Wednesday, October 6, 2004
There have been many difficult aspects surrounding my final decision yesterday...
...to euthanize The Big Girl but the most difficult by far has been dealing with my mother through the process of The Big Girl's illness and final, human engineered demise yesterday afternoon instead of having an esophageal feeding tube inserted.
As you know from the previous post, my mother has been having a difficult time with the concept of killing The Big Girl kindly. I thought I recalled, previous to our protracted discussion mentioned below, that she was not at all squeamish about putting pets down. I remember at least four of our family pets that were euthanized, one of which MFS and I handled. I don't recall my mother ever protesting these decisions, which were always necessary. I also assume she was one of the family members who made the decisions. I'm not clear enough, yet, of The Big Girl's death to spend time considering why the idea of euthanizing her was so hard for my mother to take that she reversed what I assume was a lifelong pact with euthanization. Monday night, however, when The Little Girl decided she could no longer tolerate The Big Girl's decline and I realized that separation in this small home, while protecting The Big Girl from attacks, did not protect her from the stress of The Little Girl's continually voiced antipathy and did not bode well for healing even with a feeding tube combined with everything else going on with The Big Girl and extra information I solicited from the vet about what we could expect if we chose to allow The Big Girl to die at home in her own time, I reversed my decision about the feeding tube insertion and decided it was time to put The Big Girl down. My mother wearily agreed.
Throughout Tuesday, prior to me taking The Big Girl in (and, finally, out), my mother could not remember from moment to moment that The Big Girl was very ill, that she had been undergoing (and usually fighting) intensive treatment both at home and during frequent vet visits during the last week and that I was taking her in to hasten her death that afternoon. She did remember that "something" was going on with The Big Girl, thus she spent the entire day up to the time I left peppering me with the same questions and repeatedly expressing shocked surprise and dismay about what was to happen to The Big Girl at 1500 yesterday afternoon. Whereas on Monday I finally tired of repeating everything to my mother, yesterday I felt an obligation to go over the facts, my decision, my reasons and the upcoming death drama each time she required the information. It was torturous.
Since The Big Girl's death, though, my mother has been undisturbed. I thought I'd need to remind her several times but this hasn't been the case. She not only remembers "what happened to The Big Girl" but is beginning to recall details of The Big Girl's almost two week health plight and is now at peace with my decision.
She is nowhere near as emotional about it as I am. I tend to grieve ahead of time. I have, for instance, throughout the last 10 years, already completed a large portion of grieving over my mother's death even though there is no indication that she will die any time soon. Most of my grieving over The Big Girl's death was done by the time a vein was found (most of The Big Girl's veins hadn't yet recovered from the IVs and shots during her hospital stay), the serum was injected and The Big Girl's pupils blew (yes, I attended the death). The only part of the grieving process left for me are the spasms of teary sadness I'm experiencing as the normal events of yesterday evening and today repeatedly bring forward the realization that The Big Girl, who was my shadow, is gone, she won't be growing into her eccentric old age in our home and how much I miss her. My mother, as tends to be characteristic of her and which characteristic she recovered by the time I returned from putting down The Big Girl, finds my convulsions of missing The Big Girl just this side of ludicrous. I'm grateful that she is handling the entire experience so well, but, frankly, I also wish there existed, within my household, an avenue through which I could express my feelings and exhaustion over the entire Big Girl ordeal and receive some informed sympathy. The lack of such is also very hard.
My mother is, however, a lively companion when it comes to remembering The Big Girl and talking about her, which I appreciate. Here's the best of these heart healing moments, excerpted from a very recently written e to MFASRF:
Last night my mother could not resist yet another "pet psychic" observation. "Do you suppose," she asked, "that The Big Girl is visiting us and talking to The Little Girl?"
I laughed. "If she is," I said, "I'll bet she's not giving up her self-appointed position as The Little Girl's malicious mentor. She's probably telling her, 'See? If you don't straighten up and become a half-way decent cat, this is what Gail's going to do to you!'"
