How do we come to terms with not giving our dog a good death?
January 11, 2018 8:37 AM Subscribe
Our Sophie had been slowing down; our deaf girl had arthritis and ever enlarging tumors on her legs starting to affect her mobility, in addition to other chronic conditions continually expanding our medication collection. She'd been recently diagnosed with cancer, but the vet was actually optimistic about this, saying treatment could improve her quality of life and keep her comfortable.
I'd been saying within the past month or so, she'd tell me "I'm ok for now Momma, but we're going to have to have a talk when the weather starts staying cold." She had a brief hospital stay over Christmas due to elevated labs and dehydration. We tried to be pragmatic and started researching vets that would make house calls, but she was back to being a voracious snack monster and cuddle bug once she came home. But, this was during those two weeks of freezing temps, so two of her favorite things, walks and ALL THE SMELLS weren't there, so we kept grimly monitoring the forecast, wanting to give her a thaw and more time outside. We brought her to the ER a few days later, but was sent home. Then two days later, another 2 am visit with the vet looking more stricken and sending her to the doggie ICU for 02 and nebs. But still. The vet the next day was upbeat, saying she was improving and was looking good for a release, so we blithely gave her pets around her cone and walked away. Then just before she was to be released, she collapsed. When we got there, she was on the table hyperventilating with the seal of an 02 mask covering her eyes and surrounded by strangers. They gave us the option of a private room before the procedure to give her a little more love and told us to take as much time as we needed, but now I'm also haunted by the thought that I just prolonged her suffering for my selfish reasons. I keep replaying the past week. Did I pet her as much? Did I give her as many treats? I'm trapped in these loops, and I don't know how to get out. I'm not saying move on, but how do I stop second guessing every action of the past few months and remember how we loved on her?
I'd been saying within the past month or so, she'd tell me "I'm ok for now Momma, but we're going to have to have a talk when the weather starts staying cold." She had a brief hospital stay over Christmas due to elevated labs and dehydration. We tried to be pragmatic and started researching vets that would make house calls, but she was back to being a voracious snack monster and cuddle bug once she came home. But, this was during those two weeks of freezing temps, so two of her favorite things, walks and ALL THE SMELLS weren't there, so we kept grimly monitoring the forecast, wanting to give her a thaw and more time outside. We brought her to the ER a few days later, but was sent home. Then two days later, another 2 am visit with the vet looking more stricken and sending her to the doggie ICU for 02 and nebs. But still. The vet the next day was upbeat, saying she was improving and was looking good for a release, so we blithely gave her pets around her cone and walked away. Then just before she was to be released, she collapsed. When we got there, she was on the table hyperventilating with the seal of an 02 mask covering her eyes and surrounded by strangers. They gave us the option of a private room before the procedure to give her a little more love and told us to take as much time as we needed, but now I'm also haunted by the thought that I just prolonged her suffering for my selfish reasons. I keep replaying the past week. Did I pet her as much? Did I give her as many treats? I'm trapped in these loops, and I don't know how to get out. I'm not saying move on, but how do I stop second guessing every action of the past few months and remember how we loved on her?
jacy, I am so sorry for your loss. Everything you are feeling is totally normal. Don't second guess it. You made the right decisions in the moment. I'm a firm believer that we know when it's time (yes, we all know that person who won't let go to a suffering animal) but most people know when the time is right.
I don't know your circumstances, but all of our dogs will only be rescues, and I can move forward knowing our pups got more love in my home than a shelter or cage.
posted by archimago at 9:01 AM on January 11, 2018 [1 favorite]
I don't know your circumstances, but all of our dogs will only be rescues, and I can move forward knowing our pups got more love in my home than a shelter or cage.
posted by archimago at 9:01 AM on January 11, 2018 [1 favorite]
The only way you prolonged her suffering for your selfish reasons was if you believe that everything you did for her, her entire time with you, was for your selfish reasons. Reading what you wrote here, I can see that's obviously not the case, you loved Sophie and you did the best you could with a difficult situation. I'm sure she loved you and felt loved by you, up to the end. Please don't reproach yourself.
As a practical matter, it might help to engage you, and remind you of the more positive times, to make a little memorial to Sophie out of whatever pictures, souvenirs and what-not you may have around you. She's gone but by no means forgotten, so make the most of it.
posted by ubiquity at 9:01 AM on January 11, 2018 [3 favorites]
As a practical matter, it might help to engage you, and remind you of the more positive times, to make a little memorial to Sophie out of whatever pictures, souvenirs and what-not you may have around you. She's gone but by no means forgotten, so make the most of it.
posted by ubiquity at 9:01 AM on January 11, 2018 [3 favorites]
I'm so very sorry. Please remember that your Sophie's final days do not define her life. What is most important and so special is that you were there at the end. Her last vision was your loving eyes, her last moments were in your warm embrace, her last thoughts were of you. You gave her love and life and she'll never leave you in your heart.
posted by HeyAllie at 9:02 AM on January 11, 2018 [17 favorites]
posted by HeyAllie at 9:02 AM on January 11, 2018 [17 favorites]
I am so, so sorry for your loss, and the traumatic way that you spent your last little bit of time with your beloved pet.
