With all the gobbledy-gook being spewed about the new health care bill establishing death panels that will determine the fate of grandmas everywhere, Adam and I are feeling a bit like panelists ourselves as we try to determine the fate of our dear Kika.
At 15 1/2 years old, she is a pretty sad case. Quadraplegic, incontinent and increasingly disinterested in food (except for cold cuts and ice cream which she devours in a heartbeat), she has been on the downhill slide for months. We have been putting off the inevitable. Last night, after taking her outside to potty before bedtime, Adam commented for the fifty-millionth time that she is skin and bones. "She's just wasting away in front of us. It's not fair to her, Lauren. I think we're bordering on cruelty now. It's time." We've had this conversation many times in the past, but this time, I could tell that he meant it. We agreed that I would call the vet in the morning and arrange to have her put down on Saturday morning.
This morning I made the call and, feeling the tears well up in my eyes as I explained the reason for our visit, I confirmed our Saturday morning appointment. All day today I've been more attentive to her than I have been in days, or even weeks. Gone are my feelings of frustration at her persistent barking, necessary diaper changes, and half-hour long attempts at eating. Now I look at this girl who's been in my life for the past eleven years and I think about losing her in a matter of days. I thought I had come to peace with it, that after losing Shabbi three years ago I had more perspective on the situation. But now, after a full evening of just cuddling with her, feeding her ice cream from my palm and seeing her all-knowing eyes look up at me for comfort, I think I'm chickening out. I don't think I can keep that Saturday morning appointment.
I just can't lose my little girl. Not yet.
I'll call to cancel in the morning.
4 comments:
Oh, Lauren. This post put a lump in my throat. Shabbi let you know when it was time, and Kika will, too. Enjoy the time you have left with her, and give her some extra ice cream for me.
Oh, Mara, you're too sweet. We did decide to cancel the appointment. I didn't want to say good-bye to her with any less conviction about it than when we said good-bye to Shabbi. Kika is eating much better and seems a little more "with it" in the last few days. Perhaps she recognizes some change in mindset from us. We still know our time left with her is short, but we are trying to enjoy it as much as we can.
I love your writing. I'm not really an animal person, but I really "got it" when we had to put Max (the dog, of course.) to sleep. For his whole life I thought I hated him and when i saw him in his end days it was so heart breaking, then to be there for his last moments, that was so emotional. Did I ever tell you what my dad said after my mom died? Now, you have to remember that this was the morning she died and we were all in deep grief and had just spent a good hour or two with her bawling our eyes out. So, to break the mood, my dad said while he cried, "This is worse than losing Max!" It made us all laugh, but the fact that putting Max down was the 2nd toughest thing he'd had to do emotionally can't be overlooked.
Your other friend is right. You'll know when it's time.
Sarah! I think that I'd heard that story shortly after your mother passed away, back when Josh was sending out his daily updates. I still find it hard to believe that so many years have gone by; I can still hear her voice in my head. And Max! What a dog! I've always loved dogs, and since I was never allowed to have one of my own, I always gravitated toward my friends' dogs. I always loved Max--perfect size, perfect temperament. He was sort of the epitome of everything that I loved about your family. Not to be cheesy, but if you remember the final scene from "Ghost" when Sam tells Molly that "you take the love with you" when you die...it makes me feel cozy inside. It's like knowing that everyone I've loved who has passed away--grandparents, friends, Shabbi, etc--love me now as much as I love them, even though we can't be together anymore.
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