My mother gasped. "You don't suppose that's what she believes, do you?"
"No," I said, "but that's what she'd like The Little Girl to believe. But don't worry. It was a major stress of The Big Girl's life that The Little Girl never believed anything she said."
My mother nodded and finally laughed. "You're right," she agreed. "She was a character, that's for sure."
As she remains.
Ah, endings. We've had too many sudden, traumatic endings in too short a period of time. I'm ready for some beginnings, some renewals. I hope my mother is, too.
As you know from the previous post, my mother has been having a difficult time with the concept of killing The Big Girl kindly. I thought I recalled, previous to our protracted discussion mentioned below, that she was not at all squeamish about putting pets down. I remember at least four of our family pets that were euthanized, one of which MFS and I handled. I don't recall my mother ever protesting these decisions, which were always necessary. I also assume she was one of the family members who made the decisions. I'm not clear enough, yet, of The Big Girl's death to spend time considering why the idea of euthanizing her was so hard for my mother to take that she reversed what I assume was a lifelong pact with euthanization. Monday night, however, when The Little Girl decided she could no longer tolerate The Big Girl's decline and I realized that separation in this small home, while protecting The Big Girl from attacks, did not protect her from the stress of The Little Girl's continually voiced antipathy and did not bode well for healing even with a feeding tube combined with everything else going on with The Big Girl and extra information I solicited from the vet about what we could expect if we chose to allow The Big Girl to die at home in her own time, I reversed my decision about the feeding tube insertion and decided it was time to put The Big Girl down. My mother wearily agreed.
Throughout Tuesday, prior to me taking The Big Girl in (and, finally, out), my mother could not remember from moment to moment that The Big Girl was very ill, that she had been undergoing (and usually fighting) intensive treatment both at home and during frequent vet visits during the last week and that I was taking her in to hasten her death that afternoon. She did remember that "something" was going on with The Big Girl, thus she spent the entire day up to the time I left peppering me with the same questions and repeatedly expressing shocked surprise and dismay about what was to happen to The Big Girl at 1500 yesterday afternoon. Whereas on Monday I finally tired of repeating everything to my mother, yesterday I felt an obligation to go over the facts, my decision, my reasons and the upcoming death drama each time she required the information. It was torturous.
Since The Big Girl's death, though, my mother has been undisturbed. I thought I'd need to remind her several times but this hasn't been the case. She not only remembers "what happened to The Big Girl" but is beginning to recall details of The Big Girl's almost two week health plight and is now at peace with my decision.
She is nowhere near as emotional about it as I am. I tend to grieve ahead of time. I have, for instance, throughout the last 10 years, already completed a large portion of grieving over my mother's death even though there is no indication that she will die any time soon. Most of my grieving over The Big Girl's death was done by the time a vein was found (most of The Big Girl's veins hadn't yet recovered from the IVs and shots during her hospital stay), the serum was injected and The Big Girl's pupils blew (yes, I attended the death). The only part of the grieving process left for me are the spasms of teary sadness I'm experiencing as the normal events of yesterday evening and today repeatedly bring forward the realization that The Big Girl, who was my shadow, is gone, she won't be growing into her eccentric old age in our home and how much I miss her. My mother, as tends to be characteristic of her and which characteristic she recovered by the time I returned from putting down The Big Girl, finds my convulsions of missing The Big Girl just this side of ludicrous. I'm grateful that she is handling the entire experience so well, but, frankly, I also wish there existed, within my household, an avenue through which I could express my feelings and exhaustion over the entire Big Girl ordeal and receive some informed sympathy. The lack of such is also very hard.
My mother is, however, a lively companion when it comes to remembering The Big Girl and talking about her, which I appreciate. Here's the best of these heart healing moments, excerpted from a very recently written e to MFASRF:
Last night my mother could not resist yet another "pet psychic" observation. "Do you suppose," she asked, "that The Big Girl is visiting us and talking to The Little Girl?"