I think two things are key to keep in mind: First, you made the best decisions you could with the information you had. They were a series of very, very difficult decisions with no real wrong answers. I am sure that could you have seen the future somehow, you would have made different choices. However, that is not possible. If you would have euthanized earlier, you may have had the same questions about whether or not it was too early. Maybe the weather would have had a sudden, unforecasted warming up the day after, and you'd be questioning your choice then. Nobody knows what is going to happen. You did the absolute best that you could in the circumstances.
Second, the majority of Sophie's time with you was full of happiness and love. She had a happy life, and brought many other people a lot of joy. The last little bit of her life was hard, but compared to the vast majority of it, is just a small blip. She'll remember you as a loving caretaker, who gave plenty of treats and pets. There's no way she'd hold a grudge against you for the things she didn't receive, so please be easy on yourself too.
You did good. You loved each other a lot, and you took fantastic care of her when times were hard. <3
posted by Fig at 9:03 AM on January 11, 2018 [12 favorites]
I think two things are key to keep in mind: First, you made the best decisions you could with the information you had. They were a series of very, very difficult decisions with no real wrong answers. I am sure that could you have seen the future somehow, you would have made different choices. However, that is not possible. If you would have euthanized earlier, you may have had the same questions about whether or not it was too early. Maybe the weather would have had a sudden, unforecasted warming up the day after, and you'd be questioning your choice then. Nobody knows what is going to happen. You did the absolute best that you could in the circumstances.
Second, the majority of Sophie's time with you was full of happiness and love. She had a happy life, and brought many other people a lot of joy. The last little bit of her life was hard, but compared to the vast majority of it, is just a small blip. She'll remember you as a loving caretaker, who gave plenty of treats and pets. There's no way she'd hold a grudge against you for the things she didn't receive, so please be easy on yourself too.
You did good. You loved each other a lot, and you took fantastic care of her when times were hard. <3
posted by Fig at 9:03 AM on January 11, 2018 [12 favorites]
First, I'm so sorry--this stuff is really, really hard. I think these feelings are, in large part, unavoidable. When we had to say goodbye to our cat, I tried to think about what, in a perfect world, I could've done to be able to feel "good" about putting him to sleep, and I realized there was nothing. There could never be enough pets, or treats, or attention....nothing could have made me feel "OK" about it. Accepting that I was going to feel guilty no matter what helped put things in perspective.
(On preview, a few other folks are articulating what I would have wanted to say about how you did the best you could, so I'll skip that. All great advice so far.)
Another thing that helped me was looking at pictures of our cat in happier times. It helped my brain break out of the twisted "recency effect" of only being able to think about the days and weeks leading up to his death--and dwelling on whatever pain or discomfort he may have experienced, and what I did "wrong"--and allowed me to shift focus to the good times and all the stuff I did "right" (there's no right or wrong here, but that's just how our brains work sometimes). A few months down the line I actually made a photo album of those pictures--I put a lot of time and effort into how I organized them and I feel that I honored his life and our love for him really well through it.
If you don't have a lot of pictures, maybe you can take some time (get comfortable, pour yourself some tea or a strong drink or whatever) and sit with a toy or something else of hers and just reflect. Let yourself cry as hard and as long as you need to, but try to think of three happy memories. If your brain starts to wander back into that guilt cycle, gently bring it back.
As far as general mourning advice (because remember, the guilt you're feeling making a "mistake" is very much compounded by the straight-up heartbreak of losing your dog...even if you had done all the "right" things, you'd still feel incredible grief): I had to tell myself every day--sometimes every hour--that the amount of pain I felt about losing my cat had a direct relationship to how much I loved him. The price for the joy he brought to my life was the pain I felt in his death. Would I trade the joy not to feel that pain? Not in a million years.
posted by lovableiago at 9:09 AM on January 11, 2018 [6 favorites]
(On preview, a few other folks are articulating what I would have wanted to say about how you did the best you could, so I'll skip that. All great advice so far.)
Another thing that helped me was looking at pictures of our cat in happier times. It helped my brain break out of the twisted "recency effect" of only being able to think about the days and weeks leading up to his death--and dwelling on whatever pain or discomfort he may have experienced, and what I did "wrong"--and allowed me to shift focus to the good times and all the stuff I did "right" (there's no right or wrong here, but that's just how our brains work sometimes). A few months down the line I actually made a photo album of those pictures--I put a lot of time and effort into how I organized them and I feel that I honored his life and our love for him really well through it.
If you don't have a lot of pictures, maybe you can take some time (get comfortable, pour yourself some tea or a strong drink or whatever) and sit with a toy or something else of hers and just reflect. Let yourself cry as hard and as long as you need to, but try to think of three happy memories. If your brain starts to wander back into that guilt cycle, gently bring it back.
