The following is our text conversation which has been slightly edited for showing purposes:

Me: “Probably not man, didn’t sleep well.”
Thursday, December 27, 2012, 11:17 AM

Him: “Lol that’s a terrible excuse”   
11:36 AM

Him: “Neither did I, I slept at 3, woke up at 8, slept again till 10”
11:37 AM

Him: “Don’t be *lazy. Come play”
11:37 AM

Him: “My friend from ______ said 3 of his friends bailed so it’s just him and 2 others and the rest of us (a couple names)”
11:56 AM

Me: “I’ll have to think about it. If so, when and where?”
12:03 PM

Him: “_____ at 1. What’s there to think about? Don’t use the sleep excuse lol it’s the worst excuse ever lol”
12:06 PM

Me: “Oh wow. That’s early. Earliest ever, I think.”
12:08 PM

Him: “Yea it’s earlier”
12:09 PM

Him: “I texted you about it yesterday too though remember?”
12:10 PM

Me: “So how many total?”
12:11 PM

Him: “I think 8 if you and _(my brother)_ come.”

Him: “Can you?”
12:38 PM

Him: “How about 1:30?”
12:39 PM

Me: “Alright”
12:41 PM

I remember where I was and what state of mind I was in when I responded to these texts. I was incredibly stressed. Stressed to the point where I felt an escape when going out to buy food to eat. I was at Subway and I remember reclining the seat in the car and thinking to myself about how I felt. I felt more of a relief being outside of the home and outside from the situation. I remember looking up at the blue skies, yet not enjoying the view of miles up. A view that normally inspires me about nature, grandeur, and thinking to myself how high up Mount Everest must be, I did not enjoy these thoughts when they entered my consciousness. I felt somewhat guilty for, honestly, preferring this moment of being outside, temporarily away from the situation. Every time I entered home, I would always check to see if Lucky had gotten up by herself and moved, only to find that she has barely moved. I was beyond worried at this point because I knew if she was not going to the bathroom, we had an immediate crisis on our hands.

I want to temporarily address the conversation I posted here. I posted the conversation here because it serves as a marking point and significant event in the turn of events of this entire nightmare that started in August. When I was outside Subway, and saw these texts my friend had sent me, which believe me, he is not like that at all, I did not feel angry. What I did feel was the predominant feeling of “I’ve got to get Lucky to get up, or we all know where this is headed”. This feeling of desperation and deep down, a feeling of her returning back to God was right around the corner. I felt platonic to my friend’s insistence and perhaps from an outsiders third-party’s perspective, insensitive and despicable. I felt platonic generally speaking because he did not know about Lucky’s recent change in status. He knew that Lucky was diagnosed with cancer. He himself has a golden retriever, also named Lucky, and from knowing him with time, I knew he was not being insensitive to the situation purely because he did not know about the recent turn in Lucky’s status. I did not tell him, so how could he know? I do remember thinking to myself that I could really be blowing up a fuse from his apparent insistence and ignorance, but I could not blame him. It wasn’t his fault that Lucky developed cancer. From all the learning and soul-searching that I did during this time and even before all this happened from Dolores Cannon’s work, I knew if there was someone to blame, it was myself. For I failed to be responsible for Lucky. I failed to make sure she was getting the best quality food, water, exercise, and lifestyle. I never seriously took the time like I do now with all these articles that I write to see if Lucky was meeting the standard of care. Sure the fact that dog food companies can sell horrible, low-grade quality food to pets is despicable and irresponsible! Do not get me wrong, they are absolutely a huge problem, but I could have cared enough to check up and learn about the quality of food I was feeding my dog. So although I very well could have been angry at my friend for being seemingly insensitive to what was going on, I wasn’t. The unfavorable realization that this was seriously going downhill was apparent in the back of my mind.

