Alice's Story told by Her Family
By Leigh, Brooklyn and Dr. Barbara Spilchuk
A Publication of buyhavanese.com
This is the first part of Alice's Story Told by Her Family - Alice: by Brooklyn:
If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heartbeat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. (in Belenky et al., 1986, p. 3)
Alice: by Brooklyn 9/19/16
Alice has always had a special place in my heart. She is the most loving, caring, and affectionate dog I've ever dreamed of having. I think about her every second I'm gone and can't wait to come home to see her. The look on her face and the never ending kisses as I walk in the door never fail to make me feel so happy. The way she rolls over with the slightest hand movement expecting you to rub her stomach never fails to make me smirk, and of course she always gets it. I love and care for her just as much as she cares for everyone in our home. As often as my mother tells me not to, on the odd occasion I'll bring her down into my room and let her nap with me just because she brings me so much comfort. Alice is nothing but a pleasure to have and I'm so grateful she's a part of my life.
When I found out Alice was diagnosed with Sebaceous Adenitis, my heart broke. I have never dealt with the loss of a best friend before. Once she became a part of my life, I could never imagine living it without her. When most people hear that someone they love is dying, or carries a disease with no cure, sadness becomes overwhelming and along with that there is anger and so many questions… often with no answers to be given. Why did something so awful happen to her? She doesn't deserve what she is going through. The most infuriating part for me to hear through this whole thing is that Alice's disease is genetic and that this could have been avoided. Could it have been avoided? Could Alice's and our family's agony have been avoided?
Over the last few months, with medication, Alice has improved drastically. She still carries her favourite toy around the house and never fails to run into the kitchen when she hears the fridge door open. So for now, nothing has changed; she still loves, and is loved unconditionally. But the medication is only a temporary solution. I know the day will come, all too soon, when we will lose her because this disease may shorten her life, and I'm absolutely dreading it.