As far as general mourning advice (because remember, the guilt you're feeling making a "mistake" is very much compounded by the straight-up heartbreak of losing your dog...even if you had done all the "right" things, you'd still feel incredible grief): I had to tell myself every day--sometimes every hour--that the amount of pain I felt about losing my cat had a direct relationship to how much I loved him. The price for the joy he brought to my life was the pain I felt in his death. Would I trade the joy not to feel that pain? Not in a million years.
posted by lovableiago at 9:09 AM on January 11, 2018 [6 favorites]
I don't see where you could have done a thing differently. Obviously you loved your Sophie, everything you did then and are feeling now is because of love, and you took wonderful care of her, even through illness. It would be great if we could guarantee our beloved pets never experienced a moment of suffering, but we cannot control that. You did great.
You did great.
I'm so sorry!
posted by kapers at 9:16 AM on January 11, 2018 [4 favorites]
You did great.
I'm so sorry!
posted by kapers at 9:16 AM on January 11, 2018 [4 favorites]
I'm so sorry for your loss as you go through the grieving process. Pet deaths are very difficult because our society doesn't place a premium on them, and so we grieve privately, which compounds the grief.
It sounds like you did the best you could for Sophie (it's always tough deciding on going to the vet and which treatments to continue) and in your grief you are blaming yourself. That's normal, but please try to re-focus on the good life you gave her, and that she wasn't alone at the end. She was with you, her favorite person, and that's what was most important to her.
I, too, lost my kitty during the holiday season. Please give yourself space and time to grieve. And breathe!
posted by honey badger at 9:21 AM on January 11, 2018 [5 favorites]
It sounds like you did the best you could for Sophie (it's always tough deciding on going to the vet and which treatments to continue) and in your grief you are blaming yourself. That's normal, but please try to re-focus on the good life you gave her, and that she wasn't alone at the end. She was with you, her favorite person, and that's what was most important to her.
I, too, lost my kitty during the holiday season. Please give yourself space and time to grieve. And breathe!
posted by honey badger at 9:21 AM on January 11, 2018 [5 favorites]
I very much disagree that we can know when the time is right. I think that takes a special degree of pragmatism and experience and self-forgiveness that most of us don’t possess.
I think that if you weren’t wondering if you’d left the decision until too late you’d be wondering if you’d made the call too soon (and probably also wondering if your reasons were selfish).
My dog also had a gradual decline until a sudden panicky collapse. While I still regret that last day and wish I’d had the foresight to spare him from it, it’s no longer the first thing I think of. It’s part of the grieving process… the last day will recede and you’ll remember the rest of Sophie’s life more and more.
posted by Kriesa at 9:23 AM on January 11, 2018 [13 favorites]
I think that if you weren’t wondering if you’d left the decision until too late you’d be wondering if you’d made the call too soon (and probably also wondering if your reasons were selfish).
My dog also had a gradual decline until a sudden panicky collapse. While I still regret that last day and wish I’d had the foresight to spare him from it, it’s no longer the first thing I think of. It’s part of the grieving process… the last day will recede and you’ll remember the rest of Sophie’s life more and more.
posted by Kriesa at 9:23 AM on January 11, 2018 [13 favorites]
Think of three kinds of care. There's one level of care we know how to give -- the kind we think is appropriate to advance an animal's best interests. It sounds like you did that. The second is the kind of care the animal wants; the problem is that we have to guess at that, and knowing that the animal does not necessarily grasp what medicine and care can do. The last is the kind of care the animal should get: something that takes into account the animal's best interests, its desires, and enjoys perfect information about everything.
Don't get stuck thinking about the second and third, when you did the first as well as you could. The last moments in a life take on an exaggerated significance for those surviving, particularly if you start assuming omniscience, control, and ignore how you might equally be wracked with guilt if you had taken another, prior course.
posted by Clyde Mnestra at 9:25 AM on January 11, 2018 [2 favorites]
Don't get stuck thinking about the second and third, when you did the first as well as you could. The last moments in a life take on an exaggerated significance for those surviving, particularly if you start assuming omniscience, control, and ignore how you might equally be wracked with guilt if you had taken another, prior course.
posted by Clyde Mnestra at 9:25 AM on January 11, 2018 [2 favorites]
I'm sorry for your loss and the horrible feelings and emotions you're experiencing because of the circumstance.
Something similar happened with a dog for me. She hated being away from home (especially with the heart meds she was one which produced more anxiety), and initially I was bringing her in to be put down, but instead left her for the day for O2, IV drugs and fluids as the vets were hopeful that with the IV version of the drugs to take care of fluid in her lungs that they'd get her to a state where she'd have another good few days.
They had to drug her to the nines while at the office because of her anxiety. She didn't recognize me when I arrived to take her home. About 2 minutes into the drive home (hoping we'd have 2-5 days to spoil her and say good bye) she yelped in pain, voided herself and went into panicked shallow breathing. I immediately u-turned, got to the vet and we went to immediately put her down. Her veins had collapsed and it felt at the time like it took 5 minutes (it did take three people) to find a vein as I'm repeatedly telling her she's such a good dog unsure if she's hearing but hoping she's lost consciousness a long time ago.
