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Chasing miracles: How far is too far to go for a sick pet?
By Christie Keith
March 3, 2010
When Dr. Becker posted yesterday about kidney disease and a cat named Puff who beat the odds to live into his second decade, my first thoughts turned to Samson, a senior kitty I adopted when he was 15.
When I took him to the veterinarian for his first check-up, she was pessimistic. He had “ten years of deferred dental work,” needed all his teeth extracted, and was in renal failure. “He has maybe a year,” she said.
Samson lived to be 18 and a half, healthy, active and loved for all of it. Even three days before he finally breathed his last, he was still purring, playing and eating.
But then a second, darker memory came to mind.
My dog Bran was 4 years old, and had never been sick a day in his life, when he was diagnosed with kidney failure.
It didn’t seem too terrible at first. He got finicky about eating one day, but the next day he was fine. The day after that he was finicky again, and then he started to vomit, so we headed for the vet. She drew some blood, gave him some fluids and medication for his stomach and sent us home until the test results came back. He didn’t seem very sick.
The test results indicated kidney failure, so we took him to a specialist in another town. He still didn’t seem very sick, but his kidney values were so bad that the specialist was extremely concerned. We hospitalized him. We did more tests. We treated what we thought he had (letpospirosis), until that was ruled out by the tests.
We dug deeper. We did more tests. He was getting sicker. I took time off from work. I slept at the vet hospital, or in my car, or in a hotel room. I tried to hand-feed him, but he just vomited, so we gave him intravenous nutrition.
He got even sicker. His kidneys got worse. We still had no diagnosis. My vet bill at that moment was over $4,000. I cashed in my savings and paid it.
My vet suggested I take him to UC Davis. I hesitated. They wouldn’t let me stay with him at the hospital, and I was at a state-of-the-art specialty practice already. I asked her, “What can they do there that you can’t do here?”
“Dialysis,” she answered bluntly.
I went. And on the way, I called my credit card company and negotiated my credit limit upward, to cover the cost of dialysis. Fortunately, the person I spoke to was a dog lover, and he put the credit increase through on the spot.
At Davis, they were not optimistic, but did offer me a little hope. Some of the worst possibilities had been ruled out, and a few of his symptoms had actually improved, even though his kidneys were clearly worse. If this was a bacterial infection of some kind, the vets told me, dialysis might keep him alive while the antibiotics cured the infection, and he might recover. It wasn’t impossible.
He was only 4 years old. I’d held him in my hands when he was born. So I told them to go ahead. They put in the dialysis catheter and took a kidney tissue sample while he was anesthetized. I borrowed $2,000 from my mother.
The next day, he went into respiratory failure, and we put him to sleep.
I’d made the last 10 days of his life miserable with tests, tubes and hospitalization. I’d spent over $10,000, more than half of it borrowed. I’d let my professional and personal lives go completely to hell while I sat next to my dog on the hospital floor, stroking his head and hoping for a miracle. If I’d known how it would end, I’d have put him to sleep the first day.
The problem is we never do know how it will end. From necessity, we do a kind of emotional and financial triage without the single most important piece of information: Will it be worth it?
For people with little or no money in the budget for veterinary care, that triage might be painful but simple. There’s no point in debating the merits of a diagnostic procedure or treatment that you can’t afford. But even if finances aren’t tight, the incredible array of technologies available in veterinary practice today can burn through the most generous pet care budget in days, and can be bewildering to pet owners.
Surgeries that were once unheard-of in veterinary medicine — such as organ transplants — are now being done on pets. Chemotherapy, arthroscopic and laser surgeries, hip replacements, MRIs and nearly every form of sophisticated medical treatment or diagnostic procedure known to human medicine is available in animal practice, too.
And while people with insurance find a big chunk of their own medical bills doesn’t come out of their own pocket, very few people have veterinary insurance for their pets. Those who do rarely find it covers intensive diagnostics or the most expensive therapies.
I wrote about this for my SFGate.com column a few years ago, and interviewed leading veterinary cardiologist Dr. Paul Pion, president and co-founder of the Veterinary Information Network.
He agreed that veterinary medicine today offers choices that can overwhelm pet owners, particularly in the area of diagnostic testing. “We can do a much better job of diagnosing things than we ever could,” he said. “Today’s veterinarian is a different vet from James Herriot, whose diagnostic methods were things like the laying on of hands, and smelling.”
