Good-bye, Francis

Our veterinarian has played the cruelest trick on us.

This morning we were so worried about our dear feline, Frankie, that we called the vet who then told us to bring him in immediately. He hadn't eaten for days, he had stopped grooming himself, and he had lost a significant amount of weight. He looked uncomfortable in his own body; his back legs were bent awkwardly when he stood, and he had trouble getting up and down from our bed, his home base.

Evan phoned the vet, who said to bring him in right away. He was down to 9 pounds, from his most robust 16, and all of his blood test results were off the charts...on the low end. He was extremely anemic. There were possible underlying reasons, the vet said, but it wold cost hundreds of dollars to find out what they were, and since Frankie is 19, there didn't seem to be much point. He was giving us the signal -- I'm done.

Evan and I made the decision, together, to bring him home for one more night with the family and then bring him back to the vet tomorrow for euthanization. (I wrote that sentence five other ways before I decided to  just say the truth.) It felt like the right decision for the right reasons.

Before Frankie came home, the vet gave him IV fluids, a pain killer, and an appetite stimulant, which, as she said, would "perk him up a little bit." And it has worked. Frankie does seem to have a little more energy. The decision I was so sure about last night and this morning is tearing me up inside now. 

We've been here before. The same exact scenario happened with our dog Daisy. We went to the vet with an animal we were ready to let go and returned home with one who was, temporarily and deceivingly, better.

Frankie is not better. He will not get younger. He will not magically being taking care of himself again. He will not regain his appetite (even tonight he turned up his nose at food and his most favorite treat, milk.) He will not be healed, and, without significant medical intervention, and maybe even with it, he will not live more than a few more months.

I know all of these things, and I want to believe none of them.

When we bring a pet into our lives, we know it will not be forever. Their life spans are but a fraction of ours, and though we may trick ourselves into believing otherwise, we will outlive almost all of them. As their guardians and custodians, we have the biggest rewards, responsibilities and burdens. The have placed in us a sacred trust, to be, in the truest sense, their guardians. 

So tomorrow morning we will take our beloved Francis "Frankie Blue Eyes" to the vet and she will inject him with a fatal dose of something or other. He will die, and I will wonder for a very long time whether we made the right decision.