That was ~4 years ago and there's still times I got flashes of this. What made these memories ... less bad, and less frequent is deciding and reminding myself that I won't make this mistake again. As soon as I have the slight feeling that it's time, it will 100% be time and nothing will talk me out of it.
Fast forward about a year, and our beagle was fighting an agressive cancer situated in blood vessels along a main artery at the base of her neck. We made her final appointment on a Saturday, so we had a few days to spoil her. Sadly, a few of them were also bitterly cold so she didn't get a whole lot of sniffing which she loved. I kept reminding myself that not having the perfect day was better than waiting to the point where she had problems breathing or swallowing because of the tumor size. She didn't have any obvious QoL issues before her final appointment. When I remember that horrible yelp I remember Beag's last days and tell myself I'll choose the same for my wife's current dog.
Use the bad thoughts/memories/emotions to shape your future behavior. You can't change the past, but now you know what it's like to choose too late.
posted by nobeagle at 9:27 AM on January 11, 2018 [5 favorites]
Something similar happened with a dog for me. She hated being away from home (especially with the heart meds she was one which produced more anxiety), and initially I was bringing her in to be put down, but instead left her for the day for O2, IV drugs and fluids as the vets were hopeful that with the IV version of the drugs to take care of fluid in her lungs that they'd get her to a state where she'd have another good few days.
They had to drug her to the nines while at the office because of her anxiety. She didn't recognize me when I arrived to take her home. About 2 minutes into the drive home (hoping we'd have 2-5 days to spoil her and say good bye) she yelped in pain, voided herself and went into panicked shallow breathing. I immediately u-turned, got to the vet and we went to immediately put her down. Her veins had collapsed and it felt at the time like it took 5 minutes (it did take three people) to find a vein as I'm repeatedly telling her she's such a good dog unsure if she's hearing but hoping she's lost consciousness a long time ago.
That was ~4 years ago and there's still times I got flashes of this. What made these memories ... less bad, and less frequent is deciding and reminding myself that I won't make this mistake again. As soon as I have the slight feeling that it's time, it will 100% be time and nothing will talk me out of it.
Fast forward about a year, and our beagle was fighting an agressive cancer situated in blood vessels along a main artery at the base of her neck. We made her final appointment on a Saturday, so we had a few days to spoil her. Sadly, a few of them were also bitterly cold so she didn't get a whole lot of sniffing which she loved. I kept reminding myself that not having the perfect day was better than waiting to the point where she had problems breathing or swallowing because of the tumor size. She didn't have any obvious QoL issues before her final appointment. When I remember that horrible yelp I remember Beag's last days and tell myself I'll choose the same for my wife's current dog.
Use the bad thoughts/memories/emotions to shape your future behavior. You can't change the past, but now you know what it's like to choose too late.
posted by nobeagle at 9:27 AM on January 11, 2018 [5 favorites]
This decision is a very imperfect science (and art). People get it wrong all the time, but sometimes in a good way and sometimes in a bad way and the hell of it is you'll never know for sure. Even when it's over, you'll never know how many more good days might have been left. Was it 1, was it 100, was it one good day in 100 days? Where's the cut-off? Nobody knows.
What you went through was traumatic, and the thoughts and feelings you are having are typical responses to trauma-compounded-grief. Time will help. Three weeks from now, you will realize you feel a good bit less shaken. (See this twitter thread about the ball and the box, a really great conceptualization of grief over time.)
From experience: it never quite goes away. Those 3am times when your brain decides to serve up a Greatest Hits of your fuckups? This'll be there. I recommend arming yourself with a Top 5 Memories of really good times you had with your dog that remind you that you took care of her and she felt loved, and replay that slideshow in your head when the bad feelings come.
posted by Lyn Never at 9:30 AM on January 11, 2018 [3 favorites]
What you went through was traumatic, and the thoughts and feelings you are having are typical responses to trauma-compounded-grief. Time will help. Three weeks from now, you will realize you feel a good bit less shaken. (See this twitter thread about the ball and the box, a really great conceptualization of grief over time.)
From experience: it never quite goes away. Those 3am times when your brain decides to serve up a Greatest Hits of your fuckups? This'll be there. I recommend arming yourself with a Top 5 Memories of really good times you had with your dog that remind you that you took care of her and she felt loved, and replay that slideshow in your head when the bad feelings come.
posted by Lyn Never at 9:30 AM on January 11, 2018 [3 favorites]
The odds of picking exactly the right moment are small. It's usually a choice between too soon and too late.
We're just people, we don't have enough information to make decisions about life and death. You do the best you can, that's all.
posted by Sing Or Swim at 9:37 AM on January 11, 2018 [7 favorites]
We're just people, we don't have enough information to make decisions about life and death. You do the best you can, that's all.
posted by Sing Or Swim at 9:37 AM on January 11, 2018 [7 favorites]
I very much disagree that we can know when the time is right.