I laughed. "If she is," I said, "I'll bet she's not giving up her self-appointed position as The Little Girl's malicious mentor. She's probably telling her, 'See? If you don't straighten up and become a half-way decent cat, this is what Gail's going to do to you!'"
My mother gasped. "You don't suppose that's what she believes, do you?"
"No," I said, "but that's what she'd like The Little Girl to believe. But don't worry. It was a major stress of The Big Girl's life that The Little Girl never believed anything she said."
My mother nodded and finally laughed. "You're right," she agreed. "She was a character, that's for sure."
As she remains.
Ah, endings. We've had too many sudden, traumatic endings in too short a period of time. I'm ready for some beginnings, some renewals. I hope my mother is, too.
Monday, October 4, 2004
The Truth about Cats and Moms (and Me)
After a very long session with our very patient, excellent vet, I've decided to have an esophageal feeding tube installed in The Big Girl tomorrow. The procedure is a temporary measure to insure that The Big Girl receives enough nutrition and medication to turn the tide on her fatty liver, the cure for which is to eat, which The Big Girl is accomplishing at only a below moderate level. Day by day over this weekend she has appeared to me to be reviving but not fast enough to reverse any of her conditions. Depending on how quickly The Big Girl returns to a normal weight and begins to recover from her pancreatitis, her diabetes (which the vet believes is temporary) and her fatty liver, the feeding tube could remain bandaged to her neck for anywhere from a week to a month. Although I'm sure that The Big Girl's pancreatitis (and her attendant diabetes) is due to her ability to stress herself over the slightest things, I was mystified regarding the cause of her fatty liver until I explained to the vet today exactly the extent of her ability to stress herself out. The vet said that in a cat such as The Big Girl who is fed an excellent diet and is otherwise well cared for her periodic and frequent refusal to eat and hydrate when she becomes stressed can very easily cause this syndrome. I also asked the vet whether there exists some sort of pet approved psycho-pharmaceutical that might help The Big Girl lower her stress level. There is such a product, a natural herb tincture, the name of which escapes me at the moment, available at a natural food store here, that does have a calming effect on animals with The Big Girl's temperament. The vet is going to email me with this information along with a proposal she is drafting for continued professional care of The Big Girl. I'm choosing a conservative approach with slight modifications depending on how she does. The vet is going to write up and suggest several options. Interestingly, when I mentioned that I expected The Big Girl to require fairly frequent and intense veterinary care for the rest of her life the vet said she felt exactly the opposite and that once we control this particular crisis, which shouldn't take long, considering The Big Girl's desire to live, The Big Girl and I can both expect for her a life as care-free as a normal, healthy cat, provided we can get her stress level under control. The insertion of the feeding tube tomorrow will also include a liver aspiration/biopsy so the vet can see what's going on with her liver and whether her hunch that "all" she's suffering from, hepatically, is a fatty liver," is correct. She's been on target with all her hunches so far, so I'm expecting good news tomorrow.
My mother's distress over the involved treatment of The Big Girl continues and is compounded by her short term memory loss. After explaining three times between 0745 and 0900 why I was taking The Big Girl back to the vet today, when she asked a fourth time I said, "Mom, you know, I'm very sorry that you can't remember what I've told you about this three times already this morning but I don't want to repeat it again, nor answer your questions again. You'll just have to trust me that I'm doing the right thing by The Big Girl and that we are solvent enough to be able to afford her care." Her brow wrinkled but she accepted what I said. Amazingly, she did not ask again.
She does, however, continue to recall as fresh information my aborted decision to euthanize The Big Girl. We've had two extended discussions on this topic, one last night and one this morning. Her feelings are that while people can before or at the critical time express their desires about whether or not they wish to be euthanized, domestic animals cannot. "They trust us," she said, "and putting them to sleep without being able to determine whether this is what they want is an abuse of that trust."
I could not let the discussion go without a specific plumbing of more of her thoughts. I asked her if she thought that it was difficult to determine whether an animal was suffering.
"No," she answered.
