On Friday our
beloved Chelsea passed away. She was about age 11 (we don't know for
sure -- she was a pound rescue). She died of massive liver cancer,
complicated by abdominal bleeding and a sudden onset of critical
anemia, and she was already dealing with chronic and worsening
arthritis and hypothyroidism. Until Tuesday (when the picture above was
taken), we had no inkling of what brave Chelsea was dealing with. She
was always stoic -- as my previous story
of her encounter with a woodchuck indicated. Her sudden appetite loss
got us worried enough to take her on Thursday for blood tests and
X-rays, and our vet immediately arranged fast-track admission to the
Guelph University Veterinary Hospital -- one of the best equipped and
most respected on the continent.
That night Chelsea paced and
panted heavily the whole night long -- never lying down or even
sitting, so I knew she was in a lot of discomfort, though she never
uttered as much as a moan. I sat up with her all night, out on the deck
in the light rain. Friday morning I had to lift her into the car, and
back out again when we arrived in Guelph. Another battery of tests
ruled out Cushings Disease (an adrenal malfunction) as the cause of her
fatigue, panting, and badly swollen liver and abdomen. Cancer had
claimed most of her liver, probably causing the sudden anemia, and it
had spread to other organs and was causing accumulation of blood in her
abdomen. Her liver function was almost gone and the tumors were so
large and pervasive they were inoperable. There was serious risk of the
larger tumors rupturing at any time and causing massive internal
bleeding.
The wonderful staff at Guelph, Doctors Kate Berger and
Danielle Richardson, patiently explained the diagnosis, what they had
done to confirm it, and what the options were: Hope against hope
through exploratory surgery (itself dangerous because of the severe
anemia, even after transfusions), weekly chemotherapy to buy her a bit
of time. Anita, I and the doctors were all in tears. They described the
options carefully, in great detail, with the risks and possible
outcomes, answering all our questions, not steering us towards any
decision. When we made the most difficult decision of our lives (money
was not a consideration for us, and played no part in the decision),
they prepared us, and had us go in to see Chelsea just before they
administered the injection (we were concerned that we wouldn't be able
to keep up the brave and cheerful front, and that Chelsea would become
alarmed about possible separation from her 'pack' -- a pet's greatest
fear after loss of freedom -- if we were to be there with her too long
without appearing to be taking her out of there). Animals have such
great instincts for this stuff.
When she saw us there was great
tail-wagging, licking of faces and fuzzy hugs, and then as they gave
her the injection she died quickly, peacefully, painlessly, with a
smile on her lovely face. It is the first time I have ever been present
at the moment of death of any living creature, and I was overwhelmed.
The tears had all been earlier, when we heard the news -- now we were
just quiet, moved to a sense of wonder at the experience, and at how
much Chelsea had once again taught us foolish humans. Such courage,
such grace, such dignity.
The doctor agreed with me that in many
ways we are (most of us, anyway) more humane in our treatment of
animals at the end of their lives than we are with our fellow humans.
As I sat there stroking Chelsea's soft fur it occurred to me that if I
were that sick and facing the same prognosis and alternatives after a
full and healthy life -- alternatives like 'extraordinary measures',
procedures that had almost no chance of working and would be painful or
humiliating to undergo, days or months of being prodded and subjected
to invasive and unnatural procedures just to buy a bit of time, to
decline more slowly, to prolong the inevitable, I would want my loved
ones to choose for me exactly what we had chosen for Chelsea. But
because I am a human, for them to do so would have been against the
law, a crime punishable by imprisonment. There is something very wrong
with us. Damn the laws and religions that deny us simple dignity,
choice, and peace.
Chelsea was loved by our whole neighbourhood,
and at our annual neighbourhood BBQ Saturday, as we answered the
"Where's Chelsea, the greeter and co-host?" questions, we had many
guests with tears in their eyes. There is a big empty space now in our
lives, and in theirs -- one that can never be filled. But our lives
were so much richer because of her, and we learned so much from this
modest, magnificent creature.
I am now even more in awe of
nature and her sacred and endless wonders. I am a better person, and I
have Chelsea to thank for the time she graciously spent with me,
putting up with my human foibles and patiently showing me how to pay
attention, how to trust my instincts, how to live in the moment.
And finally, how to let go. |
MADE IN CANADA
trust your
instincts 
