Bama's Story

Although Bama's miracle was not the physical healing I had hoped, her true miracle was how she touched the lives of so many people. If you are new to her story, please begin with the first post to learn more about this remarkable little dog. Even though she is no longer physically in this life, she continues to give.

The Problem of Pain

Bama's Pain

Somebody mentioned to me in an e-mail how much pain Bama has endured. I want to reassure everyone that the vets, beginning with the emergency clinic, have done an excellent job managing Bama's pain. When I first found her, I think she was somewhat in shock--she wasn't licking her wounds or anything as we drove her to the emergency clinic. I read somewhere that dogs seem to have the ability to shut down on pain when it gets to a certain level--a skill they needed to survive in the wild. Bama didn't show signs of being in pain. At the emergency clinic, they immediately gave her something to block the pain. She wore a pain patch as well as taking two Rymadyl a day for about the first week and a half or so after the accident. She was still using the patch in the picture and looks more groggy than in pain. She was still wagging her tail that day, despite everything.

She no longer uses a pain patch, but she continues to take Rymadyl. I get the impression from the way she acts now that her wounds itch more than hurt as she's beginning to heal.

Personal View of Pain: Warning--this becomes a rant and rave about fibromyalgia

My guess is that most vets are trained to think of ending suffering when an animal is severely injured, which means euthanizing them. Perhaps my viewpoint is skewed because of dealing with a high level of pain personally. I remember a point when the pain level from the fibromyalgia that resulted from a car accident was extremely high (feels like having a migraine all over your body--results in vomiting when it gets that high) without relief for an extended period of time. I told one of my friends, "If I were a dog, they would have euthanized me." I refused to consider narcotics because I felt that all I needed was a drug addiction on top of everything else I was dealing with. The medications I do use take some of the edge off the pain but do not stop it.

If any of you reading this deal with fibromyalgia, you know the frustration of having a medical condition without an identifiable cause. For example, I participated in a study of myofacial pain at a university. As part of the process, I was interviewed by a psychologist. Because I minored in Counseling Psychology when I obtained my Ph.D. in Learning Disabilities and Behavior Disorders, I am not intimidated by such an interview. Some of the folks in my Counseling Psychology class were going to be outstanding therapists; others, I shall simply say, were not. My concern was that some people with chronic pain who were interviewed by this man would be victimized by his comments.

I explained to this man that I saw a pattern of my pain being worsened by changes in barometric pressure. I tended to be better at forecasting the rain than the Weather Channel. I told him that I would wake up in the night, writhing in pain, turn on the Weather Channel, and a low pressure front would be moving through. He was so determined to prove that this pain was psychological rather than medical that he said, "Maybe you saw a cloud in the sky before you went to bed and just didn't realize it." Oh, please! Give me a break!

I told this man that Bruno Bettleheim said that autism and childhood schizophrenia were caused by "refrigerator mothers" who were unable to connect emotionally to their children. He recommended a "parentectomy" as a cure. In the sixties and seventies, his words were grabbed like gold by professionals. Now we can see the medical bases for these conditions in brain scans that were unavailable in Bettelheim's day. Can you imagine the anquish that added to these moms who were already suffering from having a child with one of these conditions?

"One day," I said to the psychologist, "you are going to owe me an apology!" I hope that day comes soon.

The danger is that when a condition is accepted as psychological, it slows research that could ultimately find the medical cause. It's scary to think that medical professionals would buy into the psychological explanations so easily. Surely they are not vain enough to assume that medicine has all the answers already and anything that is unknown must be psychological. Surely they are wiser than that! Someone once told me, "I don't believe in fibromyalgia." I assure you, this is not a condition that anyone would want for a religion. Some people say that depression causes fibromyalgia because people with fibromyalgia tend to score high on depression scores. The only way that could be said is if they tested them prior to developing fibromyalgia. When pain takes away so much of your life, you would be crazy NOT to be depressed.

Well, anyway, I finally decided that some life was better than no life, so I picked myself up off the couch and found a way to keep working. When I lost the current job that I had loved so much, I was tired of fighting to keep working. Bama's love of life--and for her, life was giving and being a part of our little family--despite what she endured, caused me to realize that I must also continue to fight to have a productive, meaningful life.

As you can tell, my view of pain is probably different than it is for most people. When I made the decision not to have Bama euthanized, it was because I was confident that she and the vets could manage the pain. I once attended a seminar by Cesar Millan who emphasized that dogs live in the moment, not in the past or future as humans tend to do. When Bama gets past this ordeal, she will truly be past it. Then she will have each day of the rest of her life without holding on to the pain of this current time. I hold the vision of that day in my mind and heart. Dogs truly have so much to teach us.