In that case, I asked, was she saying that she believes it is preferable to allow an animal to suffer when there is no remedy than to end the suffering.
"Well," she said, "maybe it isn't as easy as we think to tell how much an animal is suffering."
I asked her if she thought I am incapable of determining whether either of our Girls was suffering.
"You were wrong Saturday, so I'm not sure."
I reminded her that when I realized I was wrong I changed my mind. Had this not make an impression on her?
Yes, she said, it had, but she is still concerned that "people" tend to interpret their own convenience as the suffering of an animal, thus put animals down when "the animal still has a chance".
"Are you saying," I asked, alarmed, "that you think my internal debate over whether to put The Big Girl down and my final decision, which I reversed, were based on my convenience?"
The gravity of her possible answer registered in her face. She was silent for some moments, then said, "I don't know."
"You've watched me over the last week or so take intense care of The Big Girl, care, I might add, which The Big Girl, for the most part, was unwilling to accept. You've watched the struggles that have ensued. You've watched me doggedly search out information and agonize over it in order to make the right decision on behalf of The Big Girl. You've watched me reverse decisions more than once. Do you believe that any of this was 'convenient' for me to do?"
Once again she was silent while she contemplated what I'd said. I could tell that she was trying hard to remember all the images she'd gathered over the last week plus of me being so concentrated on The Big Girl that my expressions of affection and assurance toward The Little Girl lagged, my ability to finish the sale of the Mesa home was pressured beyond belief and my care of my mother fell a bit left of my target.
"No, you're right, it wasn't. It hasn't been convenient for any of us."
I sighed my relief. "I know, it hasn't been. From now on," I said, "I think it might be a good idea if you trust me to make appropriate decisions about The Girls' health care. You trust me to make these decisions about your own health care. Do you believe your trust has been well placed?"
"Absolutely. I trust you over the doctors."
"Then believe me, Mom, when I tell you my love for The Girls is in the same category as my love for you."
"I know."
"The only difference is the mode I have to use to make decisions. I can't consult with The Girls in the same way I can consult with you. I can't, for instance, after noticing that something seems to be off, ask them 'where it hurts'. Sometimes I have to be even more vigilant of them than of you in order to figure out whether professional care is necessary, what kind is advisable and whether that care will turn out to be beside the point or cause even more problems. Do you trust me to do this with The Girls with the same level of astuteness as I do with you?"
"Oh, yes."
Finally I asked, "Mom, if I had determined, irrevocably, that The Big Girl needed to be euthanized on Saturday, would you have resented me for that decision?"
Once again she had to think about this. "I wouldn't have resented you," she said carefully, "I would have resented your decision."
"Let me explain something to you, Mom. You saying this is akin to someone saying to, for instance, an artist, 'I'm not rejecting you, I'm rejecting your work.' The truth is that a person's work is that person. So is a person's judgment. I don't care that the prevailing feel-good theory is 'it's not you, it's what you do', that theory is a lie. We are all no more and no less than what we do. All of us face rejection and all of us have more than enough opportunities to learn how to get over it and go on. So you can't duck the question with a platitude, not with me, anyway. Let me see if you agree with this: Do you believe that I'm capable of making sound decisions across the board?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe that I'm capable of seeing my decisions through and taking responsibility for them regardless of whether anyone else agrees with me?"
She laughed. She has seen me make very unpopular and highly challenged decisions many times in my life and many times on her behalf. "No question!"
"Then," I asked, "do you feel that regardless of whether you resent my decisions, and, thus, me, I am capable of seeing to it that my decisions make the best of whatever situations in which we find ourselves?"
I expected hesitation but I was wrong. "Yes. I'm sure of that."
