I know this post is long, very long in fact, but if you’d take the time to read every last bit of it I would be so eternally grateful for that. Thank you nonetheless, it’s good to have friends like you no matter what.
Well yesterday could just possibly have been the worst day of my life.
I got home around 3:00 and my mom and I had arranged to take my one and a half year old baby kittenz, Winston to the vet because lately he’d been a little down and lazy when usually he’s a really REALLY hyper cat.
So we packed him up in his little pet carrier and brought him in around 4:00. We went through the routine discussion of symptoms, how he’s been acting, what he’s like, previous medical history and for the most part he’s been a perfectly healthy cat. Nothing could have thrown us off except a little out of character behavior.
So the vet said he might have gotten into something around the house that could have been poisonous and though me and mom swore up and down he couldn’t possibly have gotten into anything we agreed that what was important was how we could get him better.
The Vet said he was anemic, I’d read a book about a girl who became anemic right before she was diagnosed with Leukemia, so of course, I’m freaking out. The doctor says it could be treatable but he really needs a blood sample so he gives Winnie a Cortisone shot and takes some blood, but me little rebel just doesn’t buy it and fights before they take the sample out of the neck, OUT OF THE NECK? Why there of all places?!!! He prescribes some meds and we load my pretty kitty back into his cat carrier and I go out with him into the waiting room while my mom signs some paper and whatever.
Meanwhile, some lady walks in and says “Hey wow, that cat is panting” and I’m staring blankly at her while she’s staring bemusedly at my cat, and my mom looks over and nearly screams. So we take him back into the room and I’m shaking uncontrollably because this is the LAST thing I want to happen is my kitty going through pain right along with my awful week. Then the doctor rushes us into the back half of the clinic and puts Winston on the table and by this time he’s started drooling and foaming at the mouth and I don’t know whether to faint or cry and of course I stand there while they mask him and crank up their little oxygen tank thing.
After a good half hour we get my kitty’s breathing back to normal, and let’s just say he didn’t like the masks one bit. Then mom notices that where they took the blood sample his neck is swelling up and the doctor tries to explain it away like it’s a normal occurrence and I bought into every bit of it, because it’s normal to WANT to believe something good will happen, that you have to let the positive thoughts overwhelm the negative so at least you have hope. And I did have hope, my kitty was strong, it wasn’t supposed to be serious.
The other vet came in and announced that Winnie was officially dehydrated and that there his red blood cell count was really low. They also said he had breathing trouble, but he’d always been a little off we just thought it was normal for him. But they decided it was okay to take him off the mask, yet I’d noticed how calm he was, too calm, ya know? I don’t recall a lot about the end, that might be because I didn’t want to. All I know is that he wasn’t moving except his foot twitched a little and I had to leave the room. It only took 5 minutes for the nurse to call me back and when I saw my mom she said he wasn’t going to make it and he was barely there when I spent my very last moments with him.
I really just could not believe it. How could it have happened that fast? We took him into the vet to see what was wrong, to make him better, and now I swear to God that’s what killed him.
I think what people fear most about death is that you can’t do anything about it, that as far as we know you can’t change it. Nothing makes the pain go away, or makes it easier. All you can do is sit and remember, and wonder, and wish, but nothing is going to bring that person or pet back. Nothing can replace them or fill that empty feeling that you really didn’t know you had until it was gone…just like that.
I haven’t a whole lot of experience with death *knock on wood* and I am so grateful for it. And I hate the thought of it now, how death is really just a bitch. What logic is there? Why is there non? Is the reason we are scared is because of that mystery? Maybe. Maybe not.
All I know is that I feel empty, I feel lonely. I keep contradicting everything; I don’t want to stay at my house, I don’t want to leave it. I don’t want to think about it anymore, I want to think about it.
Another thing I hated was not having an ounce of closure. That is too much to ask for, isn’t it? We hate death because we don’t know when it will come, for us, or for those we love. How can we hold on? What power do we have? The only thing we CAN control is the time we spend with them now. That we really can’t take that for granted.
What I’ll miss most about him now that he’s gone is burying my nose into his fur. He was always so warm, and that fuzzy feeling was the most comforting. I knew he wouldn’t betray me, he was a good friend. And how can you say a pet is not a good friend? When he lay there on that table and I pushed my nose into his coat one last time all I could smell was the wrenched scent of rubbing alcohol. And the emptiness surrounded me like a wave of water.
I know this post was really long, and I’m sorry. But for those who did get this far I am so grateful that you did because I really want to hear your replies, in fact I need to hear them. An awful end to an awful week.
May your days be better than mine.
Theme: I’ll Miss You
*JungWoo*