Learning to Cope with a Not On-Purpose from Oprah's Guests

Some great news about Bama
Today one of the vets told me with a wide smile that Bama looked "awesome!" when they changed her bandages today. Also, she's getting feisty again. Shoving pills down her throat is becoming a huge challenge--much different from when I first started doing so. At that point, she was pretty much "whatever." Now I'm beginning to think she's a reincarnated wizard. I'm even trying to disguise the pills with her food. I'll think I have it down her throat, and then I turn around for minute. Surprise! There's a grungy looking pill stuck somewhere on her e-collar! It's all good, though. I would much rather have her acting like the old Bama, even though it's not as convenient.

Coping with a Not On Purpose
As you can imagine, what happened to Bama burdened me with incredible guilt. If only, if only, if only. I've compartmentalized the guilt as I've tried to make decisions and care for Bama, but it's still there.

I happened to catch Oprah last Friday when guests were discussing life lessons. A grandmother talked about the horror of accidentally running over and killing her grandchild with her SUV. (The person I bought my van from promised to get me sensors since he had misled me that the model I was getting already had them, but once he sold me the car, he never followed through. I wonder if those sensors would have warned me that Bama was dangling behind my van.) Another woman talked about how she fell asleep while driving and three of her six children were killed. It was agonizing to hear their pain. I am so grateful that Bama is improving. This mother and grandmother had no way to bring their loved ones back.

Dr. Robin Smith gave wise counsel regarding the false guilt we experience when we have a not on-purpose. She said letting go of the guilt would be giving ourselves a "get-out-of-jail free card." We punish ourselves, somehow believing that doing so will chip away at the pain and loss that happened from the accident. Not so. We must allow (not forgive, which implies that we did something wrong) ourselves to be human. You can read more of Dr. Smith's comments at the link I've provided above. (http://www2.oprah.com/tows/pastshows/200706/tows_past_20070601.jhtml )

When I first e-mailed people about what happened to Bama, some of my friends replied with stories of their own experiences with a not on-purpose. It was incredibly difficult to admit to people what I had done. In fact, when strangers ask me what happened to Bama when they see her covered in bandages. I usually reply "Car." Most of them will create their own story with that much information and not ask me any more questions. However, I realize from the responses of my friends who are burdened by false guilt in their lives that is important for me to share this experience. That is one of the primary reasons I have made this blog public.

The reality is that we are out of control with much of what happens in our lives, as much as we would like to believe otherwise. I think guilt over a not on-purpose is one of the ways we convince ourselves that we are somehow omnipotent. I have inattentive ADD, and my life is full of brain glitches that lead to a not on-purpose. This program helped me realize that instead of dragging a ball and chain of guilt around with me, I need to accept my humanity and move forward to bring as much good as possible from tragedy. I appreciate the courage of that mom and grandmother for helping me learn this important lesson. They have certainly brought good into my life by sharing their stories.

When I First Met Bama

The accident is not the first challenge that Bama has faced. Here's the story of how Bama came into my life.

I was devastated by the loss of my beloved papillon Spockie. As a way to cope with my grief, I wanted to rescue a papillon. I searched the rescue organizations and Petfinder.com (see banner at the bottom of this page) to try to locate a little pap. Two times I came close. At the last minute, the foster parents changed their mind. Once, I decided to run my e-mail another time before I walked out the door for the five-hour drive to pick up a dog. The foster parent had sent me an e-mail that she had "decided to keep the dog for her very own." Sigh.

About six months after I lost Spockie, I decided that all I really needed was a little dog with big ears. I was driving past a Petsmart that had a sign announcing a pet adoption day, sponsored by the local SPCA. Something told me I was going to find my dog there. As I walked around looking at the dogs, a little blonde dog jumped up to the top of her pen to greet me. She had big ears! I scratched her head between them. Then I heard a little girl behind me talking to her mother about the dog. "Please, Mom," she said, "That's the cutest little dog I've ever seen!"

Well, if you know me, you know I was going to let the child have the dog.

One of the SPCA staff saw me walking away and said, "Do you want that dog?"

"Well, I was thinking about it, but I believe that little girl wants her."

"If you think you want that dog," she said, "you go back and get her. They haven't taken her yet."

I obediently picked the little dog up. It was like lifting a feather. You could see every bone in her body, including her spine and hip bones. Bama weights close to 20 pounds now. At six months, she only weighed 12.

I took the little dog over to the table where the SPCA staff were located and sat down with her on my lap. I petted her as I talked to another staff member. I told her how I had lost my papillon. I was surprised when she said they had a black-and-white papillon at the local shelter (same coloring as Spockie) that they had rescued from a puppy mill. I looked down at the little dog in my arms and said, "What do you think? Do you want to go home with us?" She licked me on the cheek, sealing the deal. I realized at that moment I was healing from my grief. Initially, a papillon was my only desire. At that point, my desire was to have the dog I was supposed to have, even if that dog was a little mixed breed that looked like a lamb.