And as one can see, I did decide to go “play” basketball. I remember feeling like I needed to be there for Lucky if she needed help standing to go to the bathroom. But I remember my parents “telling” me to go out and play because there was nothing I could do about it at the time. I was waiting anxiously to hope that she would get up and go use the bathroom. Having fun by playing basketball was the farthest thing from my mind. Heh. Ironic as a somewhat insightful thought just came to me, and it’s the connection that I used to choose to have fun by playing basketball over Lucky’s exercise and playtime and now, having fun was the farthest thing from my mind. I did not care one bit, and this was true all while I played. I remember when I got there, I remember getting there late, and my other friends that I play ball with whom are constantly late, were already there shooting around. I remember walking up to them, not saying anything and with no real discernible emotion on my face. I said hi to my friend and the two others gave a smile and asked in an inquisitive yet slightly teasing tone of voice, “so, didn’t sleep well huh?” indicating incredulity, probably expecting me to smile and give a “caught in the act” response to their joke. I did what felt natural to do. I simply kept my distance to not warrant a further question from them, looked up, nodded my head down with a small sigh, and looked straight ahead, experiencing the reminder of the situation at hand. They were amply competent at reading my body language and facial expressions as they all caught on nearly instantly that something was amiss. One of them asked, “wait, no, really, is everything ok?”, to which I looked away and did not give a response to, not out of wanting to be rude, but out of the potentially overwhelming stress of the situation while not wanting to be vulnerable with someone who did not already know what was going on. I could tell in a split second that my good friend deciphered my non-verbal response to my other friend’s question, and knew Lucky’s condition had gone downhill. My good friend’s college friends played competitively, and I know that if I was not in that stressed state of mind, I would have competed with a lot more energy than I did. I felt completely uninspired to try. Every time I caught the ball, energy seemed to drain from my body, and while running up and down the court, I would be thinking about the triviality of the game. How could people care so much over a game? My dog is in pain, things aren’t going well, and I’m supposed to care if the ball goes through a hoop? Thoughts of comparison between myself with that of my friend’s college friends came to my mind, but I could not care. How could I care? I remember looking at the farthest horizon, toward some mountains, and jogging up and down the court intermittently, then looking at my brother and indicating that this could not make an impression on me. We were both very low on motivation to play the game. I remember making a shot with the thought of “who cares?” percolating throughout my mind and body. After we were done playing ball, my friend asked if my brother and I wanted to spend some time with a couple of our basketball friends at his house to play a board game, which is something that has never happened before. I felt appreciative because he tacitly understood that I could use the company, and to be honest, as the way I felt waiting outside of Subway, I felt less stressed being outside of my home and being away from the situation. It’s very mixed feelings as I simultaneously felt guilty for wanting time to distract myself from what was happening at home, but at the same time, just the fact that I could get away, was something that I my soul was aching for. My friend told me that I could meet at his house a little later, after we had showered. I don’t remember exactly what happened – I’m glad I don’t – but I didn’t make it to his house.

Him: “Hey my mom said we can play here. Wanna come over around 5:50 till like 9?”     
Thursday, December 27th, 2013, 5:05 PM

Him: “Hey did you get my text?”
5:32 PM

Me: “Yea, I’m thinking”
5:33 PM

Him: “Ok”
5:38 PM

Him: “Not coming?”
8:22 PM

I didn’t respond until the next day. I believe I remember what happened Thursday night. My brother and I were in the backyard. We were manually trying to get Lucky to stand up and go to the bathroom as she had not urinated since this ordeal began. I remember previously yelling at my mom in response to what I thought was an insensitive comment. “If she doesn’t get up and pee, we all know where this is headed!” We were all exasperated. We tried helping her up again, to no avail. I watched futilely as she just seemed to struggle to stand up for whatever reason. Be it muscle weakness, balance issues, or a combination, she ended up on the ground. I remember it being dark, except for our backyard light that was on. It was a clear night. I let out a long sigh. I remember saying to my brother quietly, privately, and hesitantly, “Hey, I think we need to go for a walk.”   
It’s 8:49 pm, Saturday, June 29th, 2013 as I type this. I’m sitting outside in the backyard, taking the first of steps to regaining track of writing about all the things I want to write about. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by all the myriad of interesting topics that fascinate me, but because of many different excuses, at the end of the day, procrastination is paying a heavy price on my well being. There have been many occasions where I decided I was going to quit writing for this blog, because I feel so overwhelmed by falling behind. It all just keeps building up, so I need to catch up now, then limit the exposure I get and focus one by one until each one is done. Continuing with what happened to my much loved dog, Lucky.

My mom understood. Normally if we told her we were going for a walk at night, she would poke and prod, wanting to know about the where and why. The garage door closed and we began walking down the route that we walked Lucky countless times in the years that we had her. Neither of us said anything. I took in a deep breath of air and controllably, let it out. Didn’t know how to start. I thought back to a walk we had freshman year of college, while walking Lucky. My brother had just found out about Dolores Cannon’s work. I knew at that moment that her work would come back one day to really console me, to help me through a tough time. I told my brother, “You know I always knew Dolores Cannon’s work would play a crucial role in our lives one day.” We delicately talked about the assessment of the situation, being very careful in our word choice. “I don’t want to admit it, but if the situation doesn’t improve, we’re not going to have a choice but to send her back home.” I proceeded to tell my brother about what I had learned from my regression with Susan, omitting very personal details. I told him generally what the regression was like, reasons I believe it from a personal standpoint, what I was doing here on earth, and why this was happening. This led to us talking about the independent fields of sciences that are proving what Dolores Cannon has found in her work, along with many other past life regressionists as well. We talked about our perspectives of how we should view the physical “death” of the body. We must have easily talked for more than an hour. We came away from that talk, bolstered in our spiritual beliefs and as ready as we could have been in carrying out what soon enough, needed to be done. We certainly did not want to do it, but knew that it very likely will need to be done. We needed to talk to our mom and sister about what we were thinking. It wasn’t going to be easy broaching the topic, and my brother and I both needed to be the anchors in our beliefs here to be the calm in the storm and lead the family through this difficult time.

