No, I'm not talking about my husband.
Our oldest cat, the diabetic to whom we've been giving twice a day insulin injections for over 4 years, has been battling cancer for the last few months. How long she's actually had it, we're not sure; we only found out about it in late August, when she had to have some dental work done and our vet sent a sample of suspicious-looking tissue from her upper jaw to the lab. We've tried to keep her as happy and pain-free as we can, but now the tumor is interfering with her ability to breathe, eat and drink, and our vet agrees that it's almost time to let her rest. With the help of some heavy-duty pain medication, we're hoping to get her through the weekend as comfortably as we can.
She frequently used to sleep on my pillow, wrapped around my head and using me as her pillow, her purr lulling me to sleep as she contentedly drooled into my hair. Over a month ago, she stopped doing that and won't stay on the pillow if I place her there. Now she either sleeps near my feet, or somewhere off the bed entirely. I miss having her close while I drift off; even the raspy snore she'd developed was comforting (if not exactly sleep-inducing), in that I knew she was still alive and breathing.
We've all been watching her closely for the last few weeks as the tumor has continued to expand in both her nasal passages and her mouth. Her breathing's become quieter as she's shifted from breathing through her nose to her mouth, and when she's sound asleep, she doesn't rouse as easily as she once did, so we find ourselves checking to make sure she's still with us.
I do find myself half hoping that maybe she'll just peacefully drift off to sleep and . . . away, so that I don't have to make the decision again. I've had to make it too many times over the years, for too many pets. I hate having to say yes, it's time to put my little friend to sleep, I die inside a little myself every time I have to say the words, but I know it's the last act of kindness I can do for them, when there are no other options left, no other way to ease their pain or prevent them from suffering.
It's hard, saying final goodbyes and holding them as they cease to breathe, as their hearts slow and stop. But harder still is finding them when they're cold and lifeless, knowing that I wasn't there with them in their final moments.
The time is coming soon to part ways until we rejoin at the Rainbow Bridge. But not today. Not today....
4 comments:
Oh, damn. I've also done this too many times. I'll be keeping you both in my thoughts.
We have her on narcotics now, to make her last few days as comfortable as possible. I always second- and third- and fourth-guess myself whenever we have to do this, to make sure we're doing what's best for the animal, not what's easiest for us. This afternoon my vet reinforced that we'd already kept her going well past the point where most people would have, and that it was, indeed, time to let go. The bad days are outnumbering the good ones. So we've set the appointment for Monday afternoon. In the meantime, we'll give her just as much attention and love as she'll let us give her, and I'll probably make her one last batch of cheddar cheese soup (which was all she'd eat for awhile).
It's going to be a tough weekend.
No doubt that you have done the ultimate in loving care. And, I believe she knows.
Big hugs to you, dear. ♥
Thank you, hon, I appreciate the kind thoughts! I think she knows we love her; I pick her up and she snuggles against me with her head tucked under my chin or face-marks my face.
Our vet was right, it was time to put her on pain meds. I've been giving her an injection every 8 hours, and she's almost back to her old self personality-wise. She must've been hurting worse than we thought. It's nice to hear her demanding to be fed again (even if she still has trouble eating) instead of quietly waiting for me to get her soup or baby-food meat & broth warmed up.
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