Learning to live: Lessons from the dying
By Gina Spadafori
September 26, 2009
I have never let a terminally ill pet live as Heather is living, choosing palliative care to support her as long as we can control her pain.
When I first heard of providing a hospice environment for a pet, I wasn’t sure I liked it. I had seen too many pets who had been put through too much suffering because their owners couldn’t bear the thought of saying goodbye. And that’s what pet hospice sounded like to me — pet-lovers thinking of themselves, not their pets.
Yet here I am now, giving my old girl pain-control cocktails and offering all kinds of foods to keep her eating. Right now: She’s picking at a mix of mashed yams, butter, yogurt and bits of rotisserie chicken. For breakfast she ate a little HK Embark, a little Primal ground buffalo and a handful of dog cookies. She doesn’t wolf her food anymore, but she’s hasn’t lost any weight yet, either.
Of course, I have to ask myself every day: Is this for her? Is this for me? Is this for us? And most of all: Are we going forward another day?
I am well aware that my dog-loving friends are not all in agreement with what I’m doing. Now that I’m very determined to try to keep her with me as long as she’s happy, though, I am no longer getting lectured about it. Perhaps those friends now understand that when I can see Heather wants to go, I’ll send her.
Heather limps on the front leg where the malignant tumor is, and the pain cocktails can’t stop that. If she were 8 or even 10, not almost 13, we would likely be amputating that leg. But I’m not going there at her age, and Heather still gets around well with her tail wagging despite the limp. I was fussing to Christie about the limping last week when she said something that really stuck with me: “A lot of people limp,” she said. “We don’t run around euthanizing them.”
Too true, that.
This morning we went in to the vet’s to get Heather’s Fentanyl patch changed, an every-five-day event now. Because Heather still wants to get into the kiddie pool here, we moved the patch from her leg to her shoulder blades so it would stay dry.
And as always, I watched her attitude when I asked her if she wanted to go for a ride. She still does, and still is happy to see the people at the vet’s.
Heather wakes up stiff, old and dying, but she still greets the day with enthusiasm, and she still thumps her tail when I tell her she’s a beautiful dog and I love her. She still follows me from room to room, and she still resents being helped onto the bed or couch, preferring to try to jump up on her own and pretending I’m not lifting her at all. (Which I am.)
My dying father taught me about facing death with courage and peace. My dying dog is teaching me to face life with all the joy we can find because our time is always short, no matter how much of it we have.
More than anything, I am realizing that when you stop learning, you stop living. Fortunately, we are all surrounded by the finest of teachers, two- and four-legged both.
Image: Heather this morning, getting her pain patch changed.
Image update: Heather a little while ago, enjoying the pool. The Fentanyl patch stayed dry!
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Gina if I had not been following your posts on Heather, I’d look at this picture and think she was just at the vet’s for a health check. Believe, you me, I realize how difficult this is for you. When I read your comments, I start crying every time. All too soon, the time for my heart girl, Sha-Sha, will be here and I will be a basket-case even though it’s been far too many times that this has happened in the past. We, all the regular bloggers, stand by you and Heather and pray with you each day. Hugs
Comment by VJ — September 26, 2009 @ 1:38 pm
Gina, the only one who can judge what’s right for Heather is you - you are the one who Heather speaks to, and you speak for Heather. Other people can have their opinions, but they don’t KNOW Heather - they don’t know her language or who she is or how she responds to you.
The protests of other people - even the best meaning people - say more about their own discomfort with death and with dying than they do about Heather, and what Heather is experiencing.
You speak for Heather, and I can’t imagine she has a better voice than yours to say when it is time - and obviously, that’s not now.
Comment by FrogDogz — September 26, 2009 @ 1:56 pm
Gina, Thanks for once again sharing with us, even when you may end up being criticized for what you say. Just because we can do every intervention for humans or animals doesn’t mean we should.
There’s a whole lot to be said for the dignity of allowing one to live out their life in comfort and enjoying it to the fullest as long as possible. Not spending it chasing every possible treatment, regardless of the pain, disruption and yes, expense.
One of our guys had cancer with a prognosis was 3-4 months. We opted for palliative care, and he actually lived 22 months. Those extra months were great, and he actually died from something else.
