A friend of mine is dealing with the prospect of losing her dog. He became sick from kidney failure and tumors before Faith ever became sick. Even though they elected to have a surgery to remove his kidney, it wasn't very long after the surgery when she saw that his health was declining again.
Tonight, she asked me how she should know when to put him down, or when to do it. And as I sat there trying to think of the right words to say back to her, I knew I couldn't do what I was suppose to do. You're suppose to be positive and helpful. Say things that will help someone to make that decision and feel right about doing it. You're suppose to offer a glimmer of hope to them.
But I couldn't.
I had to be honest.
So I told her what I hadn't told anyone else:
Everyone said that if Faith was suffering, she needed to be put down. They told me that it was the right thing to do and it was the most loving thing that I could do for her. They said that if she suffers for one day, that's one day too many.
I understand these thoughts. I understand why they said them. I can even understand why they may be true.
But what I felt and what I feel goes far beyond those feelings.
On that day, I knew that I was not going to let Faith die alone, away from me.
When she was given the first shot, to help her feel drowsy and fall asleep, she fought it. For ten to twenty minutes I laid on the hospital floor with her as she was losing feeling in her limbs and getting tired, but refusing to close her eyes and sleep. Over the next 20 minutes or so, she felt herself losing control of her bowels, she was fighting it, every moment of it.
I know she was thinking how she wasn't "suppose" to have accidents and was trying to figure out how to get up and get outside to go to the bathroom. Even though she was "just a dog", I bet it was humiliating for her when she couldn't hold on any longer. She was breathing hard and looking at us with eyes that screamed out to me. She just to get up and go outside to go to the bathroom. She just wanted to get up and just be Faith again. She was fighting.
When the vet finally came in to give her the final injection, the vet couldn't find a vein for a few minutes. Faith had no strength at that point and was just breathing hard, fighting the drowsy feeling, trying to fight losing feeling in her body. After several more minutes, she was gone.
As my oldest and I sat there, crying over her and petting her, I could not erase the fact that I killed her. It was me that took her to the vet. It was me that chose to put her down. And I can't get past the fact that in those last moments, she may have been screaming out to me asking me why.
A few hours later, I had contacted another vet, shared the test results and was getting another opinion on what Faith had been suffering from. I needed to hear from someone else that it really was bad and that she wasn't going to get better, and all the while I was thinking how I should have done this before. Even though I'd already had two vets give me their thoughts, I needed someone else to tell me that she had been suffering and there was nothing I could have done to fix things for her.
I understand that it may have been a "loving" thing for me to help her not be in pain. I understand that it may have been the "right thing" to do. But none of those things matter, because those things do not erase the guilt that I felt that day or the guilt that creeps up in my heart when I don't keep myself busy enough.
I did not want Faith to ever suffer or to be in any pain. I would have done anything to have been able to keep her healthy and safe, at home where she was comfortable, for the rest of my life.
I believe she had already held on for those two weeks that she couldn't eat, for me. I believe she was fighting to stay alive that day, for me. I believe she was screaming out to me asking me why it was happening because she knew just how much I needed her and just how hard it would be for me to come home without her.
I believe she did everything for me.
Because that's just who she was.
As I admitted my feelings and shared these experiences with my friend tonight, I knew they were not the things we are "suppose" to tell people, especially someone that's about to go through the same experience. But I had to be honest with her. I told her to do whatever she can to make sure that she is completely at peace with her decision before she takes her dog back to the vet.
I also know that these were not things that I had shared with anyone else. I am not one to admit when things are hard. I try to make light of situations or to make jokes about the hard situations in my life in order to get through them. There will never be a time to make light of Faith's life or her death. I know that the guilt I feel will never completely go away, and I know the memories and the love that I have for her will be right there as well.
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