Over the Rainbow Bridge
Nella Jean
Nella Jean joined our family on September 6, 2009, at exactly eight weeks old. We were uneducated about the need to research breeders, so we chose to adopt Nella based only on her adorable picture in the online ad. Nella’s parents’ owners had an accidental litter because they had not altered their two sphynx. Nella and one of her sisters were the only two kittens that survived birth.
When Nella came into our lives, we already had a six month old male sphynx, named Binxey. Binxey tolerated me, but he had a deep bond with my fiancée, Ryan. The day we brought Nella home, it was as if she knew that she was my baby and I was her mother. Like many kittens who are taken away from their mother too early, Nella suckled. However, the difference between Nella and most of these other cats was that she would only suckle on my ear lobe. She would nuzzle her way between my shoulder and my head and suckle on my ear lobe until she fell asleep. I have had many pets throughout my life, but Nella was the first one who was wholly devoted to me. She followed me when I would do housework, and whenever I was still, she was on my shoulder or sleeping next to me on my pillow. We were inseparable.
As months went by, we started to notice that our Nella was developing much more slowly than our Binxey had. Not only was she much smaller in stature, but she was very frail and tired easily. Worried, we had full blood panels run and physical exam performed, but our veterinarian assured us that everything was normal.
We celebrated Nella’s first and only birthday on July 6, 2010, with lots of treats and snuggles. Ryan and I were so in love with Binxey and Nella. We knew our perfect little family could not last forever, but we never imagined that it would end so soon.
Over the course of only two days in mid-October, 2010, Nella’s lethargy symptoms became much worse. We rushed her in to the veterinarian, and for the first time she mentioned doing an echocardiogram. Nella had been hiding her pain and exhaustion for a long time, but now it was too much for her to bear. Ryan and I followed our veterinarian into a small room, where we laid our four pound, 15 month old kitten on the echo table. As they scanned, even my untrained eye could see the proportions between her heart and lungs were deadly. Her lungs were being crushed by her heart. She was drowning in her own fluids.
We took Nella home with disbelief, and her dosage of atenilol and lasix. The next day, October 15, 2010, I left work early as I was worrying about my baby girl. I arrived home to find my once vibrantly pink Nella a light shade of bluish-purple. She was huddled in a corner of our living room. She was too far gone for the medicines, and instead they were exasperating her symptoms. Feeling helpless, we rushed her back to the veterinarian. The phrases, “nothing we can do,” “it’s probably time to put her out of her pain,” etc, were being thrown around the exam room. In a haze, I could hardly hear the vet speaking, as I watched my Princess Nella lying still in an incubator, with an oxygen mask near her tiny nose and mouth.
I wanted a miracle. We decided to bring her home. We borrowed an oxygen tank from a friend and an oxygen mask from the vet’s office. My mom and sister arrived so between them, Ryan and I, there could be someone awake to comfort Nella at all times. I could not sleep, eat or even move away from my baby. There was an extraordinary sense of calm that came over me. I did not want her to sense my sorrow. I knew I would have time to mourn soon. Late in the evening, wrapped in her favorite pink fleece blanket, and lying on my chest, Nella’s labored breaths stopped, and her eyes closed. Moments later, my sense of calm released, and the child in my heart looked to my mom and I cried out, “No...No…mom….I want my baby back…NO…”
After a while, Ryan laid Nella on our table, with her favorite blanket still wrapped around her. We knew we had to show our now 18 month old, Binxey, that his sister was gone. We put Binxey up on the table next to Nella. Binxey sniffed her briefly, jumped off the table, ran to the other side of the room and vomited. He knew.
I truly believe that a part of Ryan, Binxey and I died with Nella that night. One month later, Ryan and I decided that we were not going to go through with our marriage. Our loss had pulled us farther apart rather than together. HCM had torn our world apart.
A while back, I woke up to Binxey cuddled up against me; something he rarely does. I looked at him, and realized that in the course of only a few months, our happy family of four had turned into a broken one. In my sadness, I have no one to blame, but HCM, and I am angry. HCM is a terrorist, the enemy, and we need to come together to fight this war, because no one else should have to go through this.
- Emily
Nella Jean joined our family on September 6, 2009, at exactly eight weeks old. We were uneducated about the need to research breeders, so we chose to adopt Nella based only on her adorable picture in the online ad. Nella’s parents’ owners had an accidental litter because they had not altered their two sphynx. Nella and one of her sisters were the only two kittens that survived birth.
When Nella came into our lives, we already had a six month old male sphynx, named Binxey. Binxey tolerated me, but he had a deep bond with my fiancée, Ryan. The day we brought Nella home, it was as if she knew that she was my baby and I was her mother. Like many kittens who are taken away from their mother too early, Nella suckled. However, the difference between Nella and most of these other cats was that she would only suckle on my ear lobe. She would nuzzle her way between my shoulder and my head and suckle on my ear lobe until she fell asleep. I have had many pets throughout my life, but Nella was the first one who was wholly devoted to me. She followed me when I would do housework, and whenever I was still, she was on my shoulder or sleeping next to me on my pillow. We were inseparable.