It takes courage to say no. All dogs know is today, and if their todays are too stressful, it’s not worth it. We felt our guy maybe lived longer expressly because we focussed on his quality of life.
Comment by Becky — September 26, 2009 @ 2:05 pm
I have a 21-yr old cat, Zebra, who is living with a mass on his spleen. I chose to not put him through surgery, and his vet agreed. He isn’t in pain from it, thankfully. I watch as he sleeps, I watch for every breath, so I know how you feel. Thank you for sharing.
Comment by swellyn — September 26, 2009 @ 2:10 pm
Simply put, because you and Heather are so closely bonded, so totally in synch and have your own language that both you and she together will know the time when.
And no one else has the right to this decision.
Comment by Nadine L — September 26, 2009 @ 2:42 pm
Gina, a good friend of mine (and probably yours too) wrote a wonderful eulogy for her Flat-Coat “Treasure” that, in part, described the end of Treasure’s life. What sticks with me is that every day near the end that she woke up with Treasure, she would think, “I’m so glad you’re still here!”
Stay in the moment and as long as Heather still seems glad to be here, go with it.
Comment by Deanna — September 26, 2009 @ 2:59 pm
You will know when it is time. Heather will tell you. Family, friends, neighbors, co-workers and complete strangers have their opinions of what they ‘think’ they would do in the same situation but they don’t ‘know’. Heather knows and right now she is telling you that each day is still an adventure. When it isn’t anymore - she will tell you or her body will make the decision for both of you. This time you have is for love and comfort.
Comment by cheryl — September 26, 2009 @ 3:13 pm
Gina- As long as Heather is not in pain and enjoys life,you are doing the right thing. You will know when she has hit the stage where she can’t enjoy her life,don’t let anyone else pressure you. Hugs and hopes for many more good days for you both.
Comment by Leslie K — September 26, 2009 @ 4:14 pm
My heart goes out to you. I thank you for sharing this with us and writing so eloquently about it. I went through the same thing with my old gal a year ago, and you put into words so beautifully just what I went through by sharing your experience.
Comment by Sara Jo — September 26, 2009 @ 4:40 pm
I think hospice care for pets is one of the most wonderful developments in veterinary medicine, and the more veterinarians can educate their clients about this option and the pros and cons, the better pets and their humans will be off in the long run.
Gina, from what I know about you from this blog and your Facebook updates, you and Heather share such an amazing bond, there is no doubt in my mind that you are doing exactly what she would want you to do. It seems to me that you’re not just listening with your head, but also with your heart. With that kind of a connection, you both will know when it’s time to let go, and it will be a gentle and peaceful decision.
My heart goes out to you. And the photos of Heather in the pool put a big smile on my face.
Comment by Ingrid King — September 26, 2009 @ 5:02 pm
Gina, I think you know in your heart that you are doing well by Heather. I understand exactly how you feel, and it always seems to me a healthy thing to periodically ask whether it’s for yourself or your dog—but if you are asking the question, chances are you’re answering it honestly. I went through this with my old beagle, Felix, whom we finally put to sleep at age 18. We knew him well, his vet knew him well, and we who all knew him best and had his best interests at heart strived always to be honest in our assessments of him.
In the end, I feel entirely comfortable that we did the right thing by him. It helped that we kept our circle of advisors small and consisting of people who knew animals and our animal in particular—everyone else might have an opinion, but that’s all. We’re lucky to have wonderful vets to aid us in all our tough decisions; it sounds like you are lucky like that, too!
Reading about your days with Heather, I am reminded so much of our happy final years with Felix, which were and are still so very precious to us. Heather looks marvelous, and I wish you much time and joy in her remaining days. The palliative care available today is a wonderful thing in many ways, as you are demonstrating by your good and thoughtful care of Heather.
We are lucky to have been able to offer it to hounds we know, and, when appropriate, it is a true gift we can give the animals who must entrust us with both their lives and their passings. All the best to you and to Heather, and thank you for reminding us with every post of our own “Ix” and our time with him.
Comment by Glenye Oakford — September 26, 2009 @ 5:52 pm
A quick postscript: re-reading your post, I think you should have no doubts. Heather sounds as if she is very bright and interested in life, food, the people around her, and you are managing her discomfort. I have no doubt that you both will know when it is time, and I think you’ll be very glad you had this time now together.
