Letting Go. When one of our own must be sent on...

Letting Go
 When comes the day when our feet guide us down weary paths dark and hard, that no more can our foot tread, the path must change. On this path we find at it’s end a bright glade. All of us meet there, and we greet each other with heart and hope. Our families are there, two foot and four foot…and we go on into world unknown.


On this path we meet.


One of the most terrible decisions a pet care taker has to make it to let an animal go that feels healthy and feels good, but has a medical problem that can not be fixed, or a problem they can not provide care for.


Each person who attempt to care for a cat with severe spinal cord injuries is going to face these moments. There will be times when your cat is happy, purring, playing…and in your heart of hearts you know that this story will not turn out well. It may be that your cat can not be emptied by hand. It may be that your cat can not pass stool. It may be that your cat has injured its paralyzed hindquarters and repair is not on option.


Or hardest on the heart…money has run out, medical expenses are looming over your head, your cat needs a huge procedure and you can’t, you just can’t.


I have faced that. It is terrible. Sorrow, loss, guilt, anger, depression…all the emotions of loss become your bedfellows, and the hope you may have had seems like a candy coated lie.


On this path we meet…. And those of us who touch here, who converse, each of us can become support and care for the other.


That too is part of my ‘job’. To offer understanding, solace and support when it is time to let go.


It is always OK to write. Always.


Kadeth & Boogar's Email
 

Grief....

Focus. The world has gone grey and I have lost the incredible dedicated focus I had with Pumpkin.
Clarity, focus, dedication, the willingness to do anything it took, and to be there, every step of the way…gone in a matter of hours.
Death does that.

I knew from day one that Pumpkin would not be a long lived cat. Although he was younger than Boogar, and his break was in a better place, Boogar would outlive him.
Why and how did I know this?

I see things. I see shadows on bodies and things other people do not. I saw a shadow on Pumpkin. It was in his middle, right where his kidneys overlay the edge of his liver. His pancreas. A shadow.
Of course, this was not a shadow others could see, but none the less it was there. Black, murky, like smoke from a candle wick.

So I knew not to expect him to live a long life.

But what I didn’t expect was to have him be hit with so many different things all at once, and I didn’t expect to wrap my life so completely intertwined with his. My heart kept his heart beating (metaphorically). My lungs kept him breathing. My focus kept him alive.
I didn’t expect it to be so ugly.
I expected some nasty cancer where I’d recognize his last good day and send him on… but not so quick. A few more years….

I didn’t get that. It was harsh, ugly and I stepped up to the plate and built my home into an emergency hospital.

Up at 5, blood sugar, insulin, program the guardian. Feed him, love him, pet him. Antibiotics, enzymes, fluids. Pain meds. Empty his bladder. Go to work. Noon, check him, check sugars, empty bladder. 6 pm, repeat the 5 am dance, midnight repeat noon’s treatment. Never miss a time, never miss a day, never miss a treatment, never be late…

Did I sleep? Yes, a few hours on the couch next to him, listening for his monitor. But it was fine, I was good with that. So what my blood was laced with caffeine, and I was samurai laughing in the face of the unendurable. I was OK with that, the clarity, the focus the dedication…

Death caught me unaware, by surprise. I had worked so hard, done everything… and no matter what, I could not stop death.

I didn’t expect death to come sudden, although I knew death was watching us. I figured I’d get more ‘notice’.

But no. I got enough time to call dad and have him come, got enough time to call his vet and check in with her, enough time to compose myself and be strong for Pumpkin, for Boogar and for his dad…

But no time for myself.

No one to be strong for me, strong enough to accept my tears, my heartbreak, my feelings of utter exhaustion and failure as something I am not... a doctor.

Now I sleep. I have lost Pumpkin, and lost focus. I have been hit by devastating depression, where the tears of exhaustion, grief and loss that never fell threaten to fall all the time.

So there you are. Delayed grief, shock, depression and …just a wretched empty hole in my heart where focus, clarity and Pumpkin lived….

Is there anybody out there?