My wife has been an ER veterinary technician for 20 years. We absolutely agonized over when we should put our last, especially belovedest cat to sleep. She's been making split-second, life or death decisions about animals' health since well before he was born, and she couldn't tell. I know that sometimes, people do feel that they know when the time is right, but I also strongly disagree with the idea that we always know.
I'll also add that because your pup was in the hospital at the end, it means that he was being cared for lovingly, by people who were literally watching his every breath, catering to his every need, and are trained to relieve pain and suffering in any way that they can. I know that if any of my pets were to go unexpectedly, I'd want it to be in a hospital, because that way I'd know that they didn't suffer for long, if at all.
I'm so sorry for your loss. Take good care of yourselves.
posted by Rock Steady at 9:42 AM on January 11, 2018 [14 favorites]
My wife has been an ER veterinary technician for 20 years. We absolutely agonized over when we should put our last, especially belovedest cat to sleep. She's been making split-second, life or death decisions about animals' health since well before he was born, and she couldn't tell. I know that sometimes, people do feel that they know when the time is right, but I also strongly disagree with the idea that we always know.
I'll also add that because your pup was in the hospital at the end, it means that he was being cared for lovingly, by people who were literally watching his every breath, catering to his every need, and are trained to relieve pain and suffering in any way that they can. I know that if any of my pets were to go unexpectedly, I'd want it to be in a hospital, because that way I'd know that they didn't suffer for long, if at all.
I'm so sorry for your loss. Take good care of yourselves.
posted by Rock Steady at 9:42 AM on January 11, 2018 [14 favorites]
I think this is very common in all kinds of loss. We ask ourselves "what if I'd done x instead of y? What if I'd said q instead of staying quiet? What if ... if only ... " I suspect that it may fit into the bargaining stage in the Kubler-Ross stages of grief. Retroactive bargaining, in a sense.
It sounds like you did the best you could with the information and resources that you had. You relied on your doctors to advise you. You tried to prolong her life as much as possible without extending pain - something very hard to do perfectly, particularly for someone who cannot state their feelings and wishes.
So few creatures on the planet get to be loved and adored and secure during their lives. But you clearly loved Sophie very much and I'm sure that she knew that - and that's the more important thing. To die comfortably at the perfect time, surrounded by love, is a lovely bonus, but I'm sure that most living things would chose, given the option, to have a life filled with love ended with an imperfect death, rather than a life without love with a well-timed, caring death.
Give yourself some time. Try meditating or yoga if you like, or any number of grounding exercises, try journaling about her life including your gratitude and good memories and worries. But mostly just know that this is temporary and part of the grieving process, and it will get better.
posted by bunderful at 9:43 AM on January 11, 2018 [3 favorites]
It sounds like you did the best you could with the information and resources that you had. You relied on your doctors to advise you. You tried to prolong her life as much as possible without extending pain - something very hard to do perfectly, particularly for someone who cannot state their feelings and wishes.
So few creatures on the planet get to be loved and adored and secure during their lives. But you clearly loved Sophie very much and I'm sure that she knew that - and that's the more important thing. To die comfortably at the perfect time, surrounded by love, is a lovely bonus, but I'm sure that most living things would chose, given the option, to have a life filled with love ended with an imperfect death, rather than a life without love with a well-timed, caring death.
Give yourself some time. Try meditating or yoga if you like, or any number of grounding exercises, try journaling about her life including your gratitude and good memories and worries. But mostly just know that this is temporary and part of the grieving process, and it will get better.
posted by bunderful at 9:43 AM on January 11, 2018 [3 favorites]
I am sorry for your loss. You made the appropriate decisions with the best information you had at the time. Give yourself time to grieve. We love them so much and it's so painful when they move on without us.
posted by cass at 10:06 AM on January 11, 2018 [3 favorites]
posted by cass at 10:06 AM on January 11, 2018 [3 favorites]
I had a similar experience with one of my cats. He had medical issues, and the last time I took him to the vet, he stayed there for 3 days (and I visited him each day), but died on the morning of the 4th while receiving a treatment. I wasn't there. I didn't pet him or comfort him or say goodbye. After he died, I was really hard on myself -- did I choose the right treatment? Was I selfish about those last 3 days? Should I have had him euthanized? Over time, I came to realize that I made the best choices I could at the time, with the information that I had. That, and I gave him a really good life up until the end. Whenever the guilt comes, I focus on those two facts.
Given the information you had, and the weather (which is a serious issue), you made the best choices for Sophie that you could. And while she was with you, you gave her a really good life. Those two things matter more than the specifics of the very end. Hold those two facts close in your heart and breath.
posted by OrangeDisk at 10:11 AM on January 11, 2018 [2 favorites]
Given the information you had, and the weather (which is a serious issue), you made the best choices for Sophie that you could. And while she was with you, you gave her a really good life. Those two things matter more than the specifics of the very end. Hold those two facts close in your heart and breath.
posted by OrangeDisk at 10:11 AM on January 11, 2018 [2 favorites]
I'm so sorry. My beloved boy, the love of my life, did not have a good death, and I was tormented with these thoughts for many months. In the end I think that going over and over it in your mind, trying to find the point at which things could have turned out differently, trying to remember what you and everyone else did and didn't do right, is just a necessary process and the answers don't even really matter that much. The sudden, unalterable absence of someone who was the very heart of you is almost impossible to comprehend, and your mind is going to be very confused for a long time, and trying to find ways to adapt to this unbearable new reality. It will come. But you have to go through this part first.
posted by HotToddy at 11:10 AM on January 11, 2018 [5 favorites]
posted by HotToddy at 11:10 AM on January 11, 2018 [5 favorites]
I'm so sorry, I know this is hard.