But Pion doesn’t see technology as being the main source of veterinary medical miracles. “Things are being diagnosed earlier. Owners are watching them more. They’re bringing them in when something can be done. And veterinarians are detecting more. It’s not just the technology, it’s having the relationship with the vet.”
Unfortunately, as with my dog, no matter how many diagnostic tests you run, you don’t always get the answers you’re looking for. Not even on necropsy (the animal equivalent of a human autopsy) did the vets at UC Davis discover what destroyed my dog’s kidneys. When faced with uncertainty, Pion recommends that pet owners “look the vet in the eye and ask, ‘Do you believe this will make a difference? If this were your dog, what would you do?’”
Ultimately, the decision of how far to take the search for answers — and for miracles — is a personal one. Some people go too far, putting their pets through needless stress to chase a cure that is, at best, unlikely. Others give up too soon, or resist digging a little deeper for money to pay for even routine care. Most people, though, just try to walk the difficult line between the extremes and make rational, caring decisions based on their animal’s needs as well as their own.
Experienced professionals can help you evaluate the odds. Only you can decide how much you’re going to bet, or how long you’re going to play.
Photos: Christie Keith
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Thank you. That was difficult. Been there, done that. I think the more we talk about it, maybe the better the decisions can/will be.
Comment by LynnO — March 3, 2010 @ 11:52 am
How well I remember Bran’s death, and I know how it still haunts you.
Isn’t it interesting, though, that Dr. Pion says to ask the veterinarian, “What would YOU do?” And our Dr. Tony Johnson says that’s the question he likes least, and can’t answer for anyone except himself and his own pets?
Comment by Gina Spadafori — March 3, 2010 @ 11:53 am
Some vets won’t answer the question, “What would you do?”
Luckily my vet does - at least he does for me. But I’m pushy. I know sometimes answering that question for me makes him uncomfortable. But when one of my pets is facing a crisis, I want to know. I know my vet is a wonderful pet owner; I’ve met his dog and his cats. I knew his previous dogs - they came through my training classes. So when he does answer that difficult question, I have a more realistic idea as to how to make my own decision.
And it is a hard decision.
My husband and I were lucky that Dax lived seven years past her diagnosis of congenitial liver disease. My vet didn’t have any treatment options for her but I used diet, supplements/remedies known to support the liver, and Dax was strong enough and stubborn enough to fight on her own. But when she was initially sick - having seizures, vomiting, losing weight, and in pain - we came very close to sending her across the Rainbow Bridge.
Comment by Liz Palika — March 3, 2010 @ 11:54 am
It is really difficult to toe that line when your pet doesn’t have a clear diagnosis. When my cat Wynnie got sick last year, I thought she just had a cold. When I took her to see our regular vet, he was concerned that it could be nasal cancer because of the way her symptoms presented. A battery of tests later, we ruled out cancer (for now) but could find no cause for her chronic URI symptoms. He diagnosed her with lymphocytic plasmacytic rhinitis, which shouldn’t be lethal.
But I couldn’t get her symptoms under control. She’d improve on antibiotics and steroids but decline when the medicine was removed. She lost weight, her thyroid went bad, and she developed a heart murmur. I really thought she was a goner and I just prayed she’d give me time to explain to my six year old son that it was her time to go, not pass at 2am in the ER.
I did a little research. I knew she’d never survive thyroid surgery and I had no money for the radioactive iodine treatment. She ended up being one of the few cats who didn’t tolerate methimazole and it almost killed her. I was able to find another medicine, harder to get, but tolerated better. I went to my vet and I asked him what are my options, here are my circumstances, is it worth giving a try?
Together we came up with a treatment plan that has given Wynnie back her life, and luckily were able to do it within reasonable costs, but I am lucky. My vet works with me, not all do. My vet was willing to try treatments he’d never used before.
But I spent many a sleepless night thinking if I only knew it was a terminal illness, I would let her go. Looking for a sign it was her time, that whatever she had wasn’t fixable. But I never got that sign. Knowing the questions to ask your vet can help make decisions when you don’t have that clear cut case.
Thanks for this post.
Comment by Melissa Garcia Logan — March 3, 2010 @ 12:00 pm
Boy this hits home. I took in two aged, wobbly foster rabbits last year and it’s been 12 months of almost chronic infections. These ladies both have dental disease, which has improved quite a bit during their time here, but they often develop related infections (sinus congestion, abscesses behind the eye, infected tooth roots).