We drove to a parking lot outside a movie theater that I frequent on and off. We talked inside the car. My brother spearheaded the conversation. My sister cried, but surprisingly understood what we were saying and understood our conviction of the other side. Through recanting much of the similar conversation that I had with my brother, but now with my mom and sister as well, they understood that if the situation did not improve, we needed to send Lucky back “home”. Of course the execution of how, when, and where it would be done was still not unanimous between us. There was no way I was willing to force Lucky against her will in this state to the veterinary clinic to euthanize her. Just no way in hell. If it needed to be done, I wanted it to be done in as peaceful and calm manner as possible. I did not her to know that something was wrong. So for this reason as well, I did not want any of us to be crying in front of her. And I have no doubt that if any of the four of us were there when it would happen, we would lose it in a chain reaction. For this reasoning, I strongly argued against bringing her to a vet clinic to get the job done as well as being present when it would happen. This point is possibly, highly controversial. Thoughts of, “how could you leave your beloved one alone when they do it?!” “How could you abandon her when it’s your last moments seeing her?” “Have the courage to be there when the end comes!” All these thoughts come to mind. Well, I will address that in a future write. My mom voiced her concern over putting an animal to sleep inside the home. She preferred, if it had to be done, it be done outside, which I agreed to but at the same time, knew that if Lucky did not go outside by herself, we may not have a choice.

Friday morning came, after a sleepless night on the living room’s couches. In the early morning, probably around 6:30 AM, my brother and I were awakened to Lucky wining. Lucky was laying on her blue circular mattress/bed. We decided to do what we did the past night, which gave us a small success. We had carried her bed, with her on it, next to the lawn in the backyard, and by sliding a towel underneath her, helped stabilize her somewhat while she could urinate to the best of her abilities. She got some urine out last night. So we hoisted her bed next to the lawn again. Typing this after 6 months, my recollection of this is decently fuzzy. I believe it was to no avail. We sighed. My brother took out his phone and began snapping pictures. I didn’t even think of doing that, but now I followed suit. I hate to admit it, but it was depressing. Taking those pictures. From what I remember, we tried the towel method again later around 10 or 11 in the morning. This time, we got a small victory that would buy us some more time. I guess she reached that threshold where she just had to, had to go! Once I had the towel stabilizing her hind body weight, to the best of my abilities, and I noticing her beginning to urinate, I just damn told myself, “Flex that back Michael and keep in straight just like when you do those heavy deadlifts sets every week! Hold it up there all the way!” I was relieved to see her urinate. After peeing for a span of seconds which felt like a whole minute, I was ecstatic to see if she could walk, and just hoped to God that she could. She took a few steps, then stumbled to our backyard concrete as safely as she could. I wasn’t sure how I should have felt. I felt relieved, yet disappointed at the same time. I wished she would have walked normally again. From the few steps that I saw her take, I hated to admit it, but her legs looked shaky and unstable. It seemed to be a balance problem, not a muscle related problem. My brother had told me a suspected culprit of her sudden gait disturbance Thursday night. Artemisinen, is what it’s called. It’s one of the new modalities we were going to give her that had arrived a couple weeks later than when it was supposed to arrive. He read prior to purchasing it online that in high toxicity overdosage, it can cause permanent gait disturbances. My brother will soon coin this artemisinen, as “a method the other side used to send her back home”. But at the time, I hoped the artemisimen was weaning off and her three-legged gait would go back to its “normal”.  

I have no real recollection of the rest of Friday and next day, Saturday, to be honest. I don’t know if I had subconsciously repressed it or for some other reason, but no significant memory comes to mind after that. I guess it’s because there was no added, volatile increase in stress to the already overwhelming level of stress I had been feeling in those days since I learned of her diagnosis and her recent turn for the worse. My memory of Sunday, December 30th, 2012, though, are clear to me. This date, is just a date on the calendar, but important to me in my life for what happened and in a symbolic way as well.

The last time she urinated was Friday morning. She had not gone in almost two days. In terms of defecation, she was having mild diarrhea and she would defecate on herself. It was tough and heart-wrenching to see her deteriorate like that, but at least she was getting it out, I reasoned to myself, which obviously could not be said for her bladder. Her gait did not improve as she was still laying there all day. I had looked into getting a dog wheelchair, thinking that if I could get her to use the wheelchair for her back legs, she could still get around and go to the bathroom. The last night, she was wining, and I had also looked up videos to try and manually express her bladder. I don’t know if I did it right but it didn’t work. Saturday night, we were doing the same procedure, carrying her on her mattress next to the backyard lawn, and sliding the towel between her belly near her hind legs so I could lift and help stabilize to hopefully help her void her the bladder. But Lucky seemed to dislike the towel in that area when I would try and lift her hind up. I really wanted her to just put up with the towel so she could go, but she would begin to growl. Things were just not going our way for potential solutions I would think of.

Sunday morning, where do I start from the memories I have of this day? To be honest, on Friday morning, before she finally urinated with our help, she had not urinated in about two days, and it would be a lie if I told you I was not contemplating about putting her down that day. Just from my own experience where I had to hold in my pee due to a lack of bathroom for over 30 minutes to an hour only, it felt downright painful and everlasting. I could only imagine how Lucky was feeling, having not gone in more than an entire day! I would look at her face and see her sitting or laying in one place, save for moving a couple inches this way or that way, or changing positions the best she could have, and say to myself, “My god, she’s got to need to need to pee!” The only times where I could ascertain for certain when she was in pain was when she would whine, to which I would go next to her, pet her, and say to her: “I know you need to go badly Lucky, I know.” I would discuss with my brother about giving another attempt to use the towel method to help her up, but Lucky would make it clear to us that she did not want us to do that. I would think in my mind that we had to do it whether she liked it or not because it must be done to save her. I don’t know if dogs know that “death” is something that happens to all. I know dogs are intelligent creatures and I am sure they are much smarter and cognizant than most scientists give them credit for. So as one can see, there was no win-win solution. I would either have to try again to force her up against her will, while trying my best to protect myself, or hope that when she could not bear it anymore, she would urinate on herself. But when I thought these thoughts to myself, I was reminded to what we talked about Thursday night. If it gets to that point, what’s the point of keeping her here for a little longer? My brother would say, “There’s no point keeping her here in a diseased body and in pain just so we could selfishly see her for a little longer.” Based off my beliefs of spirituality and what I’ve learned to bolster my beliefs, I knew he was right.