The ultimate importance of the two versions of the above discussion we had isn't whether The Big Girl is allowed to live through the weekend. The month of September contained yet another life altering decision I made on our behalf that my mother found stressful and did not always consider wise: The sale of our mobile home in Mesa. It is now beyond her to understand that we haven't been able to afford that home for almost two years. Throughout the last month Mom has had periods of trying to figure, in her now limited capacity, how we could keep both places. She has no understanding of how difficult it has been, both financially and circumstantially, for me to negotiate us living in both places. She does not even remember that her health has "stuck" us in one or the other of the homes when our enforced stays have been convenient medically but wildly inconvenient from every other perspective of our life. She ultimately had (and has) to trust that my decision on selling the Mesa home is the best for our family. She did so grudgingly and under protest. She continues in some ways to protest and grieve this loss. The two discussions we had gave her a chance to consider that I do not lightly beset us with loss and the possibility of grief. I do not make a decision that involves a loss for us without first going to sometimes ridiculous lengths to retain whatever it is we stand to lose. I am not incapable, as well, having made such a decision, of reversing it if the circumstances warrant. Now that she's considered these aspects of my ability to care for our family I think it will be easier for me to handle our life without undue stress to my mother. She may not remember the discussions but I think, somewhere in the depths of her psyche, she will remember that she came to a settlement within herself that I can be trusted to handle our life to best effect for both of us. This is what is important.
My mother's distress over the involved treatment of The Big Girl continues and is compounded by her short term memory loss. After explaining three times between 0745 and 0900 why I was taking The Big Girl back to the vet today, when she asked a fourth time I said, "Mom, you know, I'm very sorry that you can't remember what I've told you about this three times already this morning but I don't want to repeat it again, nor answer your questions again. You'll just have to trust me that I'm doing the right thing by The Big Girl and that we are solvent enough to be able to afford her care." Her brow wrinkled but she accepted what I said. Amazingly, she did not ask again.
She does, however, continue to recall as fresh information my aborted decision to euthanize The Big Girl. We've had two extended discussions on this topic, one last night and one this morning. Her feelings are that while people can before or at the critical time express their desires about whether or not they wish to be euthanized, domestic animals cannot. "They trust us," she said, "and putting them to sleep without being able to determine whether this is what they want is an abuse of that trust."
I could not let the discussion go without a specific plumbing of more of her thoughts. I asked her if she thought that it was difficult to determine whether an animal was suffering.
"No," she answered.
In that case, I asked, was she saying that she believes it is preferable to allow an animal to suffer when there is no remedy than to end the suffering.
"Well," she said, "maybe it isn't as easy as we think to tell how much an animal is suffering."
I asked her if she thought I am incapable of determining whether either of our Girls was suffering.
"You were wrong Saturday, so I'm not sure."
I reminded her that when I realized I was wrong I changed my mind. Had this not make an impression on her?
Yes, she said, it had, but she is still concerned that "people" tend to interpret their own convenience as the suffering of an animal, thus put animals down when "the animal still has a chance".
"Are you saying," I asked, alarmed, "that you think my internal debate over whether to put The Big Girl down and my final decision, which I reversed, were based on my convenience?"
The gravity of her possible answer registered in her face. She was silent for some moments, then said, "I don't know."
"You've watched me over the last week or so take intense care of The Big Girl, care, I might add, which The Big Girl, for the most part, was unwilling to accept. You've watched the struggles that have ensued. You've watched me doggedly search out information and agonize over it in order to make the right decision on behalf of The Big Girl. You've watched me reverse decisions more than once. Do you believe that any of this was 'convenient' for me to do?"
Once again she was silent while she contemplated what I'd said. I could tell that she was trying hard to remember all the images she'd gathered over the last week plus of me being so concentrated on The Big Girl that my expressions of affection and assurance toward The Little Girl lagged, my ability to finish the sale of the Mesa home was pressured beyond belief and my care of my mother fell a bit left of my target.
"No, you're right, it wasn't. It hasn't been convenient for any of us."
I sighed my relief. "I know, it hasn't been. From now on," I said, "I think it might be a good idea if you trust me to make appropriate decisions about The Girls' health care. You trust me to make these decisions about your own health care. Do you believe your trust has been well placed?"
"Absolutely. I trust you over the doctors."
"Then believe me, Mom, when I tell you my love for The Girls is in the same category as my love for you."
