Notes to the vet

Thank God for my local vet and my not-so-local equine cardiologist. I cannot imagine how I would have gotten this far without them.

My local vet, Dr. Jenny Kimble, is so completely supportive and helpful. She listens to me when my voice is breaking. She hears me out on my thoughts about treatment plans and encourages me to keep trying. She is patient and kind and it means so much to me to have her on our team.

Thanks Dr. Jen.

And Dr. Sophy Jesty, from Cornell. I have never met this woman in person, but she has had so much impact on what I have done to keep Parlay here and in the best condition that I can. Dr. Jesty answers my emails, adds her incredible breadth of knowledge and input to my treatment plan for Parlay and asks for nothing in return. She is also supportive and thoughtful and sympathetic when needed.

Thanks to you too, Dr. Jesty.

I owe a lot to these strong women for the strength that they are lending me.

Especially now. It is getting harder. I know that the summer heat is going to be a true test for Parlay and I am bracing myself for the battle. I understand that he may not win this one. I watch. I pray. I continue to research and provide the best supportive care that I can.

I prepare.

I think that I am anyway. I see the "plot" area every day. I have a memorial stone. I washed his blanket and cleaned his personal leather halter. I have discussed *arrangements* with my excavator. I keep going through the motions so that when the inevitable happens, I won't be without a plan. A plan that could be enacted by anyone. Anyone other than me. Because when this fateful day arrives, and the terror of the unknown takes over, and the reality of loosing my best friend arrives, my cry will go up to God, but my family is going to have to take over.

The tears come more often. Like the fits of coughing. Like the increased respiration.

As the warm fuzzy nose rubs on my body and the soft brown eyes meet mine, we have our unspoken conversation every day. I find myself asking Parlay if he is doing okay. I ask him if I am doing okay. It seems like we silently stand and contemplate the next few hours. Par seems satisfied that all is well and walks off to check out the hay piles. I stand and watch him move away--assessing his condition and attitude and making sure that I am reading it all right.

And I pray. I pray every day. Several times a day. For a horse. Not just any horse. My horse. My friend. My trusted partner. My soul mate.

A piece of me is dying and it feels so heavy. It's the burden that every pet owner has to bear. Damn. It's the burden that anyone that has felt true love has to bear.

I hope that I can do this with dignity. For Parlay and for me.