I am always nagging vets about the future. “If this drug doesn’t work, then what? Will these infections keep recurring? Will the tooth root grow up into the eye socket? If you pull the tooth, how will she chew? It’s one sinus now … will the other become congested too? How will she breathe? Then what, then what, then what?”
I lost my best friend rabbit a year ago, at age 11. She was great until the final two weeks … had I perfect knowledge, I would not have put her through the final five days.
So now I am trying to plan out some kind of course for the future, some sense of “OK, if and when THIS happens, that’s when I will stop treatment … ” but there are SO many variables.
One worth mentioning is pressure from other people. Yes, ultimately it’s a personal decision, but I travel in circles where people take their rabbits out of state for specialized treatment, where they outfit paralyzed 14-year-old rabbits with hind-leg wheelchairs, where they provide such amazing tender time-consuming care for these animals that it is VERY VERY hard to not use their bar — and it seems to keep rising — as my bar.
So that’s another thing, the social pressure, that complicates the decision.
Oh, by the way, I officially adopted the two bunnies. I didn’t see anyone else lining up to take two elderly sickly rabbits … plus I feared that, even if I could find a great home for them, the transition would be too hard on them (especially on the “fussy” one).
Comment by Mary Mary — March 3, 2010 @ 12:02 pm
Also, I don’t know how you feel but I hope you don’t feel bad for what you did for Bran. My Sol has been in kidney failure since he was 2 year old, or at least that is when we finally got it diagnosed, he could have started earlier. When we adopted him at a year old, we couldn’t housebreak him. He seemed to understand that he should go outside but seemed physically unable to hold it.
After a year of every behavior modification trick we could think of, my friends and I all agreed that it had to be medical. I went back to my vet and I asked him to just humor me, and run some tests. If we hadn’t been specifically looking for a problem, we’d have never found it. Every test came back just a little off, not enough to be a red flag unless you were specifically looking. Ultimately, we ended up getting an ultrasound of his kidneys and there it was, his kidneys were small and misshapen.
Either it’s a congenital defect or from exposure to a toxin as a puppy, we’ll never know. But Sol turns 7 in a few weeks and through diet and careful monitoring, I have high hopes that he will live long enough to die from something other than kidney failure.
You simply cannot know, at least sometimes, that something is not fixable until you try. I know that if it were my pet, I’d try. Every time.
Comment by Melissa Garcia Logan — March 3, 2010 @ 12:08 pm
As hokey as it sounds, some of this decision is really up to the individual pet (how well do you know yours?), IMO.
For Savannah, I would have gone down the path of surgeries and more treatment because I knew she would have managed it with grace and humor (unfortunately, aggressive cancer took her within a month of diagnosis).
For Sirene, I knew that there would be no treatment beyond herbal support of her system as it failed from degenerative myelopathy — she would have been miserable and was content to just let go when she was no longer in full control. As always, it was on HER terms as everything was all her life.
As a friend says, rather a week early than a day too late. Granted the grrls were of age (12.5 and 14) when it all became an issue, but what I wouldn’t give to still have them …
Comment by KT — March 3, 2010 @ 12:43 pm
I agree it’s a personal decision that each owner needs to make for herself. I’ve always been of the mind that you keep them at home, as comfortable as possible, for as long as possible and then, when you feel like the balance has tipped in the wrong direction, you let them go. That’s not to say I don’t take them to the Vet for care but I’m not big on hospitalizations when the pet is terminal.
Comment by YesBiscuit! — March 3, 2010 @ 12:47 pm
As a friend says, rather a week early than a day too late.
Comment by KT — March 3, 2010 @ 12:43 pm
That’s exactly how I feel.
And your point about the animal’s input is right on.
Last summer I made the decision to euthanize a rabbit who’d lost use of his back legs … he was an ornery, independent rabbit who would run from me the instant I had given him whatever he wanted.
I just knew he hated depending on me for everything, including moving him out of his own waste.
I gave him the best final day he could ask for and, when driving away from the vet the next morning, felt NO regret. That morning, for the first time ever, he growled at me — pain on top of paralysis. I waited almost too long.
Comment by Mary Mary — March 3, 2010 @ 12:53 pm
I’ve been fortunate that the only dog I’ve lost in my adult life was 13 when diagnosed with cancer. Due to her other health issues and a sense that she had done what she came here to do, I opted not to treat but to give palliative care. She stayed with me for about 7 months post-diagnosis. I’m pretty sure her co-owner would’ve pushed for euthanasia about 2 weeks before the dog and I were ready for it, so we didn’t visit her during that time.
