Pippa

I got a puppy on Saturday.

I don't have a puppy today.

Her name was Pippa, and she was probably the cutest animal I've ever seen, let alone held. She was (is, she isn't dead) a little pomeranian that I fell in love with when I made a really bad decision to walk into a puppy store in Stony Brook last week.

My aunt and cousin had just gotten puppies. Meg, my friend, also had a little one she was raising with her dad. I guess by seeing how adorable the pups were and how happy they made their owners, I figured getting a little baby to cuddle with during the months ahead might ease the anxiety I've been feeling and help me get through chemo. Plus, I thought, I'm not working, and despite being tired, I will be able to devote time to training and taking care of one. Perfect time to get a dog, right?

Wrong.

My parents had their reservations, especially my dad. Their concerns were totally valid: she most likely came from a puppy mill since she ended up in a store, puppies are a huge responsibility, and I am heading for a few tough months where I'm not going to be feeling too great.

I told myself--and my parents--that the puppy would be a great distraction, and a huge comfort during all that. I wheedled my dad, who said over and over, it would be too much work right now. Plus, I already have a dog who I absolutely adore, Lily, who let's just say is not too fond of other dogs in general. But in the end, after a few days of incessant pleading, my parents gave in and I called the store and arranged to pick up little Pippa (the name was perfect for her, seriously) this past Saturday.

I had a tiny collar for her, a little leash, a teeny little kennel with a pillowcase for a blankey inside. I was all set to make her the happiest puppy ever. But after a few hours with Pippa, I began to realize how careful I had to be with her. She was barely three pounds. She felt practically breakable in my arms. Then, within a span of a few hours, the "I have to be careful with this puppy" turned into a panicked, "Oh my God I'm not going to be able to do this." I actually cried when my parents, Jenna and I left to get a bite to eat because I was so anxious about leaving her since she had vomited a bit after dinner (which I read was common when puppies were adjusting to new homes, but still.)

I put her to bed around 11 that night and set my alarm for 6, but was woken up at around a quarter to five by my mom who said "Katie! Katie the baby's crying." I groggily went down and went through the tasks of taking her out, feeding her, and letting her have play time. My mom was up with Lily around that time and helped me watch her for a bit when I confessed I was having second thoughts about the whole thing.

I didn't know what to do. I hated the thought of putting her back in the store or giving her up, but I also had this really, really gut feeling that this was wrong, that I shouldn't have a puppy right now, that everything my parents had said was true. That it wouldn't be fair of me to try to raise Pippa when I'm sick.

By 9 am Sunday, less than 24 hours of having her, my mom asked me if I wanted to see if we could return her. I had a horrible breakdown, but decided then to bring her back to the store so she could have the chance to go to a good owner. Sobbing hysterically, I got in the car with my dad and Pippa and brought her back to the store.

A blonde woman was eating a takeout breakfast when we walked in and immediately stood up when she saw the look on our faces. I knew I wouldn't be able to talk, so my dad took on the task of explaining the situation. I tried to interject, "I thought it would be a good idea but...but.." I was crying too hard to speak straight. My dad explained about the hodge, and although I don't like using it as an excuse for anything, this time it was an excuse. The lady looked apprehensive at first; I could tell the store did not accept returns on healthy puppies under normal circumstances. But then she told us she'd take the puppy and have her friend sell her outside the store so her boss wouldn't find out, since he "isn't a sensitive man."

It was all I could do to hand Pippa over to my dad to give to the lady. "Where should we put this little mush?" He asked after we reached an agreement. Then one of the employees took her from my dad and brought her to the back. I couldn't even look at her.

I cried all day yesterday, completely inconsolable, although God bless my parents, they tried. For one, it is tearing me up to know the puppy is back in the store. And secondly, I feel like a complete child in that I didn't admit to myself before buying the puppy that it wasn't the right time. But really, that deep down feeling that I wouldn't have been able to give her the full attention she needed coupled with the anxiety I had over taking care of her was enough to make me able to give her up.

I woke up today feeling much better and more relieved than upset. But as the day wore on, I started to have doubts, and an overwhelming sense of guilt and anxiety set in to culminate in another hysterical bout of crying in the dressing room of Chico's, where my mom was trying on outfits for Cody's graduation. My mom, standing in the skirt she was trying on, looked at me in utter disbelief. "You are not like this, Katie," she said. "You're not an anxious person. Everything turned out okay." But I couldn't stop crying and heaving, so I escaped to the car and we headed home, where my dad was home for lunch.

On the way home, my mom put things into perspective for me, and got me to admit something that I had been hiding deeply: I wasn't crying completely about the puppy; I knew she was going to be okay, and that I had done the right thing. I was crying because not being able to take care of her represented to me not being able to live life normally. I was crying because my mom was right, I am not normally an anxious person, and I hated not being able to handle this situation. I was crying because I am really, really scared about starting chemotherapy and how my life is going to change this summer. About how it's already changed.

On the advice of my parents, I called my oncologist today to tell him about how I felt. He confirmed something else my parents had said--that my hormones were still really out of whack, and I was going through what he called "the crash" that happens after you're loaded up like I was. I tried to keep it together on the phone with him. Crying in front of the Chico's ladies is one thing, but I didn't want to cry to my doctor. He assured me that I would level out soon, and that starting treatments would actually make me feel better. He also boosted my confidence by saying he could tell just from meeting me once that I was too level-headed for the feelings I've been experiencing to be just nerves.

Since talking to him, I've only cried once--right now, in hashing everything over again. A little 3 pound piece of my heart (metaphorically--the heart weighs only 9-11 ounces) was chunked out today when I brought that little pup back, but I really need to get myself together and get back to the positive place I was in when I decided not to let the hodge completely take over my life.

And it's not like that should be so hard to do. As I've said in maybe every post on here, my parents have been amazing in helping me through this. Their patience is endless. And not just them, but my two brothers have been really supportive also. Cody, my younger one, graduates this weekend, and then comes home for at least a month before he begins his first real person job in July, which I'm really happy about. I'm going to Boston this weekend for the ceremony, and it should be a fun three days. Also, it has to be said that I already have a fantastic dog, who although she was really pissed at me (seriously, she wouldn't look at me), still came into my room after her breakfast and curled up at the bottom of my bed today.