Comment by Glenye Oakford — September 26, 2009 @ 5:57 pm
Long live the queen.
Comment by Verde — September 26, 2009 @ 6:44 pm
I recently learned much more about Pet Hospice as well. It is wonderful that you are trying to follow Heather’s lead on this. That is the best anyone can do.
For folks who want to learn more about hospice, go to:
http://cancer.landofpuregold.com/hospice.htm
Comment by Rochelle Lesser — September 26, 2009 @ 9:42 pm
Kenya dog had bladder cancer, inoperable. We did essentially hospice for her for a year, and oh yes, she had the best damn food and pain management that we could do for her, and she let us know when it was time. It still hurts like hell, but I have no guilt, and I can remember her with joy.
/hugs/ to you. You know you’re doing it right.
Comment by georg — September 27, 2009 @ 8:20 am
I went through a similar situation last year with my Lucy. She was 13 when breast cancer was diagnosed and had about 6 more good months before she really started to fail. Even during that last month while she was fading, she still wanted to do things her way. We worked with a communicator who let me know that Lucy often was off in another space as she prepared to leave her body, but that she was happy with how her transition was going and that we were managing her pain appropriately. At times I wasn’t sure *I* could handle the long, slow (but looking back far too fast) transition, but I let Lucy make the call on when it was time to wish her godspeed and euthanize her. I am quite sure her co-owner would’ve euthanized her weeks before I did, but we both agreed since I was the one who lived with her, the decision was mine to make.
I hope you and Heather have a beautiful autumn together. These days are tough but dogs can teach us a lot about living and dying gracefully. Hugs to you both.
Comment by Judi — September 27, 2009 @ 10:53 am
My late cat Annabelle Hillary was given six months to a year to live after being diagnosed with adenocarcinoma. We removed the initial lumps found on her belly which led to the diagnosis, but I twice scheduled and then cancelled the recommended further surgery and chemotherapy. Instead I took her for monthly acupuncture treatments and gave her Chinese herbs on the veterinary acupuncturist’s advice, along with giving her her favorite foods and lots of TLC. She lived nearly five years after the diagnosism confounding every vet’s assessment. When it was time to go she told me — the light went out of her eyes after she said her goodbyes.
Comment by Nicole Larson — September 27, 2009 @ 10:54 am
I went through the same thing with my old dog with a probable brain tumor. He did not have pain, but rather seizures. We did various meds, adding more as his disease progressed. He was hard to live with at times- so hungry, so thirsty, so not housebroken anymore- but he still played and still nipped my butt and ran around the house at mealtimes. He went for walks, he hogged the bed. Every day I came home with my heart in my throat worried that I’d find him dead. And one night I finally came home to find him seizuring again and when the regular stuff wouldn’t stop it, I took him in and let him go.
It was gut-wrenching. People had been telling me for awhile I should put him down. But I don’t believe he was unhappy, for all that I may have been at times (sleep deprived, stressed). I don’t regret one second of it.
Comment by katie — September 27, 2009 @ 12:17 pm
When my already kidney-diseased husky was dx with a cancerous chest mass, the choice was painful surgery and chemo which might give him a few more months (if he survived the surgery)or palliative care, which I chose. He had 3 great months in which he hiked, went camping, chased mice, ate the things he loved most and played with his spaniel best friend.
I have no doubt it was the right choice, just as you are making the right choice for your girl. My vet said she was sure I’d know when it was time to let him go because I was so in-tune with Tundra - and she was right. Just because we CAN do things like surgery and chemo, doesn’t always mean we SHOULD.
You are getting precious time and creating memories that will comfort you later.
Comment by Di — September 28, 2009 @ 8:07 am
Kisses to Heather - you are taking wonderful care of her, and I couldn’t ask for any better care for myself. I only hope that when my time comes, someone will handle my illness the way you’re handling hers. Kudoes from the bottom of my heart.
Comment by Phyllis DeGioia — September 28, 2009 @ 1:01 pm
Thanks for sharing your thoughts on this Gina.I often fear we’ll be in a similar situation some day with our Flat-coat Starr. I’ll remember your insights should that day come.
Comment by Jeff — September 30, 2009 @ 5:34 am