I’ve read a lot of chronic illness of your choice blogs and email lists, and I’ve seen how “treatment creep” seems to happen, where the owner adds “just one more thing” again and again yet the description of the animal makes it sound like the s/he is ready to move on. Because of this, I try to have close friends tasked with the job of asking me if I really think I’m doing right by the dog if I get in a situation with one of my dogs (I have a 14yo with kidney disease now). Yes, I value my vets’ opinions and take them into account, but my friends have a better understanding of how my dogs and I live together.
Comment by Judi — March 3, 2010 @ 1:03 pm
In the end, if one can answer “yes” to the question “did I do the best I could?” that has to be enough — IMHO. And yeah, I’ve been there and done that, too, and undoubtedly will be again.
Comment by Susan — March 3, 2010 @ 1:09 pm
I sit here remembering Bran whom you shared with us from puppyhood, and the horror of his loss. I also sit here still buried in over $7000 vet bills trying to save my beloved Sayblee (and another $2000 on Katana for testing and meds to keep comfortable from liver/pancreas cancer)… who should at only 7 have been darn nearly salvageable but who crashed at every treatment for her lymphoma. I had nightmares and still cry remembering her last night, laid on a pillow next to my head, resting and then throwing up blood. Had I known it would end like that, I’d have let her go too. Had I known the day before, when she stayed all day at the vet with treatments that it would be her last, I’d have spent the day with her in my arms and then let her go. But I can never regret trying when I didn’t know. Nothing will ever fill the hole in my heart that was Sayblee’s, but I am ready, finally, to grow a bigger heart and let a new pup in.
Comment by Debra — March 3, 2010 @ 1:53 pm
Having spent the better part of the weekend in the vet’s office and emergency clinic, this post hits way too close to home for me.
Tequila, my cat, was in terrible shape and although I was given a few options, the vets all agreed that even with aggressive treatment, she likely wouldn’t survive. And even if there was a remission time, it would be extremely short. I had to consider her quality of life and let nature take its course. It was a hard, heartbreaking decision to make, but I honestly believe we did what we could to help her. Cancer simply had the upper hand.
I have to say this about health insurance since Christie mentioned it. I do have health insurance for all my pets, and after what I’ve been through with Lydia & Tequila, I won’t be without it. Being able to take money completely out of the equation allows me to focus on what’s best for my pets. I don’t have to question myself as to whether I’m making the decision based on my pets’ health or the health of my bank account. Sadly, even with health insurance, all the treatment in the world wouldn’t have been able to save Tequila.
Comment by Therese — March 3, 2010 @ 1:58 pm
The problem is we never do know how it will end.
Well that’s all of it, isn’t it?
Our Sophia, also four years old, presented like Bran this summer while I was away in Montana.
In her case, it was lepto, despite initial diagnoses of heat stroke that were absurd on the face of it.
And here she is today, as energetic and annoying as ever. We could have decided to gamble the other way, and never known if we’d done the right thing. It was so close. I don’t know how much it ended up costing us; ask me when I finish the taxes. (She’s a SAR dog. Saving her life is tax-deductible. Not fair, but that’s how it is.) It doesn’t matter — but it does.
Lilly and Mel — was it time? I think so. I will not know so in this world.
Had I known, had I known, had I known …
Vicki Hearne was right, it’s all regrets.
Comment by H. Houlahan — March 3, 2010 @ 2:38 pm
Oh boy, what a painful post.
(So far) I’ve not been anywhere close to Christies position with any of mine, so I’ve not had to endure the pain and self questioning which follows. Sometimes truly doing our best for them can turn out not to be the right thing at all. At only 4, of course you’d be thinking ‘surely to goodness this must be fixable’.
The youngest medical shock I’ve had was on a just turned 5 year old Rottie sweetheart. She never, ever showed any signs of anything untoward, until the day she vomited, and then I could see she was uncomfortable. I took her to the vets thinking she must have swallowed who knows what ? Upon examination they could feel ‘something’, x-ray confirmed this, so she was kept in to be operated on.
