The weekend of September 12 and 13, 2026, Frost wasn’t feeling like herself.
We were worried about her. At first, we thought maybe she had a cold or perhaps a tummy issue. She wouldn’t eat, although she was still drinking water. We hoped it was something simple that would pass.
But it didn’t.
That continued through Monday, September 14.
That night, we went to bed, and Frost tried to sleep on the bed with us, as she had so many times before. But I think she was uncomfortable. She eventually settled on the blanket we had put down for her on the floor.
By Tuesday, September 15, Frost was looking much worse.
Her eyes were beginning to sink in, and her limbs were getting cold. After work that evening, I spoke with a veterinarian online. I told her everything that had been happening with Frost and described her symptoms.
Her advice was immediate:
Get her to a veterinarian. Don’t wait.
We took Frost to an urgent care veterinary clinic that was open that evening. They were incredibly kind to Frost and to us. After examining her, they advised us to take her to a veterinary emergency hospital where she could be put on an IV and receive the intensive care she needed. She was severely dehydrated.
We left the urgent care clinic and made the drive to the emergency hospital, which took about 20 minutes. I had called ahead, so they were waiting for us when we arrived.
I had Frost wrapped in a blanket, trying to keep her warm.
Something about that car ride has stayed with me. She wasn’t whining. She wasn’t even carsick, which was unusual for her. She was simply so lethargic.
It scared me.
When we arrived, they immediately took her into the emergency room. It looked much like a human emergency room, with separate spaces where several animals could be treated at once. They began working on Frost right away.
There were IVs, monitors, machines, medications—everything they could do to stabilize her and make her comfortable.
Once they had her set up, they allowed us to go in and be with her.
We stayed with her for about four hours.
The veterinarian believed Frost was stable enough for us to go home and get some rest. They had diagnosed her with Addison’s disease. We were told that Addison’s disease is treatable, but it could take a great deal of time and care to get Frost stabilized. We were hopeful. We were already thinking about what life would look like once we could finally breathe that sigh of relief.
We told them we would be back in the morning.
But after we left, Frost began to deteriorate.
She wasn’t simply dealing with Addison’s disease.
She was in an Addisonian crisis.
Her sodium and potassium levels were dangerously out of balance. Her blood sugar kept dropping. Her heart rate fell into the sixties when it should have been much higher. The veterinary team gave her medications to try to bring her heart rate back up, and they were able to do that.
But her blood pressure would not rise.
They kept fighting for her.
They tried medication after medication, doing everything they could.
Before 5:00 in the morning, the hospital called us.
We were back in the car and on our way before 6:00 AM.
We brought two of our grandchildren with us. They wanted to be there for Frost. Our daughter was working that night. She’s a nurse and was working an overnight shift on the Progressive Care Unit.
We called her on the way to the hospital.
She kept telling herself that she was okay, that she would finish her shift and then come to the hospital.
But she couldn’t do it.
She left work and drove to be with Frost, crying as she made her way there.
By the time we arrived, the veterinary team had tried everything they could think of. There was one more medication they wanted to try, but the hospital didn’t have it.
Another veterinary hospital did.
One of the veterinary technicians got into her own car and drove to get it.
Someone was willing to make that trip because Frost’s life was worth fighting for.
It was the last thing they could try.
Unfortunately, the medication did not do what we needed it to do.
It kept Frost’s heartbeat up, but it could not keep her blood pressure from falling.
It kept dropping.
There was nothing more anyone could do.
The fight was over.
They gave us time with Frost in a private room.
I got to hold my baby girl.
She was awake enough to lick our faces.
Even then, she was giving us love.
We kept telling her what a good girl she was. We told her how much we loved her. We told her again and again.
You are such a good girl, Frost.
We love you so much.
Eventually, it was time to let her go.
The veterinarian came in and gave her one injection to make sure she wouldn’t feel any more pain. Then came the second injection.
It took less than thirty seconds.
And Frost was gone.
It was September 16, 2026—just seven days after her fifth birthday.
I was heartbroken then.
I am still heartbroken now.