I have been awesome lately. I have a lifetime to grieve the loss of my kitty, so I put it on hold for a couple of weeks (2 weeks is really long in mourning-land). I was only able to think of her if it made me smile. I put the medical what if's to the side...and felt somewhat normal for the first time.

Today I woke up angry...I haven't really explored this side of grief, but today I'am. Maybe I had a bad dream, I don't know. Anyway...I was thinking about "the day." I was remembering what the vet at the ER was like. She was very calm and comforting, but not all that helpful. She explained to me that day that most people come to them and think it is like the ER vets on animal planet, thinking their pet will be saved. She said the sad fact is, when pets are at the ER it is usually their time to go (being that animals hide their pain for too long).

I guess I am angry today, because I was thinking of all the losses on these types of sites, and now feel like vets suck!! Can they save anyone? We bring in our pets...they are STILL HERE. We hand over our precious babies, begging them to fix whatever is wrong. We just want to go home with our pet. Why can't they do better? I keep picturing us all at the vets putting all of our hope and faith into these doctors. Why couldn't they just do it? I can't believe my vet told me Mouses would just sit in there for a week, cost me a ton of money, and then leave me anyway. Honest I guess...I was looking for hope...all I wanted was a chance at trying to save my cat. Instead they made me feel guilty when I talked about leaving her there to try and stabilize her for surgery. I know Mouses wouldn't have made it, but I wish she would of died with us trying. I feel like I just accepted it was to late, and didn't even try. I owed her that much!!

Anyone else angry at the vets? Do you think they do all they can? Some cases seem so simple, why can't they do better? The worst part is...I went back to Mouses regular vet days after, and he told me the ER vets mostly see death, so they have no hope left. They deal with statistics, and have zero hope left. I wish I left my cat with the hopeful doctor.

Just venting...hating the mourning process today. You can cry, scream, think and think, freak out, but nothing changes anything. We are missing what made us feel better. They were the ones who helped us get through stuff like this. It is such a horrible feeling. You cry, scream, and process until you go numb. It gets you nowhere...it is driving me mad!! I just keep walking around in a daze...she was just here. I feel like it is the day after...when all you keep feeling is THEY WERE JUST HERE. I was just petting her...just looking at her...she was right there on our pillow. I hate death today! One giant step backwards today. Just realized it's Friday...makes more sense now. Friday was the day my nightmare started. Weekends are painful. She re-dies EVERY sunday.

Dear Mouses mum,
Hoping by the time you read this the anger has lost it's edge.
Your last comment really hit home. I sometimes feel that my Buddy re-dies when I think about 'that' day too.
I'm glad you can articulate so well what's going on in ya head, it helps, even though it doesn't feel like it.
Keep breathing!!!!!!
you are in my prayers
elaine {{{HUGS}}}

Hey Chris. I've been thinking about you and wondering how you're doing. At first, I was mad at my vet. They seemed to be very grim about the whole situation right from the beginning and would not give me any shred of hope. When we first found out Sydney was in kidney failure, they told us that chances were not good that she will recover. I was shocked. Completely shocked. Two days ago she had been vibrant and perfectly healthy. What they hell did they mean chances were not good?? When we went to visit her at the vet, I said to the tech, "There's a chance she'll recover, right?" She said to me, "Her numbers are really high." So I said, "Yeah, but there's a chance, right?" And again, all she would say to me was, "Her numbers are really high."

I was pissed. I felt like they obviously thought there was a chance, otherwise they would have told me the day I brought her in that there was no hope . . . right? Then I started wondering if they were just trying to get money out of me by letting me keep her there for a week. But I was so distracted by everything that that thought didn't linger for too long. Up until this point, I had trusted them. Sydney had been going there since she was 5 weeks old. And I knew in my heart that we had to at least try to save her. I couldn't live with myself if we didn't even try.

I know that's what you are struggling with - wondering if you should have done something more. But I will tell you, that week that she spent in the vet was agony for me. (The grief is agony too, but of a different kind.) I felt awful being home, sleeping in our comfortable bed, and going about my daily life knowing she was trapped all alone in that little vet cubicle. She was a very social cat, so I knew she hated being isolated like that. I went to visit her every day and she always looked mad. And when she saw me, she would start meowing, as if to say, "Take me home, mom. Please take me home." I had to tear myself away every day. And when I called after a week and found out that she wasn't improving, I am so glad I decided to take her home to spend her last night with us.

I'm not mad at my vet anymore, but I am mad at the universe. I'm mad that this happened. I feel like she was ripped from my life without my permission. I know life doesn't work like that, but I'm still mad. I know life has to end someday, but I'm so mad that it ended so soon. Why couldn't I just have her for 20 years like I hoped and prayed that I would?? I feel like I will never be able to get past the cruel injustice of that.