Although I took Bama, I was able to help rescue the papillon. The little guy in the shelter had severe behavioral issues, and the SPCA staff were concerned they were going to have to euthanize him. They didn't know about the papillon rescue organization, so I helped them make the contact. A few months later, I saw the dog I thought might be the one the SPCA had told me about on the papillon rescue website. I e-mailed the contact person, and she said yes, that was the dog and I probably saved it's life. Without their expertise, the dog would not have overcome its behavioral issues. I'm thankful I was able to bring something good out of the death of little Spockie.

So Bama came home with me. I thought she was going to be a quiet dog, but when she finally had some food in her, she became lively. She was skittish and afraid of everyone and everything for quite a while after I first got her. I tried feeding her in a crate, thinking she would feel safer because of my other dogs, but she seemed depressed and refused to eat when she was crated. I wonder whether she was in a puppy mill with a confused breeder and spent her first six months crated. What I do know, is that whatever her circumstances were, the owner did not even make the effort at least to throw her food once in a while. The fact that she had so much disdain for being crated is another reason I've been thankful that the vet hospital has allowed me to care for her at home as much as possible.

It's amazing to think how far she has come since she first came home with me. Her sweet, open temperament is much different than the scared-of-everything little dog I took into my home and heart.

From that first night I brought her home from Petsmart, Bama has slept cuddled next to me. Since the accident, she is sleeping in a soft crate that I have placed on my bed next to me. I leave the mesh door rolled up so that I can pet her and she can see me. She always liked to burrow under the covers next to me, and I think the soft crate gives her that feeling. Instead of the anxiety she seems to experience in a metal crate, this crate seems to help her relax.

I feel so fortunate that I still have her in my life.

Graphic Photo: Bama's Miracle Tailor

I'm finally caught up on this blog so people don't have to deal with long e-mails and picture attachments! Here's the news for today:

I thought you might find it interesting to learn about the creative approach the lead vet on Bama's team used to sew her up. In a previous posting, I mentioned that a couple of the vets told me he had used a technique that was similar to the way braces are gradually tightened. Today, I was able to watch a vet change bandages since it was Sunday and they were not open for other customers. Apparently, after the lead vet realized I wasn’t going to go to Virginia Tech and was relying on him for a solution, he went to Wal-mart and bought bright pink buttons, fishing line, and the little silver sinkers. I hope you are not squeamish and can look at the attached picture to see one of the wounds that uses this technique. It’s remarkable how much the wound in the picture has closed in a few days. Each day, the vets pull the string a little tighter through the sinker on the button. The sinker holds the thread against the button. Wow! Ingenious! I knew these were the right vets to help my little dog!

The vet today told me they never thought Bama would come back when her albumin level was so low. They thought she would die the same night that, out of desperation, I went to the gas station and bought her some yogurt. I don't know whether it was keeping her home, adding another antibiotic, feeding her yogurt to increase her protein level, or a combination of the three. I'm simply incredibly grateful that she is still with me.

Thanks for your interest in her story!

Past the "Omigosh" Stage

I sent this e-mail about Bama on May 26:

The vet told me today that he thought Bama was past the “Omigosh,-she’s-going-to-die stage”!

The concern now is that her ongoing surgeries and care are going to run into several thousand dollars—not the best time to be out of a job! It is a good time to learn about faith and continue to be inspired by the miracle of this little dog’s determination. I believe that good will come of this—my hope is that eventually she will be able to be Delta certified so I can take her to visit kids who have been burned. I think Bama will give them hope.

(Here's a picture of BigDog when he visited hospitals and women's shelters. He was dressed as Elvis for Halloween.)

Buster Thinks Bama Is An Alien!

This is an e-mail I sent friends on May 14 about Bama (five days after the accident). We were still afraid we were going to lose her at this point. She had stayed at the emergency clinic over the weekend:

Bama is still hanging in there. Last night I talked to the vet at the emergency clinic, and she was concerned about some of Bama’s wounds. Dad and I went down to see her at 12:30 AM. She perked up when she saw us. I wanted them to let me hold her all night, but they refused. Because I drank caffeine to stay awake when I drove there, I only got an hour of sleep before I had to get up to get her from the Emergency Vet before 7:30. (If you are up to 30 minutes late, they charge you an extra 30 dollars. If you are more than 30 minutes late, they “dispose” of your animal as abandoned. You all know me well enough to know that added to my sleep challenges.)