I received the ‘phone call telling me she had a mass which had now encroached on her liver and “It would not be fair to let her wake up”. I broke down over the ‘phone and gave my permission to euthanize her. They sewed her back up and I collected her for burial at home shortly afterwards. I really had no option, although still today (nearly 5 years later) I get choked up thinking about it. Since that day I NEVER take my animals health for granted. She looked like a perfectly healthy dog in her prime, but she was soon to be dead !
So far, I can honestly say I haven’t let any of mine go on to long (Yet). It’s a big fear of mine, that, later on I look back and think I should have done it sooner.
Truly a question with too many variables…
Comment by Alison — March 3, 2010 @ 2:43 pm
I have gone the route of doing “extraordinary” things to keep an animal going…and so has my sister.
We have both discussed it together, and have decided that if we had to do it over again, we would not have gone that route.
Part of the problem is letting go. We don’t want to, and so our emotions get tangled up in our decisions. But not letting go usually causes additional suffering to the animal, a substantial drain on your bank account, and usually you still wind up losing them not long after.
It’s a hard thing…especially when the animal is still young. It’s a decision that each person must make for themselves, and with the help of their veterinarian, if they’re fortunate to have one that will give their honest opinion of the chances.
Once the person has made their decision of which way to go, then they should be at peace, knowing that they did their best with a very hard decision. No one could ask for more.
Comment by Marcy — March 3, 2010 @ 2:50 pm
This post is painful. I have been there, done that, am facing it now. I have only one thing to add to the wisdom posters here have already shared:
You do the best you can, and then, in the end, if you think you’ve botched it, you ask your pet for forgiveness. I’m pretty sure we’ll all be forgiven, every time.
Comment by Rori — March 3, 2010 @ 3:21 pm
Great post! The “where do you draw the line” question is one that, even if we leave it as Susan suggests,with
“if one can answer “yes” to the question “did I do the best I could?” that has to be enough “
can haunt even decades later, as evidenced by responses here. We try to do better with each successive companion animal, and don’t always get it right because the circumstances usually vary greatly.
I have posed the “what would you do if this were your pet” question, as well as after the fact, “what would you have done” or “what would have been better for the dog” to my vets to help me sort out my own process, which has helped enormously: the vet tells me who he or she is by their answer and I get the benefit of that, plus general information that might prove useful in the future.
“Chasing miracles” to me goes to the nature of what it means to be human - we love to push the limits of what is possible and hope we can pull it off. Reining in that nature to align with a concrete concept like fiscal responsibility is one rough ride. The question of how do you quit on someone you love is answered, I think, when we see or are advised that what we are doing is not for them but for us - that’s the line.
Returning to Susan’s comment, accepting that you do the best you can and that is all you can do, whatever that may be, should be thoughtfully pursued each time we have to say goodbye.
Thanks for starting this conversation.
Comment by Mary Haight — March 3, 2010 @ 4:31 pm
Heart wrenching post. Beginning to go through this process (once too many times) with my almost 11 dog, Snuggles. Around December noticed that he seemed to urinate more often but not until I woke one morning with the voice in my head asking “what about the kidneys”. Took him to the vet for blood work and his white cell count was extremely high. Next trip was to a veterinary speciality hospital for ultrasound. He’s on two antibotics. The vets seem to think the problem is with the prostate. Not certain if cancer. He goes back in two weeks for another ultrasound. I wrote earlier that he and 2 other pets are my entire family and I’m up there in age. The thought of losing my family and being without a pet just tears my soul apart. I just can’t let a pet become homeless when it becomes my time to leave this life. This whole thing is just consuming me
Comment by VJ — March 3, 2010 @ 5:02 pm
This whole thing is just consuming me
Comment by VJ — March 3, 2010 @ 5:02 pm
VJ I would like to send you my best wishes,sympathy & hope for a pleasant outcome in what you are going through at present.
Comment by Alison — March 3, 2010 @ 5:37 pm
The first question I ask is, “Am I really doing this for my pet, or am I doing this for me?”
Comment by C.L.H. — March 3, 2010 @ 6:27 pm
I don’t know how I can keep reading this post without tearing up. I feel like I have been exactly in the same place…going crazy trying to find money to pay for treatment.
The guilt: To do more or not to do more.
Sometimes, now that I have had so many pets over the years (26 with me still and 9 that have passed on) I feel guilty that I am getting too immune to it all. Well… I guess what I am trying to say is when a pet of mine gets sick I can put up a wall and remind myself of my personal reasoning (and I know some people will not agree with how I do things, but this is how I feel) to not go the extra hundred miles and thousands of dollars at the very end.