I guess the ultimate decision was made when I called a nearby veterinary hospital which had emergency services. We had tried to get her up again but she would resist and even bite. I remember my brother saying that morning after our failed attempt, with his hand on her, “Sorry, you’ll understand.” In case you don’t know what I mean here, if you’ve read about past life regressions and “the other side”, you’ll know about the life review, which is talked about in Dolores Cannon’s books and many other past life regression and spiritual-related books. So after another failed attempt, I knew I was deep down, becoming frantic. So in haste, I called the veterinary hospital and was jumbling thoughts together in hopes that perhaps they would catheterize her to expel the urine like ER nurses would do for a patient. Of course I knew this was a very temporary solution, even if it could be done. Again, I was grasping at straws. On the phone, I relayed Lucky’s situation to the woman on the other line. I told her that Lucky had not urinated in more than two days. Then, the sentence that would seal my decision: “Her bladder could rupture!” I had previously researched a bit about this, wondering if it was truly possible. From what I had researched, there was no substantive evidence to say for sure that bladders would rupture versus the bladder automatically expelling after the threshold reached its maximum point. When I heard these words, I immediately asked, “Can that really happen?!” Once I heard this, in my mind, there was no choice left for me. I love my dog very much. I remember a Dr. Phil episode where a guy got some flak from the audience for saying his love for his mistress – or whomever, I don’t remember exactly – was like the same amount of love one would have for a dog. I bring this up to remind that our love for our family, friends, pets are not incomparable in the sense that one is greater than the other, but that our love for each of these are different and by themselves stand. They are different currency. They are different types of love. They are not, and don’t have to be comparable.

I knew that Lucky was in pain, and the thought that she could rupture her bladder and be in an indescribable more amount of pain, to which if it happened, I would be completely, utterly powerless, useless, emotionally shocked, devastated, and damaged, there simply was no option left. We would try one last time, to hope for a miracle. To hope that she would allow us to at least help her go to the bathroom, to see if we could buy more time. With Lucky positioned in the kitchen on her mattress, I hoisted the towels underneath her belly up just a bit and I could tell that Lucky was quick to the attention. She did not want us to. Frustrated, and feeling like we were reaching the end of rope of options, we knew we needed to make a decision. We left Lucky, who was in the kitchen, now off her mattress and adjacent to the opened backyard door, which in our haste to make a decision weighing the risks of prolongation, we decided to leave wide open to the backyard. My dad was home, I don’t remember where exactly, so I figured my normally cautious mom did not bother to think much about closing the door. My brother, mom, sister, and I went onto the van to talk about this. We talked about the situation at hand, how she had not gone again in more than two days, how Lucky would not allow us to help her for whatever reason, how she could rupture her bladder, how utterly futile I would be if that occurred, how damaged I would be if I had to witness Lucky in that inhumane amount of pain. We talked again about what Dolores Cannon has found and stated with conviction to my mom and sister that we know that death isn’t the end, and how “death” is not at all to be feared because the death of who we really are cannot die. How the soul, not the physical body, is what makes us who we are. What we feel when we think of that person or animal, and feel that love for them, that is not a result of how they appear and feel in a physical body, but what your relationship you have built with them has been like, and the things that you love and hate, are all what makes you, you. From the reasoning I’m making, over many other lives, we look different, but does that really make it who you are? Absolutely not! We all look different through our many lives, but I am me, regardless if I’m male, Chinese, 5’11’’, and so on.

I remember sitting in the van, thinking, and realizing the moment. The moment in time. After Lucky was whining again in the morning, and after my brother and I made our honest assessments of the situation, my brother found an at home euthanasia service. My brother and I had taken more pictures of her that morning in the kitchen where her mattress was situated. There is a picture of her faced towards the door, towards a completely bright, blue, sunny sky, which was a first in a couple days. I think a part of me knew that this was the day. One big reason why in my heart of hearts, knew that today was the day, and that today would be the best day to do it, was that tomorrow was going to be the 31st, the last day on the year. I knew fireworks would be going off. I knew Lucky would be terrified, and in her stationary state filled with pain, and not being able to go hide like how she used to do around July 4ths, it would be a massacre! An utter massacre! There was no way that it could have or would have turned out decent, never mind well.