My main thought right now, based on your story, is that your dog was very, very loved (in intention and action), and that your dog most assuredly did not feel unloved. If I was vulnerable and sick, I think I would like to be your dog. Surrounded by people who cared enough to think about my end-of-life issues, who thought about what I would still like to experience, who took me to the doctor at their expense, who took the advice of seasoned professionals for the best care possible, who would commit to being there with me when it was time to pass over. Seriously, you loved your dog. I feel it coming through in every word you said, and I guarantee your dog felt loved.
Our brains, in the best of times, can be lying-liars. Part of this, I think, is that we sort and access memories in large part based on how we are feeling. Have you ever noticed that when you feel bad, especially in a moral way, we tend to remember all of the things we've done imperfectly? When we feel on top of the world, we often remember more positive memories and that we are lovable people. Your dog, I think, would say you did good by me, and your sadness is pulling in recent related memories that make you feel like you fell short. In a way, honoring your dog could be intentionally remembering those times that you felt loved together, because no life, on this side of things, will ever play out perfectly — especially when things get emotionally and logistically difficult.
posted by SpacemanStix at 11:48 AM on January 11, 2018 [6 favorites]
My main thought right now, based on your story, is that your dog was very, very loved (in intention and action), and that your dog most assuredly did not feel unloved. If I was vulnerable and sick, I think I would like to be your dog. Surrounded by people who cared enough to think about my end-of-life issues, who thought about what I would still like to experience, who took me to the doctor at their expense, who took the advice of seasoned professionals for the best care possible, who would commit to being there with me when it was time to pass over. Seriously, you loved your dog. I feel it coming through in every word you said, and I guarantee your dog felt loved.
Our brains, in the best of times, can be lying-liars. Part of this, I think, is that we sort and access memories in large part based on how we are feeling. Have you ever noticed that when you feel bad, especially in a moral way, we tend to remember all of the things we've done imperfectly? When we feel on top of the world, we often remember more positive memories and that we are lovable people. Your dog, I think, would say you did good by me, and your sadness is pulling in recent related memories that make you feel like you fell short. In a way, honoring your dog could be intentionally remembering those times that you felt loved together, because no life, on this side of things, will ever play out perfectly — especially when things get emotionally and logistically difficult.
posted by SpacemanStix at 11:48 AM on January 11, 2018 [6 favorites]
Due to the unconscionable behavior of her exhusband, who lied and said the vet had told him she couldn't survive surgery and then dumped the dog on my friend and spent the money he could've spent for surgery for the dog on a trip abroad for himself, my friend let her dog live with enormous bladder stones for over a year. The dog was in agony, needlessly. Finally she began to crash, so my friend took her in, assuming they'd nod sadly, confirm the exhusband's story, and give the dog the exit injection. Instead, they got the records from the exhusband's vet and informed my friend that over a year ago the vet had advised surgery. They had to keep her for two days to stabilize her sodium levels and get her heartrate up so that she could have the surgery, and then another day for the surgery, then a day after surgery to get strong enough to come home--so she was at the hospital alone with strangers and undergoing painful procedures for days and days. She got the surgery. She survived the surgery. She is now a new dog. All that's just introductory. Here's the relevant part:
The dog was at the hospital for days in lots of pain, confused, surrounded by strangers. You'd think she had an awful time. But when we took her in a week later for her post-op checkup, she raced into the building, greeted her surgeon with evident pleasure, set her feet and sat down when offered the opportunity to go outside for a moment, and when invited to accompany the surgeon back into the bowels of the hospital sans her owner, scampered off excitedly without a backward glance. My point is, your dog might not have had such a bad experience dying at the vet's, because my friend's dog seems not to have been traumatized at all by almost dying at the vet's. I think they know the vet cares and is on their side. Your vet clearly cared and was clearly on your dog's side. They're total dog partisans, vets. You did the right thing.
posted by Don Pepino at 12:00 PM on January 11, 2018 [13 favorites]
The dog was at the hospital for days in lots of pain, confused, surrounded by strangers. You'd think she had an awful time. But when we took her in a week later for her post-op checkup, she raced into the building, greeted her surgeon with evident pleasure, set her feet and sat down when offered the opportunity to go outside for a moment, and when invited to accompany the surgeon back into the bowels of the hospital sans her owner, scampered off excitedly without a backward glance. My point is, your dog might not have had such a bad experience dying at the vet's, because my friend's dog seems not to have been traumatized at all by almost dying at the vet's. I think they know the vet cares and is on their side. Your vet clearly cared and was clearly on your dog's side. They're total dog partisans, vets. You did the right thing.