As months went by, we started to notice that our Nella was developing much more slowly than our Binxey had. Not only was she much smaller in stature, but she was very frail and tired easily. Worried, we had full blood panels run and physical exam performed, but our veterinarian assured us that everything was normal.
We celebrated Nella’s first and only birthday on July 6, 2010, with lots of treats and snuggles. Ryan and I were so in love with Binxey and Nella. We knew our perfect little family could not last forever, but we never imagined that it would end so soon.
Over the course of only two days in mid-October, 2010, Nella’s lethargy symptoms became much worse. We rushed her in to the veterinarian, and for the first time she mentioned doing an echocardiogram. Nella had been hiding her pain and exhaustion for a long time, but now it was too much for her to bear. Ryan and I followed our veterinarian into a small room, where we laid our four pound, 15 month old kitten on the echo table. As they scanned, even my untrained eye could see the proportions between her heart and lungs were deadly. Her lungs were being crushed by her heart. She was drowning in her own fluids.
We took Nella home with disbelief, and her dosage of atenilol and lasix. The next day, October 15, 2010, I left work early as I was worrying about my baby girl. I arrived home to find my once vibrantly pink Nella a light shade of bluish-purple. She was huddled in a corner of our living room. She was too far gone for the medicines, and instead they were exasperating her symptoms. Feeling helpless, we rushed her back to the veterinarian. The phrases, “nothing we can do,” “it’s probably time to put her out of her pain,” etc, were being thrown around the exam room. In a haze, I could hardly hear the vet speaking, as I watched my Princess Nella lying still in an incubator, with an oxygen mask near her tiny nose and mouth.
I wanted a miracle. We decided to bring her home. We borrowed an oxygen tank from a friend and an oxygen mask from the vet’s office. My mom and sister arrived so between them, Ryan and I, there could be someone awake to comfort Nella at all times. I could not sleep, eat or even move away from my baby. There was an extraordinary sense of calm that came over me. I did not want her to sense my sorrow. I knew I would have time to mourn soon. Late in the evening, wrapped in her favorite pink fleece blanket, and lying on my chest, Nella’s labored breaths stopped, and her eyes closed. Moments later, my sense of calm released, and the child in my heart looked to my mom and I cried out, “No...No…mom….I want my baby back…NO…”
After a while, Ryan laid Nella on our table, with her favorite blanket still wrapped around her. We knew we had to show our now 18 month old, Binxey, that his sister was gone. We put Binxey up on the table next to Nella. Binxey sniffed her briefly, jumped off the table, ran to the other side of the room and vomited. He knew.
I truly believe that a part of Ryan, Binxey and I died with Nella that night. One month later, Ryan and I decided that we were not going to go through with our marriage. Our loss had pulled us farther apart rather than together. HCM had torn our world apart.
A while back, I woke up to Binxey cuddled up against me; something he rarely does. I looked at him, and realized that in the course of only a few months, our happy family of four had turned into a broken one. In my sadness, I have no one to blame, but HCM, and I am angry. HCM is a terrorist, the enemy, and we need to come together to fight this war, because no one else should have to go through this.
- Emily
Gus
Gus was diagnosed with HCM at the age of 3 1/2. As HCM is a disease which may develop at any time, his first two HCM scans were negative. Shortly after his diagnosis, his father, Angelsark Chase Me, was also diagnosed with HCM along with his 10 year old great grandfather, Dhondt's Nevar. HCM is truly a genetic disease. Gus lived for nearly a year after his diagnosis. He was monitored closely by two feline cardiologists but unfortunately went into heart failure shortly after his diagnosis. His HCM was very aggressive. Gus was a very happy kitty who enjoyed traveling, going to cat shows, and hanging out with his naked buddies. His favorite past times were nursing on himself, stealing pens and pencils, and playing on his mom's iPad. Before his death, Gus was able to participate in Washington State University's Cardiac Genetics Lab research study to help identify the gene responsible for HCM.
A golden heart stopped beating
Laughing eyes now at rest
God broke our hearts to prove to us
He only takes the best
There will never be another one like Gus.
- Marion
Gus was diagnosed with HCM at the age of 3 1/2. As HCM is a disease which may develop at any time, his first two HCM scans were negative. Shortly after his diagnosis, his father, Angelsark Chase Me, was also diagnosed with HCM along with his 10 year old great grandfather, Dhondt's Nevar. HCM is truly a genetic disease. Gus lived for nearly a year after his diagnosis. He was monitored closely by two feline cardiologists but unfortunately went into heart failure shortly after his diagnosis. His HCM was very aggressive. Gus was a very happy kitty who enjoyed traveling, going to cat shows, and hanging out with his naked buddies. His favorite past times were nursing on himself, stealing pens and pencils, and playing on his mom's iPad. Before his death, Gus was able to participate in Washington State University's Cardiac Genetics Lab research study to help identify the gene responsible for HCM.
