Palliative Care isn’t just for humans…

I’m currently navigating healthcare decision making for our almost 12 year old Labrador, Snow. And even though I am a death doula, that doesn’t mean I don’t have pretty big feelings about the fact that Snow won’t be here forever. Snow is my soul dog. When she looks in my eyes I know she’s been here before. She is kindness and gentle strength and a steady, grounding presence.

Snow has a heart condition (DCM) along with some pretty serious arrhythmias which she takes daily medications for, and now we are navigating some inexplainable non-regenerative anemia. We don’t plan on doing a bone marrow aspirate as it’s really invasive and painful, plus requires anesthesia which she cannot have due to her heart.

And so, I find myself walking the path of palliative care for a dog.

For those unfamiliar, palliative care is a branch of medicine that focuses on quality of life. It can be offered at any stage of a serious illness—human or animal—and it doesn’t require a terminal diagnosis (unlike hospice, which typically begins with a six-month prognosis in humans).

Essentially with palliative care we are looking at the patient (whether human or animal) as a whole. Trying to make sure we are maximizing quality of life. That might mean easing pain, supporting emotional well-being, or helping families navigate the many practical decisions that come with illness.

In the case of Snow, I want to be sure she isn’t in pain and she is enjoying the time she has left. Because all she’s ever given this world was love, and she deserves that right back from us. I don’t know what the next days, weeks or months will look like for her, but I do know that we will do anything and everything we can to give her the best quality of life possible, and I will continue to balance the cost/benefits of potential treatments and medication while also keeping in mind her comfort and quality of life.

This journey with Snow has deepened my understanding of what it really means to walk alongside someone—or some being—through illness and uncertainty. It’s not about fixing or finding all the answers. It’s about love, presence, and honoring the life in front of you.

That’s what I strive to do in my work as a death doula, too: to help individuals and families feel supported, to create space for honest conversations, and to remind them they don’t have to carry it all alone. Snow has given me endless lessons in compassion, and I feel grateful to bring those lessons forward in my work with others.