What emergencies teach you about love

It started with one dog collapsing in front of me. And less than twenty-four hours later, the second couldn’t walk.

Our dog Barney had a sudden and terrifying seizure while I was home alone with my toddler Luca. My husband was away camping with Penelope. I couldn’t reach an ambulance. I didn’t know my neighbours well enough to ask for help. I was panicking, trying to hold it all together for Luca while watching someone I loved suffer right in front of me. It took two hours to get him to the hospital. He spent the night in ICU, but the seizures had caused irreparable damage. The next morning, we were told we’d have to say goodbye.

And just as we were stepping out of the house to see him for the last time, our second dog, Astro, suddenly lost function in his back legs.

His condition turned out to be paralysis caused by a preventable tick-borne illness, one I had tablets for at home but had forgotten to give him.

That moment broke something open. Two emergencies, back to back. Two family members in crisis. And a painful mirror showing me just how fragile everything was.

I realised I didn’t have the basics in place:

- No emergency contacts on the fridge.

- No real relationship with my neighbours.

- No regular system for preventive care.

- No backup plan.

But most of all, I realised that preparation is not just about being organised, it’s a form of love.

So here’s what I’m doing now. What I hope others might consider too:

1. Preparedness is love
It’s not about anxiety or control. It’s about care. I’ll be printing emergency contacts and routines and stick them on the fridge. I’ve set medication reminders for Astro (our second dog)  and for myself. I’ll be having simple conversations with the people around me this weekend.

2. Not everyone is your emergency contact
You don’t need a wide circle in a crisis, you need one or two people who will show up. My friends Carlos and Victor did that for me. They didn’t ask questions. They just came. Those are the relationships I want to protect and nurture.

3. Prevention is responsibility
The cost of forgetting the dogs’ medication was enormous, emotionally, logistically, financially. But more than that, it was preventable. I’ve now stopped assuming “I’ll remember” and built real systems instead.

None of this will undo what happened. But pain always leaves a lesson if we’re willing to look. And this one arrived with urgency.

What small system could you build today that might save you in a moment you can’t predict?

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