~Jessica

P.S. Friday was the day Sydney started to leave us too. I have a tendency to get home from work and immediately get on the computer where I would piss away hours of my life surfing the net. And that particular Friday, it was a beautiful day and I made myself sit outside and enjoy the nice weather and fresh air for at least 10 minutes. Before I knew it, a half hour had passed and I had no desire to get on the computer. The cats were outside, and my husband eventually joined me, and we were enjoying a nice evening. Sydney starting stalking birds as she always did, and we were amazed that this time, she actually caught one. She was so proud. The next day, she started to get sick. And it all went downhill from there.

This is very freaky. Honestly, earlier today I had this aha moment when I tried to understand why I don't allow myself to think about Abbey (when I can help it). And I came to that exact same conclusion... that she re-dies every time I think about her. I can recall her facial expressions so vividly. I am so happy and peaceful when I picture her and re-live all our special and mundane moments, and I feel like she is right here with me. But then in an instant, I snap back to reality and she dies all over again. I just can't stand it and I feel just like others here feel - like it's a crazy, no-win cycle But how interesting that we found the same words to describe our feelings on the same day - that they re-die. Must be a common sentiment among the bereaved I'm guessing? My belief is that grief envelopes us in layers, like an onion. Slowly with time, the layers peel away - one by one. And I hope at some point, the intensity of the re-dying sensation will fade, and the re-living part will prevail. Our memories are so precious, and that's where our babies live now. We pet lovers on are on Web sites like this b/c we experience a deeper level of love/grief for our babies than most. I know the process takes longer for us.

Anyway, in terms of vets - I think they are just like doctors where most are good at the basics, but only a handful are excellent and have that winning, caring bedside manner and a sense of follow-up and determination with patients. And sometimes you find an awesome surgeon, like the vet specialist who reattached Abbey's knee ligament after it snapped apart and she limped home dragging a hind leg behind her. This woman was magnificent! She came in on her day off to do it, too. I'm grateful for vets like that. But Abbey's vet - looking back, I'm very angry at him in some respects. Like the day he told me that Abbey was terminal, he didn't even give me time to let his words sink in before rambling on about options and costs and possible outcomes. It was like a shock and awe campaign. I wanted to slap him across the face and tell him to just shut up and that Abbey does not even have cancer! As my heart was being shredded with terror and disbelief, he drops these 50-megaton info bombs on me. Even as I stood there frozen in front of him with my throat swollen trying to choke back the tears... he just kept on talking. Wouldn't ya think he could have handed me a piece of paper with the info and tell me go home and think things over and call back when I was ready to talk - er... listen? It was just another day to him. Just another re-hash of the same old dog-with-cancer routine. But all I heard was "it's the end of the world as you know it - Abbey's going to die soon". Horrible, horrible ordeal.

But in his defense, I must say that as the vet who came to my home to euthanize Abbey on "that day", he was very calm and gentle and soft-spoken then, and very meticulous and sensitive with her and with us. I knew this was the part of his job he hated the most. He was a Godsend of courage, when I clearly was not.

So, I guess what I've learned from this is - next time I get a pet, if ever - I'm going to research this area for the very best vets. Right after Abbey passed, I discovered an "Integrative Health" clinic (alternative medicine) for animals - a few towns over. I "what if" about that all the time during the guilt part of these crazy cycles. But, rather than beat ourselves up, we must remember that we did our very best with what we knew and felt was right at the time. Our babies loved us for that. In such a trying time, you can only try and do your best and hope that's what your vet is trying to do as well. I'm so sorry for your loss of Mouses. She was very well loved and I know just how much you miss her. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

you summed it perfectly AngelBear'sLuv
I snap back to reality and she dies all over again

and again you summed it all up to a tee.
And I hope at some point, the intensity of the re-dying sensation will fade, and the re-living part will prevail.

It sure helps to share this stuff.
thank you both

Hi Elaine,
The anger has lost it's edge. I'm not usually an angry person. I think staying good for a couple of weeks was just bound to come crashing in on me. Instead of crying I got angry. I'm pretty good today. I just miss her. I really miss her today.
Mouses mommy

That is what I love about this site...the comfort of knowing someone is at home feeling and thinking the way I do (although I wish they didn't have to). I am sorry your Abbey re-dies every week too. I do think this is a very common thing we all experience. I can't help but think about it every week. Monday is the day she fell. Tuesday is the day she stopped eating. Wednesday she stopped her routine, and wouldn't leave the bed. Thursday she looked so sad, wasn't eating, and had trouble with her back legs. Friday she was diagnosed with Cancer. Friday was my first night without her, I kept looking at her empty pillow (not realizing it would soon be empty forever). Saturday she was supposed to go to surgery, with chemo to follow shortly after. She wouldn't stabilize for surgery. We took her home to spend one last night with her, by Sunday she was gone. Every single day of the week has a hint of her ending in it. Every week haunts me, with Friday-Sunday being the worst. It really didn't sink in until Thursday/Friday that something WAS really wrong, so those days are the hardest for me. I constantly see flashes in my head of her going limp, and laying there gone on the bed. I wish I could stop those. Sometimes I really wish I had left the room, but I couldn't have left her alone. NEVER. I try really hard not to think of that, it is just one really bad day out of her whole 12 years, but how do we not, it is the day we lost them. The intensity of the re-dying sensation will fade...mine already has. More and more each day I remember her with smiles instead of tears, and you will too.