posted by Don Pepino at 12:00 PM on January 11, 2018 [13 favorites]
You followed medical advice from real professionals who see lots of ill dogs and are able to make better judgements than you can. It sounds like she died pretty quickly, albeit in circumstances that weren't super-calm, but you were there. That's not a bad death. You gave her as much life, as much great life, as you possibly could. Really, remember that she was her snuggly snack-hound self and be comforted. I'm sorry for your loss. Sophie was a lucky doggo to be so loved and to have a human to love.
posted by theora55 at 12:03 PM on January 11, 2018 [7 favorites]
posted by theora55 at 12:03 PM on January 11, 2018 [7 favorites]
I had to stop sobbing after reading this, and I have a huge aching lump in my throat and my heart hurts. Dogs are pure in every way. You have a different bond with them than with any other living creature. Sophie felt your love all the way through, and try to find a way to create a memorial for her now. She will know.
posted by catrae at 12:12 PM on January 11, 2018 [2 favorites]
posted by catrae at 12:12 PM on January 11, 2018 [2 favorites]
Oh, I'm so so sorry. I think it's very natural to fixate on the pieces of a situation we can control, however minor, rather than the entirety of the situation. When we feel pain, we look for "how can I fix this?" and "what did I do wrong?" because that's a really functional instinct most of the time. Our brains aren't good at grasping the big picture, especially when that big picture leaves us helpless. And trauma in particular is very compelling; our brains fixate there because they want us to learn how to prevent it from happening again. But the suddenness with which death can come is a situation that none of us can control, and it can be sad and cruel. It's hard to direct all the pain and sadness toward nature and the universe, so we unfortunately direct some of it toward ourselves, thinking that maybe we wouldn't be hurting so much if only we'd acted differently.
But you did the very best you could with all the information available to you, and that's all you can ask of yourself. At the moment of the emergency, you felt it was best to give her one last moment to say goodbye with you rather than to die in the midst of all that chaos, and I don't think that was wrong. Or if in retrospect, you feel it was wrong, then I honor your truth but hope you'll forgive yourself, because I think most people would make that same decision. Of all the decisions you mention, I think that the vast majority of people would've used the limited info you had in exactly the same way you did.
I'm so sorry you went through this and that you've lost her. I think when you start replaying this, imagine someone stepping into the picture and giving you a hug and saying how sorry they are for your trauma, pain, and loss. Your love pours off the page; I'm sure your dog knew how much you loved her. Hugs to you.
posted by salvia at 1:01 PM on January 11, 2018 [2 favorites]
But you did the very best you could with all the information available to you, and that's all you can ask of yourself. At the moment of the emergency, you felt it was best to give her one last moment to say goodbye with you rather than to die in the midst of all that chaos, and I don't think that was wrong. Or if in retrospect, you feel it was wrong, then I honor your truth but hope you'll forgive yourself, because I think most people would make that same decision. Of all the decisions you mention, I think that the vast majority of people would've used the limited info you had in exactly the same way you did.
I'm so sorry you went through this and that you've lost her. I think when you start replaying this, imagine someone stepping into the picture and giving you a hug and saying how sorry they are for your trauma, pain, and loss. Your love pours off the page; I'm sure your dog knew how much you loved her. Hugs to you.
posted by salvia at 1:01 PM on January 11, 2018 [2 favorites]
This detail jumped out at me, because it sounds almost exactly like what happened with my cat:
Then just before she was to be released, she collapsed. When we got there, she was on the table hyperventilating with the seal of an 02 mask covering her eyes and surrounded by strangers.
That is almost a mirror image of my last two days with Zach. I had made the appointment for a home visit from the vet for his euthanasia, with the appointment on a Monday; I couldn't get it for Sunday because the vet was closed, so I resolved to just spend the whole day Sunday with him and looking after him. At some point he tried to walk across the living room to a chair, but was a little too weak; I picked him up and carried him to it, and he settled down for a nap. Then about 20 minute later, he stood up to turn around, but flopped over and started that scary hyperventaliting gasping breathing. I panicked, rushed him to an ER vet, and they took care of him there instead, that night.
I felt pretty much like you did - but one of the technicians at my regular vet's office told me that that kind of gaspy hyperventilation was called "agonal breathing" and is purely a last-gasp reflex; "also," she said, "he probably was unconscious, and not aware of what was happening any more." And I found that so comforting - because not only did that mean that Zach didn't see the weird vet's office and the strange unfamiliar place and the black lab in the corner staring at everything, but that also meant that most likely, the last thing Zach was aware of in this life was me helping him into his favorite chair so he could take a nap.
Emotionally, your dog knows you did your best and knows you loved her, and she loved you. But there is also some strong veterinary-medicine evidence that she never knew about the vets crowded around her with the mask - the last thing she may have been aware of, instead, was getting scritches around her cone from you, and walking out the vet's door to head home.
