u/SwimmingAd8933

One month ago, I took my beautiful and sweet healthy 8-year-old rescue greyhound in for a routine teeth cleaning. We had him for 7 short years and he was an integral part of our family’s lives including our young children’s lives. He got me through many terrible life events. He was the calmest, gentlest and most affectionate boy and the best dog I have ever had and I’ve had many throughout my life.

When I picked him up from the clinic after his teeth cleaning, something was terribly wrong. His eyes were bloodshot, he vomited blood, and he could barely walk. I was shocked and asked the vets so many questions. The veterinarian at the clinic told me he was having an adverse reaction to the anesthesia and recommended that he stay for monitoring and IV fluids. I spoke with the clinic owner, who is also a veterinarian, and he reassured me that my dog simply needed rest and fluids. He warned me that moving him could cause further harm and insisted that the safest place for him was their clinic. I was told they had run blood tests, checked his vital signs, and scanned his organs, and that everything appeared normal.

Over the next two days, however, my dog continued to deteriorate. He kept vomiting and showed no signs of improvement. The veterinarians repeatedly reassured me that he was being monitored closely and that his symptoms were the result of an adverse reaction to anesthesia. They told me he had also developed gastritis and a stomach ulcer, both of which were being treated.

As time passed, I became increasingly concerned. Despite multiple requests, I was never shown the lab work or given clear answers about what was happening. When his condition failed to improve, I transferred him to a different veterinary clinic.
There, I was given devastating news. I was told that my dog had not been intubated during the dental procedure, meaning he had received no oxygen support and his airway had not been protected. By that point, he was blind, brain dead, suffering from severe pneumonia that had progressed to sepsis, and experiencing organ failure.

Two hours later, I had to make the heartbreaking decision to euthanize him. During those final hours, he was howling in distress and bleeding from his nose and mouth. It was horrific. Even after the vet tried to stop his heart, his heart kept beating for minutes when it should have stopped after seconds. The vet held my hands and cried with me when my beautiful boy’s heart finally stopped and he said, “he was hanging on for you.”

Ever since, I have replayed those three days over and over in my mind—from the moment I dropped him off for a routine dental cleaning to the moment I said goodbye. I blame myself for choosing that clinic, for not transferring him sooner, and for countless other decisions that I believe may have contributed to his suffering and death.

I have filed complaints against the clinic, although in this country it is unlikely the clinic will face any accountability. We are unlikely to pursue a lawsuit given the financial cost, emotional toll, and unlikely chance of success due to the laws in this country. None of that will bring my dog back anyway.

What I cannot escape is the guilt. My family had recently moved to a new country, and this was a new clinic for us. We trusted the professionals caring for our dog. Looking back, I feel painfully naïve about the quality of veterinary care available here, and I fear that trust cost my dog his life.
To make things even harder, I have to walk past that clinic every day on my way to take my son to school. Every time I see it, I relive those final days. The guilt and grief feel overwhelming. I spoke with a therapist who suggested that we move, but that isn't a simple option for us.

I don't know how to forgive myself. I don't know how to stop replaying those final days in my head. I just want to know: how do people survive this kind of guilt and grief?

EDIT: Due to some of the comments I've received, I want to add a few important points.

In the country where I live, posting a negative review of a business or professional on Google or social media can carry serious legal consequences. If I were to publicly name and criticize this clinic, I could face arrest and jail time. This reality is one of the reasons the clinic maintains a near-perfect Google rating, and it's important context for those questioning why I don’t just leave a public review. It’s not so easy. All negative reviews have been immediately removed.

I am also not looking for opinions or speculation about how my dog died. I already know how and why he died based on the findings of a second veterinarian, who conducted a thorough examination and prepared a detailed post-mortem report.

Likewise, I am not seeking advice about legal or other action against the clinic. I have spent countless hours researching every available option, consulting different lawyers, the appropriate authorities, and pursuing all avenues available to us within our rights, abilities, and resources. We remain committed to exploring every possible way to hold this veterinarian accountable.

In the meantime, I am doing what I can to raise awareness about this clinic and our experience, while remaining mindful of the very real risks involved. As much as I want to speak more openly, I have children who depend on me, and I cannot jeopardize my ability to care for them.

To those who have shamed me for not posting a public review or filing a lawsuit: before you criticize, ask yourself if you even know all the facts and why you feel the need to attack someone in the throes of grief?

I live with enough guilt already. Every day, I replay my decision to trust this clinic and wonder what I could have done differently. The purpose of my post is not to debate the circumstances of my dog's death or solicit legal advice. This is not the forum. I am simply trying to find a way through the trauma, grief, and guilt of losing a beloved companion.

If you have experienced a similar loss, I would be grateful for any guidance on how you learned to stop blaming yourself and how you coped with the overwhelming grief that followed.