Certainly a tough moment when I knew the decision was made. I shake my head while writing this. I guess because it’s just one of those decisions that have such far reaching consequences and outcomes. My brother had already called the euthanasia service to see if they had availabilities that morning, just to see. Turned out, the service was quite busy that day. Many people were putting their pets down. Normally not a comforting thought, but I guess knowing, realizing, and remembering the fact that life is coming into planet earth every day, as well as many people, animals, plants, and all of life leaving everyday is somewhat comforting. From a grand scale of things, we realize that “birth” and “death” happen all around the world, every single day, and every single second. It’s just many souls returning home. I think of it this way, not to trivialize life. In fact, just recently becoming vegetarian and thinking of going vegan, along with my decision not to kill insects that get trapped in my house, but to release them outside, show how much I value all life. I think of it this way because it is true. Winners tell themselves the truth. To say otherwise would not be true!  

As we went back inside the house after our final decision, my brother looked through the window as we walked past the front gate, expecting to see Lucky in the same position as we left her. He yelled in surprise that he did not see her where we left her. We looked. She was in the backyard, situated below the step! A good two to three feet from where we left her! With the four of us in the car, there are only two possibilities how that could have happened. She either moved by herself or my dad had dragged her down, to which this latter possibility, I highly, highly doubt based off knowing him, his values, his personality, and our relationship. My mom mentioned that she was a good girl for moving outside to do this, whether by coincidence or some enigmatic intuitiveness.   

In regards to the at home euthanasia, we decided that my mom, sister, brother, and I would part farewell about 30 minutes prior to the euthanasia servicer getting here – to avoid the reality of the situation from setting in - and go to a mall, an area with a lighter atmosphere. We would go to a place with company, an environment that would not isolate ourselves and allow us to think and let our minds wander into darkness. My brother knew this, and it was his idea. In my mind, I was planning to go to a parking lot where we would watch Dolores Cannon Videos and listen to interviews of her on Coast to Coast AM. But I realize now that my brother’s idea was better. It was more suitable to keeping my mind in a positive, right state of direction, than what my idea would have most likely have yielded. My dad would be the one to be there when it happens. He would let the euthanasia servicer in and sign the documents. My dad was the best person to do this. He is a kind-hearted person. He neither loves nor hates pets. He never developed a relationship with Lucky outside of letting her out, maybe a rare, couple times a month. He never walked her, fed her, or played with her. I do not say this to belittle him for not doing so. Really! The fact was that before we ever got Lucky, back all those years, we knew that he was not a fan of dogs, pets, and that if we got a dog, we would be the caretakers and owners of the dog. So because of this dynamic, or lack of dynamic, he was the best candidate to carry this out unaffectedly. I asked my mom about it before, why dad seems to be able to be stoic in the face of all this. My mom said that it wasn’t so much that he didn’t feel anything, but more a way that their generation grew up in and faced when it came to death of a loved one. When we informed him and our plan, he did not argue it one bit. I could tell he understood, and deep down, I thanked god that he was so stoic about it. 

My brother made the call to the euthanasia service outside. I waited inside and paced back and forth. I didn’t want to hear him choose when it would happen. Even with my beliefs of spirituality, to mark the time when it would happen, that may have overwhelmed me into tears. My brother was the leader, he was the ultimate calm in the storm. Through this time of strife and difficulty, I felt a whole level of new found respect for him.

The time was set. 5:30 pm, just around the time of the remaining sunlight of the day would be shining through the sky, was the appointment. I looked at the clock. It was just past two. 2:02 pm to be more precise. A little more than three hours left after more than ten and a half wonderful years with her. As with my plan, I prepared my android phone with videos and interviews of Dolores Cannon’s work, specifically about life after death. I did this as fast as I could. As the audios and videos were uploading to my phone, I saw my brother in the backyard, next to the step, sitting next to Lucky, petting her while listening to a Dolores Cannon interview about the soul, the experience of what it was like to “die”, how freeing souls feel when finally released from their ghastly, withering away bodies, how they are much happier on the other side, how the soul feels detached from the entire situation once above the body, and how death was nothing to be feared. I brought my computer, connected to the phone’s USB, and brought it outside where they were. I sat next to Lucky and stroked her fur from behind. I remember a scene of Lucky looking behind at me, and I petted her, and looked into her eyes, and remember thinking telepathically to her, “It’s okay Lucky, you’ll be free from this diseased body soon.” So I spent time with her. Just sat next to her, occasionally looking at my computer which had Dolores Cannon’s works and a whole array and arsenal of life after death related stuff. I would just focus on the moment, being with her, in these “last” moments. My sister came out, we all petted her. We were all silent. Not an awkward silence, but a silence of understanding, respect, and realization of the moment in time. The only sound, Dolores Cannon’s voice, to which served as a constant reminder of what I knew about the other side. I had read in Tony Robbin’s book, Awaken the Giant Within, that there was a culture of people that would celebrate when their loved one passed on because they viewed death not as losing someone they love forever, but as the graduation of an individual moving on. It was a well-rounded reminder that our beliefs shape how we interpret events and that events in themselves, are neither good nor bad. I was reminded of Dr. Phil episodes where grieving parents or family members were terribly stuck and unable to move on, and I thought back to the lessons and teachings that Dr. Phil so eloquently stated. Lessons and teachings that I would need to reinforce with my mom and sister, later that evening.

