The thing that is so wonderful about this process is watching growth and life take place. Watching something that was, in essence, dying, and is now coming back to life. What a joy! What a privilege to be a part of this!

Almost four years ago now, we adopted a Chihuahua. We had not planned to adopt a dog. We had never wanted a Chihuahua. But there he was, in an RV park in San Antonio, Texas. And due to unfortunate and unintentional circumstances, he was half-dead at the time. We knew that if we did not intervene he might not make it.

We took him into our camper and all he did for an entire week was eat and drink, eat and drink, eat and drink. He was skin and bones. He was so dehydrated, he would spend several minutes at a time at the water bowl, drinking and drinking and drinking. We were due to leave Texas and head to Colorado that week. We knew he may not have made it through the journey to that altitude in the dehydrated state he was in. A week later he was strong enough to make the trip. In one year he had gained a pound, going from five to six pounds, a huge amount for such a small creature. It was so rewarding to be a part of giving life to something that was dying. To this day, he licks my face in a special way, like he is still thanking me for rescuing him.

Our boy was a lot like this. Almost exactly like this, actually. And to watch him grow (literally!) so much in so little time, simply by having his body, soul, and spirit nourished, when it had been starving, is so surreal and miraculous that I have to step back when I am overwhelmed or angry or irritated and look at the big picture and say… WOW. Just WOW. Look at the life that is in you now, that was not there when I met you!

When he first came to us, I believe that, much like Maximus, he was half-dead. He was malnourished and dehydrated, having been on horribly destructive ADHD meds for five years and not having any parents to make sure he got what he needed because he had been institutionalized for so long. His growth had simply been stunted and there was no life or light or color in him. He sat slumped over as if he had not the strength to even hold himself upright, which was just as much emotional as it was physical, maybe more.

He used to have terrible nose-bleeds, so heavy and so lengthy that we almost had to call an ambulance on one occasion, because it would not stop and he was losing consciousness before our eyes. I remember thinking, your body is literally shutting down. You are literally hemmoraging from the face, and if we were not here, you would have bled to death this way. It felt like a horrifying physical sign of what was happening inside of him. His heart was wasting away, his soul was bleeding to death.

That night, the night the worst one had happened, it was only a few weeks after he moved in with us. I had to google what to do when we realized it wasn’t going to stop. We sat on the bed with him, one of us on each side, his head bent slightly forward so he did not swallow the blood, my husband and I taking turns pinching the bridge of his nose, holding ice on the back of his neck, going through wads of tissues. Speaking soothing words to him, praying silently in our minds, hearts racing… We were on the edge of dialing 911.

Twenty minutes later, which felt like hours, it finally stopped. He was so white and he passed out on his pillow, exhausted and depleted. I kept going into his room after that, checking, watching. We could not sleep soundly that night. I pumped him full of fluids after that, as much as I could get into his body. Got him off his ADHD meds and began feeding him more and more. Bringing his strength back, nourishing and hydrating his tired body. Tired from a lifetime of so much lack. We nourished his soul too. Love and affection and so many cuddles and hugs. He soaked it all up.

We know now, that night, the night we sat on either side of him, trying to stop the bleeding, this was a picture of the way we would be parenting him for the next two years, and continuing from here. One of us on either side of him, holding him together, watching so close, stopping the bleeding in his soul whenever it started. Pinching the virtual vein that had opened up, holding it hard and never letting go until the bleeding stopped. Over and over again. Praying, holding him together, checking and rechecking, worrying, watching.

The nosebleeds continued like that for the next year and then slowly tapered off. They were a manifestation of not only physical malnourishment, but also of a dying soul. Around that time, I saw a book laying on a friend’s desk that said on the cover it contained spiritual and emotional causes of physical ailments. It was written like a glossary. I quickly grabbed it and flipped to the N section and found what I was looking for. Underneath the word Nosebleeds it said, lacking love. I almost starting weeping right there.

Now they are rare and do not last long, only seem to happen if he is away from us for a day or two, and they are not nearly as severe. They stop as soon as I move to him, help him pinch the bridge of his nose. Almost as if his body is saying, are you still there? Is it true I am really safe and loved now? Is it true? And I come close to him and worry over him, help it stop and my actions are saying, yes it is true. Yes you are loved, you are safe. It’s okay. And then it stops. His body is so much stronger now too. Not nearly as prone to such malfunctioning.

As he has been brought back to life before our eyes, he can go longer and longer without his soul hemorrhaging as well. We have longer and longer periods of peace, more and more balance. The crazy moments when something bursts inside of him still happen, but we recover quickly now, as a family that has bonded deeply. As parents who immediately know what to do. No longer the frightened, green, inexperienced foster parents, sitting uncertainly on the bed, looking at each other over his head, pinching his nose, thinking Oh My God what do we do?

No. Now we are seasoned and sure. We are confident and knowing. We swoop in and pull him back together, we stop the internal bleeding with experienced hands.

A screen door may be pulled from its hinges, someone bleeding from an arm or a toe, neighbors looking concerned from their open garages, holes in the walls of our house, items scattered everywhere, dogs hiding… but we know what to do, we know how to hold him together, the bleeding stops, and… he is in our arms, crying apologizing and we, forgiving, reassuring… and then we settle back into peace again.. unit the next hemorrhage…

And actually, he only seems to fall apart now if one of us falls apart. Because we have become the pillars in his life. And as long as we are strong, he feels safe. As long as we stay stable and calm, he does too.

He runs to us.

He looks to us.

He knows we are the ones that will always be there to uphold him.

And the life that is emerging from this, in ALL of us, is exquisite to behold. I am not the person I was when I started this journey. None of us are. I thank God for the life and the growth I have been allowed to be a part of. What a miraculous journey for all of us!

He and Maximus bonded immediately. They were kindred spirits, they had both been rescued from a life of lack and been nursed, nourished, brought back to life. They both transformed before our eyes and were given honored positions in our family. He comes home and says, where’s my Chihuahua? and searches until he finds him.

His face radiates life and color now. He has become tall and strong and handsome. He is unrecognizable. He has gained forty pounds and grown eight inches now, since the day we met him. Mind, it has not even been a full two years yet. Eight inches and forty pounds in less than two years. And just like Maximus, he looks at us in a way that tells us he knows we saved his life.

Oh God, don’t ever let the frustration and weariness distract me from the joy that such a miracle is to be a part of!

4,883

Liked this post? Follow this blog to get more.