Note, Sarah does mention sending dogs to heaven, but I don’t think it takes away from her overall message, so I’m posting it here.
I had to put a pet down on January 30th. There will be more about Alice, and that process, next week. More of the grief I poured out into words, and found the time to schedule it here.
I’ve never had to euthanize a pet before. I knew some of what to expect, but not everything. Seeing the vet with tears in her eyes, confirms that we all know what it is, even when it is a mercy.
I never thought I could make the decision. Never thought I would, with how I feel about death -- but my dad and I made that decision, rather than leave Alice to die in misery. There was no saving her.
This is a Ted Talk that explains why euthanasia feels the way it does. Because it feels different for me, than just losing my pets. My cat Mash died in my lap, naturally, as they say. I grieved for her, it’s true, but the pain was different. Not less, but somehow not as sharp. The difference between blunt trauma and a knife.
Euthanasia means good death. I feel like I knew this before, but I had forgotten.
“If it is a kindness, why doesn’t it always feel like one?”
Because there is the hindsight fee. There is the guilt of “what could I have done” or “I know I could have done”, but it’s too late.
There is the question of “Did I do the right thing?”, looking back, wondering if other things could have been done instead.
There is the crystal ball fee, similar, where one regrets actions taken to prolong life that didn’t go the way they planned. Where, if you had a crystal ball and could have foreseen the outcome, you wouldn’t have done it.
Then there is the betrayal fee, which I believe is more what my dad and I are suffering, because it feels like ending her life prematurely is a betrayal to her, to all her love, to everything she was. Because I can only imagine being in her shoes. Being in her pain. Coughing up blood, being able to only whisper...and I think I’d still want to hang on. Did she? Would it have been kinder to let her go naturally, in her own time?
Of course, here is where she mentions heaven -- but I can overlook that. The message is simple: ending their pain, when they can’t move, when they are just like Alice, is a kindness, not a betrayal.
And perhaps, if I experienced Alice’s pain (I don’t want to), I would also think the same. A kindness, not a betrayal, no matter my desire for life.
Sarah goes on to talk about her own experience with euthanizing her beagle, Cooper. He had terminal cancer that had spread throughout his body. The Beagle was able to enjoy a last sundae as she made the decision. She told him how much she loved him, and wished him on to the rainbow bridge. Joked about his color blindness, and sent him on.
She thought that on the end -- but she was bothered by a voice that questioned the decision, the way that I am, even though she is a vet. Even though she’s done this for others, countless time, and has a better understanding than most of us.
It wasn’t logic asking her.
It was her emotions. Her heart. Her connection. And they did, what they do best -- they question.
These costs can’t be separated from euthanasia...but they’re normal. And hearing that is helpful.
It also impacts those performing the act. The suicide rate of vets is 2x above the national average. Sarah goes through the techniques she’s learned to deal with it.
1. She will not do convenience or revenge euthanasia.
2. She gives herself permission to feel everything in the moment, which I think our vet did, even if she only knew Alice for those few minutes. She was there grieving. Her eyes were red. “My grief vault is intentionally kept empty.”
3. This last one includes a story about a giant dog, like my Alice. But it brought her an epiphany, that if she is going to take lives of such good pets, then she had better live a good life up to the standards of these wonderful animals.