How can you put a price on a life?
It looks like we're going to have to put one of our cats to sleep soon. :(
Early this week he was feeling obviously poorly, and the hairball medicine, which usually does the trick, had no effect. So we took him to the vet on Wednesday, and it turned out he had a very serious kidney infection. (In fact, had we not taken him in on Wednesday he likely wouldn't have survived until Thursday.) The vet kept him for two days to have him on an I.V., monitor him, and run tests. Today, we found out the results: his kidneys have all but failed. They can't filter toxins out of his body on their own, so to force him to urinate often we have to give him fluids. He will be on an I.V. twice a day and need regular vet visits for the rest of his life.
How long does he have? It's hard to be sure, of course. He's a breed that apparently is prone to health problems, and we don't even know how old he is; the best guess is 14 years. The vet said he could last six months, or two years, but definitely not longer than that.
It tears me up, to make that decision. Dusty, my first cat, didn't seem ill at all, she just went outside one day and never came home. I will never know what happened to her. The second cat I lost was Hobbes. His health declined terribly for months, and despite spending thousands we couldn't save him. Making the call to end his life was, at the time, the most difficult decision I'd ever had to make. Not long after him, I lost my beloved cat Pepper. She was the smartest cat I've ever met or will ever meet, and the dearest pet I've ever had. She was only 10, but had cancer and we found it too late for the treatment to work. At the end, there was no hope for her; her eyes were glazed over, her skin was yellow, and she drifted in and out of consciousness. We spent over two hours at the vet, trying to get up the courage to have them put her to sleep, but every time we did she would wake up and suddenly be alert and I just couldn't. I couldn't put her to sleep when she was awake, when she was alert, when she was there. But I finally had to. I couldn't watch, but I held her, and told her I loved her. I didn't see the life leave her eyes forever, but she died in my arms. That remains the most painful experience in my entire life, and though Jasper isn't as special as she was, it's all I can think about now.
And how can I even make such a decision? Is Jasper old? Yes. Will his treatments be a big expense and inconvenience? Yes, they will. Will they give him a long, happy life? Well, not a long life. Whether they'll help him live happily, we're going to see. But even if they don't, who am I to decide to end a life? I feel like I don't have that power, that right. Will keeping him alive be expensive and inconvenient? Yes, but what kind of person would I be, to end a life out of convenience?
If the treatments don't help, it will make the decision a little easier. He's old, and realistically his body has already failed, so if the treatments don't give him a good life, we would just be helping him along. And though I don't feel right stopping any treatment because of expense, we've had two sick cats that we spent thousands of dollars and went through months of vets, tests and treatment trying to help, then we buried them; I'm not going through that again.
We've decided that we'll try the treatments for a week and see how he does, then make a decision. If he's happy and living well, we'll see how long that lasts. If he isn't, well, we'll give him a painless departure.
What do you think? Am I cold-hearted for even thinking about the expense and inconvenience of treatment? And do I have the right to end a life, just because it doesn't seem like it's good enough?
One thing I do know, however, is that I'm going to hold him when the time comes. It will be hard to, to be sure; I'm crying even just thinking of it, but he deserves no less. I can't let him be carried away by a stranger into a cold room to die. I will hold him in my arms, so he'll feel me, be comforted, and know right up to the end that he was loved.
Early this week he was feeling obviously poorly, and the hairball medicine, which usually does the trick, had no effect. So we took him to the vet on Wednesday, and it turned out he had a very serious kidney infection. (In fact, had we not taken him in on Wednesday he likely wouldn't have survived until Thursday.) The vet kept him for two days to have him on an I.V., monitor him, and run tests. Today, we found out the results: his kidneys have all but failed. They can't filter toxins out of his body on their own, so to force him to urinate often we have to give him fluids. He will be on an I.V. twice a day and need regular vet visits for the rest of his life.
How long does he have? It's hard to be sure, of course. He's a breed that apparently is prone to health problems, and we don't even know how old he is; the best guess is 14 years. The vet said he could last six months, or two years, but definitely not longer than that.
It tears me up, to make that decision. Dusty, my first cat, didn't seem ill at all, she just went outside one day and never came home. I will never know what happened to her. The second cat I lost was Hobbes. His health declined terribly for months, and despite spending thousands we couldn't save him. Making the call to end his life was, at the time, the most difficult decision I'd ever had to make. Not long after him, I lost my beloved cat Pepper. She was the smartest cat I've ever met or will ever meet, and the dearest pet I've ever had. She was only 10, but had cancer and we found it too late for the treatment to work. At the end, there was no hope for her; her eyes were glazed over, her skin was yellow, and she drifted in and out of consciousness. We spent over two hours at the vet, trying to get up the courage to have them put her to sleep, but every time we did she would wake up and suddenly be alert and I just couldn't. I couldn't put her to sleep when she was awake, when she was alert, when she was there. But I finally had to. I couldn't watch, but I held her, and told her I loved her. I didn't see the life leave her eyes forever, but she died in my arms. That remains the most painful experience in my entire life, and though Jasper isn't as special as she was, it's all I can think about now.
And how can I even make such a decision? Is Jasper old? Yes. Will his treatments be a big expense and inconvenience? Yes, they will. Will they give him a long, happy life? Well, not a long life. Whether they'll help him live happily, we're going to see. But even if they don't, who am I to decide to end a life? I feel like I don't have that power, that right. Will keeping him alive be expensive and inconvenient? Yes, but what kind of person would I be, to end a life out of convenience?
If the treatments don't help, it will make the decision a little easier. He's old, and realistically his body has already failed, so if the treatments don't give him a good life, we would just be helping him along. And though I don't feel right stopping any treatment because of expense, we've had two sick cats that we spent thousands of dollars and went through months of vets, tests and treatment trying to help, then we buried them; I'm not going through that again.
We've decided that we'll try the treatments for a week and see how he does, then make a decision. If he's happy and living well, we'll see how long that lasts. If he isn't, well, we'll give him a painless departure.
What do you think? Am I cold-hearted for even thinking about the expense and inconvenience of treatment? And do I have the right to end a life, just because it doesn't seem like it's good enough?
One thing I do know, however, is that I'm going to hold him when the time comes. It will be hard to, to be sure; I'm crying even just thinking of it, but he deserves no less. I can't let him be carried away by a stranger into a cold room to die. I will hold him in my arms, so he'll feel me, be comforted, and know right up to the end that he was loved.