"I know."
"The only difference is the mode I have to use to make decisions. I can't consult with The Girls in the same way I can consult with you. I can't, for instance, after noticing that something seems to be off, ask them 'where it hurts'. Sometimes I have to be even more vigilant of them than of you in order to figure out whether professional care is necessary, what kind is advisable and whether that care will turn out to be beside the point or cause even more problems. Do you trust me to do this with The Girls with the same level of astuteness as I do with you?"
"Oh, yes."
Finally I asked, "Mom, if I had determined, irrevocably, that The Big Girl needed to be euthanized on Saturday, would you have resented me for that decision?"
Once again she had to think about this. "I wouldn't have resented you," she said carefully, "I would have resented your decision."
"Let me explain something to you, Mom. You saying this is akin to someone saying to, for instance, an artist, 'I'm not rejecting you, I'm rejecting your work.' The truth is that a person's work is that person. So is a person's judgment. I don't care that the prevailing feel-good theory is 'it's not you, it's what you do', that theory is a lie. We are all no more and no less than what we do. All of us face rejection and all of us have more than enough opportunities to learn how to get over it and go on. So you can't duck the question with a platitude, not with me, anyway. Let me see if you agree with this: Do you believe that I'm capable of making sound decisions across the board?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe that I'm capable of seeing my decisions through and taking responsibility for them regardless of whether anyone else agrees with me?"
She laughed. She has seen me make very unpopular and highly challenged decisions many times in my life and many times on her behalf. "No question!"
"Then," I asked, "do you feel that regardless of whether you resent my decisions, and, thus, me, I am capable of seeing to it that my decisions make the best of whatever situations in which we find ourselves?"
I expected hesitation but I was wrong. "Yes. I'm sure of that."
The ultimate importance of the two versions of the above discussion we had isn't whether The Big Girl is allowed to live through the weekend. The month of September contained yet another life altering decision I made on our behalf that my mother found stressful and did not always consider wise: The sale of our mobile home in Mesa. It is now beyond her to understand that we haven't been able to afford that home for almost two years. Throughout the last month Mom has had periods of trying to figure, in her now limited capacity, how we could keep both places. She has no understanding of how difficult it has been, both financially and circumstantially, for me to negotiate us living in both places. She does not even remember that her health has "stuck" us in one or the other of the homes when our enforced stays have been convenient medically but wildly inconvenient from every other perspective of our life. She ultimately had (and has) to trust that my decision on selling the Mesa home is the best for our family. She did so grudgingly and under protest. She continues in some ways to protest and grieve this loss. The two discussions we had gave her a chance to consider that I do not lightly beset us with loss and the possibility of grief. I do not make a decision that involves a loss for us without first going to sometimes ridiculous lengths to retain whatever it is we stand to lose. I am not incapable, as well, having made such a decision, of reversing it if the circumstances warrant. Now that she's considered these aspects of my ability to care for our family I think it will be easier for me to handle our life without undue stress to my mother. She may not remember the discussions but I think, somewhere in the depths of her psyche, she will remember that she came to a settlement within herself that I can be trusted to handle our life to best effect for both of us. This is what is important.
The Big Girl remains very ill. The Mom is recuperating from our many trips up and down the mountain.
It's been a week and a day since I've written here but only a matter of hours since I've wanted to write. Life has demanded my attention in other directions.
My mother's blood pressure is on the high side. I'm sure that it is a reaction to our incessant trips to close out and sell the Mesa home, the last of which was Friday. Although she sometimes forgets The Big Girl's distress she is reacting to this, as well, especially since we are now at the point of reevaluating The Big Girl's treatment and I am trying to decide on an hour by hour basis whether to put The Big Girl down. My mother is very uncomfortable with the idea of pet euthanization, which is funny because she is not adverse to human euthanization. I try not to discuss the matter with her but sometimes, when The Big Girl comes out to be with the family then exhibits some sort of behavior or symptom that appears to make it clear that she hasn't much more time with us, my mother is reminded of her plight and euthanization once again becomes the topic of discussion and of Mom's distress.
