"I want to be honest with you, this isn't going to end well. Once they reach this age, and we see fluid in the lungs, they have maybe a month, tops, to live."
This is what the vet told me on Friday morning. May 29, 2015.
My routine is now different. It hasn't been interrupted exactly, just different, in a numb, going-through-the-motions kinda sorta way. We washed her food dish, but we placed it back on the floor, in her spot and as of today, it is still there. I see it staying there for the foreseeable future. I kiss my finger and touch it to the dish every morning and every evening when I feed Kwinn. He misses his sister. We all miss her.
Unconditional love. Humans and pets. Kat has been with me each time my life took a new turn. She was a constant. Philadelphia to Nashville. Nashville to Raleigh. Relationships. Break ups. My marriage to Poseidon. She was there, offering unconditional purrs. She was a rock. My rock. When we let a pet into our lives, we know it isn't going to be permanent. We know we will most likely outlive our furry companions. We know this, but we form that bond anyway. The animal-human bond is strong. Sometimes stronger than the human-human bond.
Katarina (Kat for short) was a beautiful presence. Her end was swift. It came out of nowhere. I took her to the vet because she hadn't eaten in 48 hours and her breathing seemed labored. Fast forward to the first sentence of this blog. Dr. Hunt (our compassionate, wonderful vet) drew the fluid out of Kat's lungs, and that seemed to make her feel better and she was able to breathe a bit easier. They wanted to keep an eye on her for a couple of hours, but the future was written. Poseidon and I might have a month with her before we had to say goodbye. I was preparing my head and heart to do just that. I waited the 2 hours for Dr. Hunt to tell me she was stable and OK to bring home and begin our goodbyes. The call came, but it wasn't what I had expected. Dr. Hunt told me that Kat's lungs had not expanded as she had hoped and that she was in distress. I asked her if it would be possible for me to bring her home for the night so that Poseidon and I could say a proper goodbye. She told me that Kat would not last the night. I cried into the phone. Dr. Hunt was truly sympathetic. I told her I was on my way. I called Poseidon to let him know. He wouldn't have time to meet me at the vet's office. He would not be able to say goodbye and hold her one last time.
Fortunately, I was. They led me to a dimly lit room, and they brought Kat in to me, swaddled in a soft blanket/bed type thing. As soon as they handed her to me, she began to purr. I licked her head (yes, I did. I was her momma for 14 years. I was her mother). She purred louder. She seemed OK and content. I spent 30 or so minutes holding her and telling her how much I loved her and what a joy she has been. I was happy she was purring and looking at me with those beautiful yellow-green eyes. I asked Dr. Hunt how it will happen, to make sure Kat would feel nothing. She explained to me that Kat will feel a little shot in her bottom, but it won't hurt. That shot will make her go to sleep, then they will administer another shot that will shut down her vital organs. Dr. Hunt asked if I wanted to be present, and I adamantly said, "No." I don't want her going to sleep at the hospital to be my last memory. We discussed her remains. Cremation. Yes, we would like her ashes. Dr. Hunt said they would take a clay print of her paw for us. Yes, that would be nice.
I handed our beautiful little girl to Dr. Hunt, knowing that she would make her last few minutes peaceful.
The staff handed me Kat's carrier and her collar (we always called it her 'pretty necklace'). I have it on my arm as I type. They led me out the back door so I wouldn't have to see other pets in the waiting room. That helped. My drive home? I don't remember it. I was in shock. The sun was shining but my world was dark.
Poseidon and I have been grieving, but we are doing well. We were very close to Kat. She was a child to us. The title of my post, "By the Way, How is my Heart?" is a line from John Gorka's song, "I Saw a Stranger With Your Hair." I know many probably want to vomit at his lyrics, but I've always found them soul-lifting. This is the song I had in my head on that short (yet long) drive from the vet's office to our home. I've been singing it ever since. Showers. Washing dishes. Eating lunch. Breathing.
"And by the way how is my heart? I haven't seen it since you left. I'm almost sure it followed you. Could you sometimes send it back? I'll buy the ticket." - John Gorka