I would walk inside, and see my mom reading a Chinese book, a scribe that she used in moments suitable to this one. She told me later on that it’s something that Chinese people read to guide and ensure their loved one moves on properly to “heaven”. She said that from her background, she believed that after a life, we are judged based off the life we lived and based off that either go to heaven or hell. I, of course, being a student of Dolores Cannon and many past life regressionists, believe that we are not judged by some higher power, but that we judge ourselves. That we judge the life we just lived during the life review, and that there is no such thing as hell. Hell is something that was created by the church to create fear in people and thus have and maintain control over the people. As I’ve stated before, there is a lot of credible, solid, intriguing evidence out there that supports life after death. There is a lot out there if people are willing to keep their minds open and do research. Many independent fields of science are corroborating what Dolores Cannon and past life regressionists have found in their works.

As in the moment as I maintained myself to be, time was ticking. I remember all three of us taking pictures of her. She looked so sick. So tired. Worn out. I took a couple pictures of the fading sunlight as the time encroached. I remember seeing the approximate one hour mark. Then down to 45 minutes, down to 30 minutes. As I sit back right now and think about what was going through my mind when time was ever so gradually, yet in some way, quickly, ticking down, I remember being relatively calm, and being in the moment. Not panicking over the time I should have spent with her, while at some level feeling sad that it was “ending” this way. I guess the best way to put it is that I was feeling calmly despondent while focusing on my belief that she was going to be going home and free from what she was suffering from. And so came the time.

The time for the four of us to leave. To temporarily say bye. To take a vacation away from our beloved dog of 10 & 1/2 years. For us to go our separate ways until my time here is done. Until the reunion. It was time for us to be leaving, before the euthanasia servicer arrived. I quietly told my brother and sister to one by one to express our love for her one more time here on earth. My sister went first, petting her and kissing her on the head. She went strong, not crying, as I wanted because I didn’t want Lucky to know that anything major was wrong. My brother next, petting her, kissing her, whispering to her, “I love you Lucky”, following by kissing her again, and saying more expressing his love for her. My turn. I came up to her forehead, put my nose and lips on her, felt her soft fur, engraving this moment into me. “I love you Lucky.” “I love you with all my heart. Thank you for all the joy you’ve given me. I won’t forget you. You’ll always be a part of me and who I am. Thank you for teaching me this lesson. I won’t betray this lesson. This will not be in vain. I love you with all my heart”. I kissed her, keeping my lips and nose touching her for the longest kiss I’ve ever given her. Whispered to her that I loved her again and said, “See you on the other side. I love you.” Kissed her once more, and with that, I walked towards the garage, having said my words to her. Right before we left, when we were getting ready to leave, my brother went up to her, and kissed her again and said in an as positive tone of voice as the situation warranted, “I love you, and see you on the other side.” Then planted his final kiss. After seeing him do this, I run up to Lucky, one last time here on earth, I felt her soft fur above her eyes, whispered to her that I loved her, and kissed her one last time. I knew we had to go now. I was adamant about not seeing the person that would be euthanizing my dog. And like that, as my brother backed the car out of the sidewalk, and as we got onto the van, I looked up towards the sky, the fading light of the day, took in a deep breath of air, exhaled controllably, and boarded the vehicle. My brother drove to one of the most popular malls in our driving vicinity. All silent onboard. In my mind, I knew it wasn’t time to cry. It was time to bolster my beliefs and to help bolster my mom and sister’s beliefs and indirectly, their feelings about the situation. I remember controlling my breathing to maintain my calmness despite the situation, looking at the good in the world, the people on the streets outside the mall as we pulled up to the mall after about a 10-15 minute drive. We pulled into the parking lot and there my brother and I decided we would go inside, walk around, talk, and choose to be positively affected by the environment. My mom wasn’t ready. She didn’t want my brother and I to see her crying. She said we “could” go into the mall if we wanted, and I intuitively knew that she preferred to have a bit of space at the moment to just let go. My sister stayed with her. My brother and I went into the mall. We just began walking with a moderate pace and gait, not a too-depressed like gait and not an ecstatic gait either obviously. We began talking about how the situation had run its course, how we did our best for Lucky, and how we are doing the right thing for Lucky’s. We then drifted to talking about all the reasons of why we strongly believe in our convictions of what Dolores Cannon has found in her work. We talked about all the sciences that were now beginning to support it, how all the paranormal shows we watched growing up, and believing that while many have been widely exaggerated, we believe there is always a core truth to all of them. We talked about memories that some children have of past lives. And there we began, in our phones, texting down the list, the list of all the numerous evidence we have for the other side. I told my brother that I had already begun one actually, and having this abundant and solid foundation of information I could access anytime of my “evidence stash” really helped me deal with what was happening. But we began the list, writing down other ideas that I had not previously stored into my stash. We marked the ideas down in our phones, and we continued to talk. We must have walked the large mall inside here and there, over and out, and we still were talking. Honestly, it was one of the most therapeutic, deep, substantial, and juicy conversation I have had about this topic. By the middle and end of our conversation, I had begun to feel relatively good for what was going on. I brought up the lessons Dr. Phil talks about when it comes to grief stricken individuals who are stuck. I brought up how we should be celebrating Lucky’s life. How the last thing passed on loved ones want is to have you grieving and being unable to move on with your life. We talked about how true it is that to overly grieve someone’s passing is to betray their legacy. Their legacy should be one that brings you joy and love, not sadness and overwhelm. We talked about how true the fact is that your length of grieving for someone is not at all indicative of how much you love them. This is a huge one that I learned from Dr. Phil and I couldn’t agree more! I talked about honoring Lucky’s legacy. What kind of legacy I want this to lead to. How I wanted to make sure this experience and her somewhat of an early passing, will not be in vain. As we were walking, and after talking for some period of time, I took out my phone to see if my mom or sister had called me and myself, unknowingly, missed it. I turned it on and I saw the time 6:30. I reasoned in my head that by that time, it was probably done. Lucky has left her body and is home. Of course I tried to imagine in my head what that would be like, being on the other side, but if you read enough past life regression books, you’ll know that no language on earth is adequate in doing justice in describing what it is like on the other side. There was no phone call or text from my mom or sister, so by brother and I continued to share our thoughts.