Mom is retaining a little fluid, especially evident in her feet. I began controlling this with a low dose of furosemide yesterday, which worked fairly well but may not have been high enough to handle the entire problem. I'll be reevaluating the dose today.
I made an appointment to put The Big Girl down on Saturday at 1430 p.m. In order to accomplish this and accede to my mother's wishes that she not be asked to accompany us to the death chamber, I put The Big Girl in her cage at 1400 and prepared Mom for a nap. At 1410, once Mom was down, I decided to take The Big Girl, in her cage, out into our very sunny living room so she could enjoy one of her favorite things for the last minutes that she remained in our home. By the time I entered my bedroom where her cage was sitting she was pushing back the upper last lock on her cage with her head and crawling out the top. At that point it was beyond me to put her down. I decided to simply allow her to continue, throughout the weekend here at home, doing whatever she wants without the added torture of trying to force feed her and force medication down her throat. Friday evening's feeding and medication session were so torturous for her that my mother finally pleaded with me to stop and leave her alone, which I gladly did. She is still eating and drinking far too little, even of the people food I am preparing for her to tempt her to eat. Her spirit, however, remains strong and she goes about enjoying her favorite activities in a luxurious manner. Each night when we all retire I expect that she will be dead by morning. Each morning she awakens before I do and accompanies The Little Girl and me out to the kitchen to prepare for the day. If necessary, my intention, at this point, is to allow her to either recover or die in her own home at her desire.
Time to shower before I awaken The Mom and get her day started. For awhile my reports here may be few and far between but I'll try to report the important goings on in a timely manner.
My mother's blood pressure is on the high side. I'm sure that it is a reaction to our incessant trips to close out and sell the Mesa home, the last of which was Friday. Although she sometimes forgets The Big Girl's distress she is reacting to this, as well, especially since we are now at the point of reevaluating The Big Girl's treatment and I am trying to decide on an hour by hour basis whether to put The Big Girl down. My mother is very uncomfortable with the idea of pet euthanization, which is funny because she is not adverse to human euthanization. I try not to discuss the matter with her but sometimes, when The Big Girl comes out to be with the family then exhibits some sort of behavior or symptom that appears to make it clear that she hasn't much more time with us, my mother is reminded of her plight and euthanization once again becomes the topic of discussion and of Mom's distress.
Mom is retaining a little fluid, especially evident in her feet. I began controlling this with a low dose of furosemide yesterday, which worked fairly well but may not have been high enough to handle the entire problem. I'll be reevaluating the dose today.
I made an appointment to put The Big Girl down on Saturday at 1430 p.m. In order to accomplish this and accede to my mother's wishes that she not be asked to accompany us to the death chamber, I put The Big Girl in her cage at 1400 and prepared Mom for a nap. At 1410, once Mom was down, I decided to take The Big Girl, in her cage, out into our very sunny living room so she could enjoy one of her favorite things for the last minutes that she remained in our home. By the time I entered my bedroom where her cage was sitting she was pushing back the upper last lock on her cage with her head and crawling out the top. At that point it was beyond me to put her down. I decided to simply allow her to continue, throughout the weekend here at home, doing whatever she wants without the added torture of trying to force feed her and force medication down her throat. Friday evening's feeding and medication session were so torturous for her that my mother finally pleaded with me to stop and leave her alone, which I gladly did. She is still eating and drinking far too little, even of the people food I am preparing for her to tempt her to eat. Her spirit, however, remains strong and she goes about enjoying her favorite activities in a luxurious manner. Each night when we all retire I expect that she will be dead by morning. Each morning she awakens before I do and accompanies The Little Girl and me out to the kitchen to prepare for the day. If necessary, my intention, at this point, is to allow her to either recover or die in her own home at her desire.
Time to shower before I awaken The Mom and get her day started. For awhile my reports here may be few and far between but I'll try to report the important goings on in a timely manner.