As for vets...I know exactly how you felt when the vet kept on talking. I honestly thought Mouses just hurt her leg when she fell. I did not know she was sick, she hid it very well. We saw a vet in May 08/no masses. I never expected to hear what I did...ABDOMINAL MASSES. MASSES! CANCER! I went numb. They kept on talking. I tried really hard not to cry and throw up. What were they talking about?? I just wanted to pick up my Mouses and runaway. Stupidly hopeful I thought they were going to wrap up her leg and send her home with me, and tell me to let her rest her sprained foot. I heard nothing after the word Masses. The only word that stood out was euthanize. The vet saw my face, and immediately stopped talking about that. They took Mouses away for X-rays, so I had time to compose myself. I accepted what I heard and went into fight mode. Stupidly hopeful again, I thought OK we can fix this. We will do surgery get the masses out, and start chemo...we will beat this. She crashed so fast. I still can't believe I never got to treat her. I wish so much I even had just one week to absorb all of this before she left. Back to vets...like you, the vet who came to my house was very comforting, calm, and sensitive. She pet my Mouses and asked about her life. The vets I have for my new kitty seem good so far. I'm glad you found that good surgeon for Abbey's knee. So, I guess not ALL vets are bad, but I do think they could do better.

Chris

Hi Jess,
Thanks for thinking of me, and venting with me. I am doing better again. The anger has since subsided...

What happened with you with the vet tech is exactly what Mouses regular vet was talking about. "Her numbers are really high." They deal with statistics, so they lose hope. I know they can get jaded by what they see everyday, but I think they should be trained to give off that they are hopeful. In those situations; without hope, or someone giving us hope we have nothing. I think it is the least they could give us in our time of need. Or if there really is no chance (not just statistically), then just tell us, so we can deal with that. I guess there is no way to win. Mouses first vet was hopeful. The Emergency vet was so grim. I am mad at both of them. I was mad at the ER vet for not just going along with me, I needed her hope. I was hopeful, and I wanted her to be also. It has been said that those who heal have the best attitudes. Those who are surrounded by no hope often die. I believe in that, and I needed the vet to.

On the other hand...when Mouses vet was so hopeful, I instantly got skeptical. By Saturday Mouses really did look like she was on her way out. I kept thinking, is he just after the money, or is he really hopeful? I kept wondering, "is there really hope?" I joined him in his hope, and instantly went into "we can beat this mode." I much prefer his route. He said dogs follow a pattern, but cats always surprise him. He said he never gives up on cats (and he is a dog lover). I would rather Mouses died surrounded by hope and us trying the way your Sydney did. I like to believe Mouses original vet is right. I think Mouses and Sydney had a chance. Especially your Sydney. I am sorry she didn't make it. You did the right thing by giving her a chance. At least you will always know you fought for her...no matter what any vet or tech thinks. We did the best we could with what we knew on those days, not now, but on "those days." Organ failure is hard to recover from, but I still think they should give us hope.

Thanks for sharing what the week was like. I am sorry you had to go through that agony. It is a very confused mixture. Part of the reason we chose to put Mouses to sleep was because of that agony. My Friday night without her was torture. I couldn't eat or sleep. My family was so oblivious, and I was sitting there in agony. I barely slept, I just kept staring at her pillow. I kept running my hand over the empty spot on her pillow. I kept picturing her all alone without me. I was so afraid she would die alone...without me...without her home/comfort zone. I walked away from the ER not just because the ER vet had zero hope (she really thought Mouses wouldn't make it to the morning), and because she was crashing, but because I was more afraid she'd die alone. My original plan was to leave her at the emergency vets for a week to see if her numbers improved. I felt like we owed her that much, and it would give me the peace of knowing we tried, and the peace of knowing if it really was her time. When she wouldn't stabilize Friday and Saturday, I started to lose hope. I didn't know then what I know now. A cat with diabetes and low temp, needs at least 2 weeks to stabilize. I wish I knew that then, but no one said it to me that way. I thought the 2 days of not stabilizing meant something. I wish I could turn back time and at least let her get to the out of surgery part. It is all a no-win situation. You had the week of agony, but at least you know you didn't give up on her. I had the security of knowing she would die with me, but traded it for the agony of never knowing if I lost her her chance to survive/make it to surgery/possibly still be here on chemo right now. I will never know. I am so happy for you that you got to try, AND still bring her home for the last night. You have both. Your lucky!