I'm so sorry for your loss.
posted by EmpressCallipygos at 1:19 PM on January 11, 2018 [7 favorites]
Then just before she was to be released, she collapsed. When we got there, she was on the table hyperventilating with the seal of an 02 mask covering her eyes and surrounded by strangers.
That is almost a mirror image of my last two days with Zach. I had made the appointment for a home visit from the vet for his euthanasia, with the appointment on a Monday; I couldn't get it for Sunday because the vet was closed, so I resolved to just spend the whole day Sunday with him and looking after him. At some point he tried to walk across the living room to a chair, but was a little too weak; I picked him up and carried him to it, and he settled down for a nap. Then about 20 minute later, he stood up to turn around, but flopped over and started that scary hyperventaliting gasping breathing. I panicked, rushed him to an ER vet, and they took care of him there instead, that night.
I felt pretty much like you did - but one of the technicians at my regular vet's office told me that that kind of gaspy hyperventilation was called "agonal breathing" and is purely a last-gasp reflex; "also," she said, "he probably was unconscious, and not aware of what was happening any more." And I found that so comforting - because not only did that mean that Zach didn't see the weird vet's office and the strange unfamiliar place and the black lab in the corner staring at everything, but that also meant that most likely, the last thing Zach was aware of in this life was me helping him into his favorite chair so he could take a nap.
Emotionally, your dog knows you did your best and knows you loved her, and she loved you. But there is also some strong veterinary-medicine evidence that she never knew about the vets crowded around her with the mask - the last thing she may have been aware of, instead, was getting scritches around her cone from you, and walking out the vet's door to head home.
I'm so sorry for your loss.
posted by EmpressCallipygos at 1:19 PM on January 11, 2018 [7 favorites]
About how to stop reliving traumatic moments: quicunx describes editing a memory like a movie here, and I describe my experience with it here. On preview, I think what EmpressCallipygos writes is the perfect thing to focus on when those memories come up. You could also edit the vet-room movie with someone who escorts you out while offering you sympathy and love; you don't have to re-live that moment ever again; it was hard enough the first time, and it's not what she would want for you. Also, she may have spent the last week dreaming about outside, sniffing, and the good times she had with you.
posted by salvia at 1:25 PM on January 11, 2018 [5 favorites]
posted by salvia at 1:25 PM on January 11, 2018 [5 favorites]
We cannot, in a few minutes, become doctors or nurses or paramedics -- or veterinarians and vet assistants.
We can do the one thing that is within our ability -- we can give love. All those moments add up, so that even if the last few minutes are, in our minds, horrible, we can take solace in the years of loving devotion shared with those who are dear to us.
There are no good endings, only a lifetime of good memories. You did the best you could, and that's all you can do.
Be at peace.
posted by TrishaU at 4:08 PM on January 11, 2018 [7 favorites]
We can do the one thing that is within our ability -- we can give love. All those moments add up, so that even if the last few minutes are, in our minds, horrible, we can take solace in the years of loving devotion shared with those who are dear to us.
There are no good endings, only a lifetime of good memories. You did the best you could, and that's all you can do.
Be at peace.
posted by TrishaU at 4:08 PM on January 11, 2018 [7 favorites]
Response by poster: Thanks so much for the kind words and advice y'all. Mefites are once again proven to be some of the kindest hearts and wisest folks around. We brought her ashes home today, and have her on the mantel below the picture cluster of our family. (Negotiations to incorporate her ashes into our wedding bands are ongoing.) Dan and I tend to both be cranky oddballs who don't make connections easily and it's breathtaking how perfect our wiseass, curmudgeonly, Indian food loving bottomless pit was for us, and we were so so lucky to be able to love her for the past two years. We sat in front of the fireplace remembering her unholy love for Sbux pup cups, her insistence on treading through the long grass in the yard with narrowed eyes like she was Sophie on the savannah, her pure indignation when encountering sky water, how every time she was outside it was like an acid trip, and her habit of wedging herself under the balance ball I used as a desk chair so she'd know if I tried to get away...Thanks again, and may everyone who's gone through this go gently and remember your babies fondly.
posted by jacy at 7:23 PM on January 11, 2018 [8 favorites]
posted by jacy at 7:23 PM on January 11, 2018 [8 favorites]
This thread is closed to new comments.
Mindfulness helped me, trying to make some new loops that I could use to stop those
- you did a good job during a difficult time
- you were managing a lot of people's expectations including your own and you made choices that seemed reasonable at the time based on good information
- you are in pain, this is your brain's response to pain, you can observe it but not let it drive your assessment of how things went (i.e. see the terrible loop as its own weird thing, not a thing I needed to beat myself up over)
- you can't change what already happened and things really, truly, went mostly okay
You made some decent choices based on some practical information which made sense at the time. With the morning-after quarterbacking of complete information, you might have made those choices a little differently. That's okay, normal, and human. You gave your dog a great life and you're having your own hard time right now. Try to be kind to yourself, that's what your dog would have wanted. I am so sorry for your loss.
posted by jessamyn at 9:00 AM on January 11, 2018 [55 favorites]