I stop saying yes to every treatment offered.
I have had a lot of pets. Some bought from breeders, most rescued. They have had good & happy lives with me. I can afford to feed them, house them, give wellness care and normal illness care (is this a term?) and I spend quality time with each of them. Once their time has come, I try to remember that 99% of their lives with me were really really good. This other 1% of their life at the end is sad. Death is sad. I do as much as I can and what the vets recommends (I often find it helps when I ask the vet “if this were your cat would you try XYZ?”…they tell me often they would not. So, now I do not go overboard.
In the past it was different, one of my first cats to have renal failure was Tonka. I took Tonka to Angel Hospital (Boston area) where they offered a kidney transplant. I thought about it, seriously. Then instead, opted for 9 months of 200 sub-cutanious fluid which I injected BID myself. 9 months. I had a 1 year old boy and 3 year old girl, also. Life was crazy. I hated poking Tonka with that needle twice a day. It was not bonding quality time.
Since then I have had two more cats die from Kidney Failure. Once their renal levels were off the charts and it was their time, well..I agreed. It WAS their time. No Sub-cut fluids, no transplant.
Just me calmly holding Sweetie at vet while he was put to sleep and George as he passed away in my arms at home.
One last comment (a confession)… there is always that ONE…you know: the pet that has the coveted “YOU ARE MY FAVORITE” invisible badge. Well, I still have her in my life and she’s getting older and if she starts to go…I’m selling my house, car, jewelry, and husband (j/k about the husband).
Comment by ericka — March 3, 2010 @ 6:40 pm
What a great post. For many pet owners, this is the most difficult question of all. I know I’ve been there. My dog Indy, started having seizures at age 10 - we spent money on the vet, emergency vet and a specialist before she was diagnosed with cancer. I couldn’t afford chemo.
I adopted my last dog, Aspen, at age 9. You could see very rib on her body. I thought she was abused or had cancer, either way, I couldn’t bear the thought of this sweet, gentle soul dying in a shelter. So I adopted her and took her home. Turns out, she did not have cancer. We never did find out what it was (although I suspect pancreatitis), but she had 2 x-rays, 2 ultrasounds, blood work, etc. and she only lived for one year. I would have paid all of it again to know that I had that one special year with her. She was an awesome dog and 2 years later I still miss her.
I think it’s a personal decision and one that no one can understand unless they’re been there.
Comment by Mel — March 3, 2010 @ 6:56 pm
VJ—I am very sensitive to your situation.
I am much older than you, but I adopted cats last year. Luckily, my daughter will take them when it is my time.
You could live to 80 or 90. Maybe taking an older pet may be the way to go, although the possibility of illness is higher.
I hope you find a solution somehow, for a pet does give one something to live for and worry about instead of looking inward at oneself.
Also, I pray your dog will be cured, somehow, or may the illness be managed if not cureable.
Comment by Evelyn — March 3, 2010 @ 9:16 pm
To Alison and Evelyn. Thank you for your kind understanding.
Comment by VJ — March 4, 2010 @ 5:43 am
Knowing how far to go with treatment vs. palliative care is almost harder than knowing when to euthanize. After adopting a malnourished sled dog when he was about a year old and nursing him back to apparent health, he was Dx with kidney failure at age 2 and I was told he had weeks to live. Somehow, through a combination of antibiotics, diet and a miralce, he pulled through. I would have done dialysis regardless of the cost had it been necessary as he had already proven he was a fighter.
At 6.5, he developed a mild cough and an x-ray showed a large mass in his chest. A needle biopsy, ultrsound and interepretion of all by my vet and then the CSU Veterinary Oncology folks confirmed our worst fear of hemangiosarcoma. The prognosis, even with surgery (which would have involved cracking his chest and a long revoery, if he survived the surgery with compromised kidneys) AND chemotherapy was that he had 3-8 months.
As much of a fighter as he was, I could not put him through that without some hope of at least a reasonable remission. He lived 3.5 months with palliative care, and was active, happy and energetic until the last few days when he made it clear to me he was too tired to fight anymore.
As Christie says, it is a very personal decision and a difficult line to walk. My vet was a huge help in making the decision, but it was unltimately, MY decision and I have no regrets. Thanks for keeping this difficult situation in front of Christie, even though it meant reliving your own pain. We all learn and heal through each others’ sharing of common experiences.
Comment by Di — March 4, 2010 @ 2:43 pm