Losing Elliot

In July of 2023, despite the best efforts of myself and an amazing oncology team, I lost Elliot to acute lymphoblastic leukemia.

Elliot was the dog of my twenties and had only recently turned eight years old. I had just taken her to the vet mid-June for her annual exam, where I had requested extra bloodwork to ensure nothing was lurking in her body undetected. All of her values came back well within the normal range.

On Friday, July 7th, Elliot and I took a walk to go play fetch. Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) had just been released. It was playing through my headphones. We got caught in a rainstorm and had to run home. We were soaked before we got back. Elliot always hated when her “tail feathers” were wet. She danced around while I toweled her off.

On Sunday, July 9th, I thought Elliot’s gait looked different during our evening walk. Almost like she was tiptoeing around. My mom didn’t see it, so if anything had changed it was extremely slight. We guessed, if anything, it was just the fact that she was aging. Maybe she was sore from playing fetch earlier that day. Maybe she didn’t get enough of a cool down. I would keep an eye on it. My mom reassured me, emphasizing what good condition Elliot was in, saying she would be around for a long time. I said you can never be too sure—there are no guarantees.

On Wednesday, July 12th, Elliot threw up before breakfast. That was highly unusual. I didn’t love it. But she seemed just fine otherwise. She walked, played fetch, and ate breakfast with her usual enthusiasm.

But that afternoon, Elliot threw up again. I immediately broke down knowing that something was extremely wrong. Maybe I was imagining it, but her belly looked inflated—I feared it was possible bloat. We rushed to the emergency vet. I greenlit every diagnostic. It wasn’t bloat, but her belly was distended. Radiographs revealed that her liver was “severely enlarged.” Bloodwork revealed “severe elevation in white blood cells significantly in lymphocytes” and anemia. Our emergency vet described the results as “astronomical" saying she had never seen counts that high. I booked the earliest possible appointment with one of the best oncologists in the D.C. area. Monday, July 17th, was the first available appointment. Elliot received in-clinic treatment and we walked away with a treatment plan to keep her comfortable until Monday.

On Thursday, July 13th, I worked from the couch. Elliot seemed relatively comfortable. She ate well. We took a lot of mini walks outside. An old neighbor stopped by unannounced. She relayed that their family had a recent scare with their older dog, but he pulled through. She reassured me that they always do. I ordered pupsicles for Elliot, willing myself to believe that she’d live to enjoy them.

On Friday, July 14th, I woke to a 5AM alarm reminding me it was time for Elliot’s meds. She was sitting next to the bed instead of being curled up next to me. She wouldn’t take the pill pocket. We immediately got in the car and drove to the oncologist. Our appointment wasn’t until Monday, but the oncologist we booked with worked in an emergency hospital. I hoped that Elliot could start receiving immediate treatment if I could convince them to accept her as an emergency patient.

We arrived at the hospital and walked inside. Elliot showed no obvious signs of distress, but I beg them to trust me when I said she was masking her pain and was seriously ill. They take her back but warn me they have other patients and it may be a while before she’s seen.

One of their vets called me within half an hour. I gave her a full rundown of the week’s events. I greenlit every diagnostic. The vet said she’d be in touch.

The calls blur together from there. More diagnostics. A number of treatment plans. Even more updates—some good, some bad. She obviously had cancer, and it was obviously very aggressive. But we wouldn’t know specifics until some test results came back. They would keep her overnight. We started emergency chemotherapy. Elliot was eating well. We were hopeful she would get to come home the next day.

On Saturday, July 15th, I got the overnight update. Initially, Elliot had responded well to treatment. But when we saw an improvement by one measure, something else would start to decline. She stopped eating. She was just too sick. We drove back to the emergency vet. I took my sweet girl for one last brief “walk” outside and said my goodbyes. She was so clearly ready to go. It was as if she’d been waiting on me. It was simultaneously the easiest and the worst decision I’ve ever had to make.

The silver lining in all of this was that I know there is nothing was missed and nothing more could have been done. Knowing that gave me such peace and allowed me just to grieve free of a mind riddled with “what ifs.” I was blessed to be able to take these expenses in stride without having to second guess a thing, but I realize that not everyone is so lucky. So I wanted to candidly share the extent of the expenses I incurred in Elliot’s last week. My hope is that someone earlier in their journey with their pet, and perhaps with less financial flexibility, might set a plan in motion today without even realizing how much they’ll appreciate having it a few years down the road.

7/12, Emergency Vet = $953.35
7/14, Emergency Vet = $6,507.41 (comprehensive rush/same day diagnostic tests & imaging)
7/15, Emergency Vet = $1,663.31 (emergency chemo charges & euthanasia)

GRAND TOTAL = $9, 124.07

If you are like me and you could not live with yourself if you did not do everything in your power to get your pet well, then I beg you to take a look at that number and be honest with yourself about your finances and how prepared you are in the event of an emergency. Whether you choose to self-insure or to purchase insurance, you simply must be prepared. It’s not the most fun thing you will do with or for your pet, but please let this be the nudge you need to sit down and map out a plan. You may thank yourself later.