Anticipatory grief for my super senior Chuckie
Posted: Fri Sep 13, 2019 1:56 am
My beloved Chuckie was 20 earlier this year. Despite having to contend with hyperthyroidism, blood pressure and the spectre of kidney issues with the meds most of his adult life, he's always bounced back. Until a week ago.
Last Saturday he presented with a lack of stability in his hind legs, causing impaired/limited mobility. I thought it might be the onset of something like osteoarthritis or some such age related issue. I took him to the vet first thing Monday morning. After the vet thoroughly examined him, she told me that the only "treatment" is palliative care. (She wasn't that blunt, she took pains in discussing his situation in detail, I'm just summarising.) The reality of having him pts was discussed as an eventuality and, in the interim, he's been prescribed painkillers while he's still with us.
I've read the Quality of Life questionnaire and the reason I brought him home was that he was still having good days, more so than bad and I wanted him to have a few days of quality time at home before finally letting him cross the Rainbow Bridge. I don't want to draw the process out, keeping him alive for the benefit of my partner and myself. The more I think about it, Chuckie, tenacious as always, has been hanging on because *he* wanted the quality time as much as we did.
Basically, he's been up and down the past four days and over the past 5 or so hours, it's evident I need to get him to the vet and finally allow him to cross. He's not eaten in 36 hours now, he's too weak to even drink water despite my holding/supporting him, and I am administering water via syringe orally every half hour or so.
Amidst the anguish of him being gravely ill and facing the inevitable, I still feel guilty. I don't know why. I lost his brother two years ago, and he was 18 when he fell ill. Devastating as it was, the difference with his brother was that when he fell ill, it was mercifully brief as he took ill and, within 12 hours, it was evident the only option was having him pts. Again, with Chuckie, the past week has been a rollercoaster of good and bad and I knew when it got to the point of hitting "bad" and not returning, I would take him to the vet (if he didn't peacefully pass while sleeping, that is). I try to console myself with something the vet said - that I was clearly doing something right as my cats have lived to 18 and 20, respectively. Still, this does little to offset my raging guilt.
Last Saturday he presented with a lack of stability in his hind legs, causing impaired/limited mobility. I thought it might be the onset of something like osteoarthritis or some such age related issue. I took him to the vet first thing Monday morning. After the vet thoroughly examined him, she told me that the only "treatment" is palliative care. (She wasn't that blunt, she took pains in discussing his situation in detail, I'm just summarising.) The reality of having him pts was discussed as an eventuality and, in the interim, he's been prescribed painkillers while he's still with us.
I've read the Quality of Life questionnaire and the reason I brought him home was that he was still having good days, more so than bad and I wanted him to have a few days of quality time at home before finally letting him cross the Rainbow Bridge. I don't want to draw the process out, keeping him alive for the benefit of my partner and myself. The more I think about it, Chuckie, tenacious as always, has been hanging on because *he* wanted the quality time as much as we did.
Basically, he's been up and down the past four days and over the past 5 or so hours, it's evident I need to get him to the vet and finally allow him to cross. He's not eaten in 36 hours now, he's too weak to even drink water despite my holding/supporting him, and I am administering water via syringe orally every half hour or so.
Amidst the anguish of him being gravely ill and facing the inevitable, I still feel guilty. I don't know why. I lost his brother two years ago, and he was 18 when he fell ill. Devastating as it was, the difference with his brother was that when he fell ill, it was mercifully brief as he took ill and, within 12 hours, it was evident the only option was having him pts. Again, with Chuckie, the past week has been a rollercoaster of good and bad and I knew when it got to the point of hitting "bad" and not returning, I would take him to the vet (if he didn't peacefully pass while sleeping, that is). I try to console myself with something the vet said - that I was clearly doing something right as my cats have lived to 18 and 20, respectively. Still, this does little to offset my raging guilt.