A golden heart stopped beating
Laughing eyes now at rest
God broke our hearts to prove to us
He only takes the best
There will never be another one like Gus.
- Marion
Xander
Xander, genesis, where it all began.
Xander was born in June 2002 in a small town in Oklahoma. Back then, there were very few breeders so I was ecstatic to find a kitten within 5 hours' driving distance. I put a deposit down for him after a few conversations with the breeder and then drove to see him as soon as I could. He is the first Sphynx I ever laid my eyes on in real life. I was immediately mesmerized by him and his strange wrinkles and the bizarre, unearthly feeling of his skin. I can still remember, as if it were yesterday, what it felt like to touch him for the very first time.
Weeks later I drove back to Oklahoma to bring home my supernatural little one, and all was right in the world. Everything he did was fascinating, every wrinkle intriguing, every purr inviting him farther and farther into my heart. I still love Xander deeply and mourn for his bluntly shortened lifespan anytime he enters my thoughts.
All was well for a while until I started noticing that Xander seemed depressed. At the time, breeders were just beginning to openly talk about HCM, but hardly anyone was performing heart screening, unless there were obvious symptoms to indicate a heart issue. Being fearful of HCM already, I pulled out my stethoscope and listened to Xander's heart right there at home. My heart sank into the earth: Xander had an obvious murmur. I immediately made an appointment with Xander's vet and off to the vet we went. The vet heard the murmur and referred us for an echocardiogram. We had to sit in the waiting room while Xander's echocardiogram was performed. Fast forward through about 15-20 minutes of anxiously hoping to avoid Xander's potentially life threatening disease, and the vet walked in with his chart. Xander had moderate HCM at 1.5 years old.... and I had been kicked in the gut. He was diagnosed in January 2004. He was started on medication and did well for a good while but ultimately lost his life in 2006.
I am grateful for my time with him, and in some weird way, as a breeder, I'm grateful for this eye opening experience happening so soon for me. If I had to do it all over again, I would still have picked Xander knowing the outcome. Nothing can prepare you for your pet being diagnosed with HCM -- and especially them losing their life to it; you have to actually experience it. And you carry that wound with you forever but also the wisdom of knowing firsthand what this disease can do to your revered four-legged family members. There is no place left in your soul not to take this disease seriously once you know.
- Jamie
Xander, genesis, where it all began.
Xander was born in June 2002 in a small town in Oklahoma. Back then, there were very few breeders so I was ecstatic to find a kitten within 5 hours' driving distance. I put a deposit down for him after a few conversations with the breeder and then drove to see him as soon as I could. He is the first Sphynx I ever laid my eyes on in real life. I was immediately mesmerized by him and his strange wrinkles and the bizarre, unearthly feeling of his skin. I can still remember, as if it were yesterday, what it felt like to touch him for the very first time.
Weeks later I drove back to Oklahoma to bring home my supernatural little one, and all was right in the world. Everything he did was fascinating, every wrinkle intriguing, every purr inviting him farther and farther into my heart. I still love Xander deeply and mourn for his bluntly shortened lifespan anytime he enters my thoughts.
All was well for a while until I started noticing that Xander seemed depressed. At the time, breeders were just beginning to openly talk about HCM, but hardly anyone was performing heart screening, unless there were obvious symptoms to indicate a heart issue. Being fearful of HCM already, I pulled out my stethoscope and listened to Xander's heart right there at home. My heart sank into the earth: Xander had an obvious murmur. I immediately made an appointment with Xander's vet and off to the vet we went. The vet heard the murmur and referred us for an echocardiogram. We had to sit in the waiting room while Xander's echocardiogram was performed. Fast forward through about 15-20 minutes of anxiously hoping to avoid Xander's potentially life threatening disease, and the vet walked in with his chart. Xander had moderate HCM at 1.5 years old.... and I had been kicked in the gut. He was diagnosed in January 2004. He was started on medication and did well for a good while but ultimately lost his life in 2006.
I am grateful for my time with him, and in some weird way, as a breeder, I'm grateful for this eye opening experience happening so soon for me. If I had to do it all over again, I would still have picked Xander knowing the outcome. Nothing can prepare you for your pet being diagnosed with HCM -- and especially them losing their life to it; you have to actually experience it. And you carry that wound with you forever but also the wisdom of knowing firsthand what this disease can do to your revered four-legged family members. There is no place left in your soul not to take this disease seriously once you know.
- Jamie
Brad Kitt
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