After talking for what must have been easily more than an hour and a half, probably around two hours, we returned to the car. I was in as good a mood as I possibly could have been. I knew that Lucky was back home, in a place outside of space and time. I could tell that my mom cried, and she was explaining to my sister of the scribe that she was reading at home and reading now while on the car. I didn’t feel like going back home yet. It was still too early. We drove to a Chinese plaza and I reminded the four of us that we were going to honor Lucky’s life. So that’s what we did. We took our time eating, and we talked. Throughout the conversation, my brother and I would appropriately remark our beliefs of Lucky being happier now, not suffering, the importance of celebrating her life, and using this experience for the betterment of ourselves. I was not grieving her so called “loss”. I was not exactly despondent nor by any means ecstatic. My mood was a mixed with moderate despondence over what has transpired, mixed with a sense of calmness and bliss knowing that she is much happier now, and partly mixed with a feeling of being in the twilight zone, where intellectually you know what happened but emotionally, you just don’t seem to be there yet. We ate and talked for probably another two hours after getting to the plaza. It wasn’t midnight late, probably sometime between 9 and 10. It was time to head back. I think back as I write this, and remember walking back inside the house from the garage, going inside, being greeted by my dad in the living room with the television on, and maintained that same emotion I described just a few sentences ago, except now, it was more real to me. I wasn’t overwhelmed by it because I knew it had happened, and my beliefs kept me intact. I remember telling my dad, who is significantly over weight, to take good care of himself, as I did not want to go through another nightmare like this. The passing on of a loved one, peacefully and a result of old age, is something we can at least accept, but to live in a 24 hour, waking, stress-filled, nightmare is no fun whatsoever. I know it’s an adage and a platitude, but the veracity speaks to a whole new meaning once you live it, breathe it, and survive your nightmare. I remember my mom asking my dad if Lucky went calmly. I immediately stated out loud, “No no, I don’t want to hear that”, but I overheard. And I was relieved. My dad said she went calmly. I didn’t want to know because if she didn’t, it would have pained me to the point where experiencing an actual, physical injury may have been preferred. But thank god, it was so relieving and partly, crucial, to allowing me to recover as quickly and as much as possible from Lucky’s homecoming. My brother and I were in the smack dab middle of our six week winter break, so the timing for her to leave, in a way, was just right. I had about three weeks to recover, before the toughest semester of nursing school, the Junior Two semester, would be coming my way.          

As we settled down, it was still crucial for our family to be together, and not isolate ourselves. It just so happened that Harry Potter was playing on ABC. I don’t know which Harry Potter was playing, but it was the one with the Asian girl. So we watched Harry Potter together, and we talked, made jokes, and even laughed to keep the mood up. Bittersweet I guess. We all knew how we COULD feel in that moment, and surely no one would have blamed us. But through our talk and focusing on our beliefs, we all tacitly decided to make it easier on all of us in emotionally recovering. The internal dialogue we were telling ourselves were absolutely crucial. Using words of “going home” instead of dying or leaving forever is a prime example. And based off our beliefs, it’s not a lie to say that to myself. Winners tell themselves the truth, and that is the truth for me. It is my belief, it is my perception, and it is my reality.

That night, my brother and I decided to remain sleeping on the living room couch, where we had been sleeping the past few nights since Lucky’s status headed downhill. My god have the last few days been awful; since Wednesday night, December the 26th. I wasn’t ready to go back to sleeping in my room. It was still part of the process of acclimatizing myself to Lucky’s crossing over. The moment of laying down on the couch, adjusting myself and my blanket, and thinking to myself, “I’m not sure if I’ve really realized what happened today yet. I can’t believe I really went through that. I can’t believe Lucky is not physically with me. I can’t believe the nightmare has at last come to a conclusion. I have to make Lucky’s story known and not let her death be in vain. I’m going to be going on an intensive self-exploration into this topic of consciousness outside of the body. I’m need to be write about this culmination of life-altering events. I’m behind in my writing, there’s so much I need to write about. How much of my thoughts from this approximate four month nightmare will I be able to track down? Will the story get out? I have to, I want to, and I must. How could I write about all these other things in my life and not write about this! I must do this”. I remember taking in a few deep breaths and controlled exhalations, just soaking up the moment. I wasn’t sure how well I’d be able to sleep tonight, but part of me knew that at least I could sleep not worried about Lucky’s inability to stand, go to the bathroom, and all the while being in pain from not being able to go to the bathroom. That soothed me. That relaxed me. I didn’t know how long I’d sleep, compared to normal, relatively stress free days of past breaks, but I was relatively sure that I’d be able to sleep deeply for at least a moderate length of time. Before dozing off to bed, my brother was watching psychic medium, John Edward, in a show where he picked up on things from the other side that were pertinent to random audience members. I watched that YouTube video with him, feeling confident that we had done the right thing today. I didn’t know how I would feel exactly the next day, but I think I was handling the circumstances of the day very well.