They have been filling her with so many fluids that she is looking pretty chunky. We took her to a park today before taking her back to the vet hospital this morning. She ate some egg and made huge liquid and semi-solid deposits on the grass. She was wagging her tail the whole time she was walking around on the grass. We took the other two dogs out of the car one at a time to see her. BigDog gave her kisses, and she kissed him back. Buster was scared of her e-collar at first—he looked at her like she was an alien! When I started touching her face, he decided she was safe and came over to greet her. She gave him her standard low-growl, I’m-in-charge-here-and-don’t-you-forget-it,-Bub comment. She’s a strong spirit, that one.

The vet was going to remove some more dead skin today. The way I handle something like this is to research it. I found some info on copper peptides being effective for all mammals to heal wounds and regenerate skin. The vet is going to read the research and decide about using that technique if a local pharmacy can compound some. He says he also uses sugar to help with granulation of wounds.

I told him that I hope when she is past all this that I might be able to take her to the hospital to provide pet therapy for kids who have been burned. I could tell he was touched by the thought. They all love Bama. I hope we can find some way to bring something good out of this awful tragedy.

Not an On-Purpose

For those of you who don’t know, talking about what happened to Bama on May 9 is painful. Many of my family, friends, and colleagues have expressed interest in following Bama's story, so I thought would start a blog to share her progress toward recovery. Her fight to survive is remarkable.

I have three dogs: BigDog, Buster, and Bama. (This picture is from my 2006 Christmas card. Bama is the smallest dog. All three are loveable mutts. I'll share Bama's rescue story in a later post.) My father also lives with me. Dad and I were making a quick trip to to pick up a belt for the tractor. The dogs love to ride, so we put them in the back of the van. We have blankets and a water bowl that's designed not to spill when I drive so they travel in comfort. We are careful to leave the air conditioning or heater on when we leave them in the car, if the weather dictates. To prevent Bama and Buster from jumping out of the van when we open the latch, we attach their leashes to the seat belts.

On this particular afternoon, I put BigDog in the back of the van in front of Bama. I closed the hatch with the remote. When we came back from the errand, Dad said, "Where's Bama?" I looked down at his hands, and he was holding Bama's leash and empty collar that were caught in the hatch. I did not realize she had jumped over BigDog and out of the van before I closed the hatch. The seat belt extended enough that she was able to land on the ground but not get away from the van. I had dragged her behind the van without realizing it. We had no idea what had happened to her. We didn't see any blood on the road, and I hoped she slipped the collar before she was injured.

It took us hours to find her. After driving up and down the road calling for her, I took the other two dogs out to look for Bama, but they were soon panting heavily from being unaccustomed to temperatures in the low 90's. I had to take them inside to cool them off. I became concerned about Bama having heat exhaustion, along with other injuries.

I quickly made a lost dog poster and plastered the area with it. A kind person at a nearby trailer park found her and called me after seeing the poster. Bama was lying on the driveway in front of the trailer when we finally located her over six hours after we ran the errand. When I called her name, she dragged her back legs trying to get to me. She had serious road burns all over her body. I was devastated. Thank God she had finally slipped the collar.

We rushed her to the emergency vet clinic. When they took her in a room to examine her, I stroked her head and kept blubbering, “I’m so sorry, Bama; I’m so sorry, Bama.”

One of the technicians smiled gently at little Bama and said, “Tell her ‘That’s why they call it an accident instead of an on-purpose, Mom.” Yes, it was an accident, but I kept wishing there was some way I could go back in time and undo it.

The emergency clinic gave her fluids to stabilize her until the next morning.

When we picked her up from the emergency clinic and took her to the local vet hospital the next morning, the vet was honest with us that saving Bama was going to be an extensive investment of time and money (thousands of dollars). It was going to be a lot to put her and us through. She had lost over 25% of her skin, and wounds on her side, stomach, and thigh were extremely wide and deep. Bama also had extensive wounds on her legs and feet.

I did not make the decision out of guilt, although I felt plenty of it. As difficult as it would have been, if I believed the best thing would have been to euthanize Bama and end her suffering, I would have made that choice. I thought about how Bama managed to live those hours in that heat with those injuries. She had tried so hard to come to me when she heard my voice, despite her pain. The look on her face said, "You are finally here. I've been waiting."

It is incredible to think that a creature would love you so much that she would fight so hard to stay with you. I told the vet, “If she fought so hard to live, how can we do anything but fight with her? We will find a way.” Despite the fact that I had just lost my job, I knew what I said was true.

I am so proud of this little dog. In the blogs that follow, you will understand why. I believe that good will come from this tragedy. Her determination has already deeply affected my life. After 16 years of chronic pain from a car accident—often excruciating pain, I was ready to give up and go on disability rather than try to start over with a new job. But in my heart, like little Bama, I know that I have more to give. She has inspired me to try again.

Thanks for your good wishes for her recovery!