I woke up mid-morning, about 9 o’clock. My mom came out to tell me that she heard noises that sounded a bit like the noise Lucky’s paws would make when getting up from our hardwood floor during the night. She thought it also could have just been the sound my brother and I made as we shifted on our couches. She wasn’t too sure. We went out to eat for lunch. We were going to slowly get back into things at home. I got together with a friend of mine that evening and we watched The Hobbit, a movie I had been meaning to watch for sometime but had been delayed. My sister came with us. It was important that she continued her recovery as well and we thought this would be a good way to do so. That night, I slept on the couch again. Still wasn’t ready to go back yet to my bed. Thursday night, January 3rd, 2013, or the Friday AM hours (~12:51 AM of January 4th, 2013) was when I finally returned to my bed. So as you can see, I slept on the couch outside for another three more days after Sunday, December 30th, 2012. On Friday, January 4th, 2013, I had an appointment to donate blood with American Red Cross and also watched the movie, Life of Pi, with my sister’s good friend.

The week following Lucky’s passing, my brother and I officially started a list of all the things we deemed as our evidence of the other side. I looked back on previous Dr. Phil episodes where clients were stricken with grief and I listened to Dr. Phil’s words about overcoming grief and reminded myself of the mistakes in mentality people make after losing a loved one. I also backed up all of Lucky’s pictures and videos that my entire family had. I was going to put them up to commemorate Lucky.  

Thinking about all of this, a little more than six months later, I feel I recovered from Lucky’s passing very quickly. And did so not out of a lack of empathy, alcohol, drugs, or by suppressing and denying my emotions and the events that occurred. I did it out of a gradual building and development of strong spiritual beliefs backed by more and more scientific evidence of what I see as proof of the other side. Remember, I learned about Dolores Cannon and her work sometime Freshman year in college. I had already about two years of learning about her work and already beginning to see some of the connections of evidence that supports the ancient astronaut theory, something that Dolores has found to be true in her work. Aside from my strong foundation of spiritual beliefs, I must admit that Dr. Phil’s words to his grieving clients helped me tremendously to give myself permission to get over it, permission to be happy. To know that your length of time grieving for your loved one is not one bit indicative of how much you love them. To know that I should celebrate her life, to remember that our loved ones would not want us to be in so much pain and suffering over what happened to them, to know that we should honor their legacy and to use this loss to do good, and not let their death be in vain, these are the core lessons I learned from watching Dr. Phil, and by god, if it were not for these things, who knows how my Junior Two semester would have went! I’d imagine I’d be getting C’s and committing stupid error after error in clinical to the point where I’d just break down in anger and frustration from feeling like a victim. I remember hitting the one week point after December 30th, 2012 and feeling like time had just flown by. It’s been six months plus now, and I feel the same, that time is just flying by.

I remember talking to my clinical instructor of my Junior One semester about how long she grieved after she experienced a death of a loved one. She told me she was grieving for about a solid year before she reached the point where she could avoid tearing up when something reminded her of her loved one. I remember thinking, “great, people, depending on the number of family members and pets they have, are going to be so fucking depressed and miserable for at least a few years of their lives”. To say that I never cried after Lucky’s passing does not in any way make me a traitor. In no way does it make me a sociopath. I love my dog. I love Lucky. She’s still in my mind many times of the day, but not in a bad way. I think about what she would do that would make me laugh and put a smile on my face. She was and still is my adorable baby. I have made it clear on my blog posts that I do not want any children. She is the only one that I would call my baby, at least in this life. I had so many names for her, so many baby names.

If you asked me if I missed her, I’d say that I would love to see her right now if I could. I’d love to be able to pet her, smell her fur, stroke her soft face. Baby talk to her again. But I certainly don’t miss her in the sense that “Oh Lucky why did you have to leave! How am I going to move on without you!?” type of dramatization and hysteria. I cannot make it more than clear that I believe we will meet back home again, in the ultimate precise reality. If you’ve ever heard of The Holographic Universe Model, you probably have at least an idea or two of what I’m talking about. I think about her and send her warm feelings all the time. Her contract came to an end and it was time for her to go back. Simple as that. It’s time for me to continue my journey and do what I came here to do. 

Until the inevitable reunion, with much love,




  1. Posted Around 7:15 PM of Tuesday, July 9, 2013

  2. I am so moved by your journey with Lucky and I feel your words. This just reflects how beautiful and compassionate person you are. God bless you. Thank you for sharing