P.S. I am very sorry for your ending, but I am glad something got you to go outside that day. You got to be with her, and you got a glimpse at what may have changed it all. I am thankful for seeing Mouses fall on Monday. Had she just fallen off the bed un-noticed I may not have ever made it to the vets. If only I used seeing her fall to my advantage and brought her in sooner. Although according to my unhopeful ER vet, it wouldn't have made any difference. She promised me with Mouses high numbers she wouldn't have been stable for surgery even if I had rushed her there on Monday night. I will always wonder though. I will always wonder if making it to surgery was the answer to my prayers.
Chris

Perspective is a funny thing. See, to you, I am lucky because I got to try and save her and because we got to take her home for her last night. But to me, you are the lucky one because you had five more years with Mouses than I had with Sydney. I would give anything for five more years with her. When she was alive, five years of life seemed like only a tiny fraction of time. But now it seems like an eternity.

In a way, we are both lucky though because we both have the comfort of knowing that our babies didn't die a violent death. That is the ONE thing I am grateful for in this - that she wasn't hit by a car or mauled by a dog or some other horrible thing. I always had a fear of the house catching fire while we weren't home and the cats being trapped inside. Thank God none of those things happened.

When Sydney was a year old, she got attacked by an animal. We don't know what it was, but she came home with 8 puncture wounds and had to spend almost a week in the vet getting the wounds drained daily. I have thought often about that incident and how badly it could have ended. To this day, we have no idea what happened. My husband was home all day (we only let the cats out during the day when one of us is home) and he never heard anything. She must have wandered off too far, but she was able to get herself away from whatever it was and find her way home to us. It wasn't her time.

When I think about how close we might have come to losing her way back then, I can only be grateful for the six additional years we had together, even though it's only a third of the life I hoped she would live.

What are we twins? Your thoughts are so similar to mine. I laughed out loud when I read you always had a fear of the house catching fire and the cats being trapped inside (we both think of Christmas a lot too). My husband thought I was insane. I had a fire plan. I kept the carrier in my closet ready to go incase there was a fire. I knew cats had a tendency to hide when there was a fire, so my plan was to get her in the carrier as soon as possible and run her out to the car. I also worried I would pull up to the house to a bunch of fire trucks outside, with her trapped inside it. I always told my husband, "your never going to stop me from running in to get her. She was an indoor only kitty...this was her biggest threat next to diseases. When she died I actually said, "well I can finally stop worrying about her dying trapped in a fire. I too am very grateful she died in the comfort of her home peacefully.

You are 100% right. I see the bigger picture now. I am very lucky I had more time with Mouses. The 7 definitely adds to your pain. I am glad to hear she made it through the first of her nine lives. I almost lost Mouses at the age of 2, so I am very grateful for the extra 10 years. I like your perspective on things. They always say to be grateful for what you have, right? I try, but it is hard not to think about what could have been. I wish so much I could of seen her walk around the new house. It will always bother me. It will always bother me that I didn't do Christmas better...I was saving it for the new house, why I don't know. It is what it is...
Chris

I always had a fear of fire, but it got worse after I read on the internet about a couple who had left their dishwasher running when they weren't home. There was some kind of electrical malfunction and it caught the house on fire and they lost three pets. I can't even imagine that. From then on, I never ran the dishwasher or the washer/dryer unless we were home. I used to tell the girls to go to the window if there was ever a fire. That way, someone would walk by and see them or the window would break and they'd be able to jump out. I always worried I'd come home to some kind of disaster too.

I was a total worrywart, but I have to say that Sydney's untimely death has cured me of that to some extent. I worried incessantly about her, but my worrying couldn't save her. When I find myself slipping into worrywart mode now, I try to remind myself that no amount of worrying can change what's going to happen, and if and when some horrible thing does happen, it's going to be horrible whether I worried about it first or not.

Of course, this strategy doesn't always work. This is the logical side of my brain trying to take control, but it doesn't always succeed. It's like how you say I have a good perspective. It sounds good on paper, but that doesn't mean I always think that way. I am grateful that I was able to share 7 years of my life with Sydney. But the feeling that I was robbed of the 13+ additional years we could have had almost always overshadows that.

I know what you mean about the new house. When we bought our house five years ago, we started renovating the entire thing. We are finally in the home stretch of renovations and have just a couple of more rooms to finish up. I always looked forward to the day when we would finally have a house that was completely finished and we could enjoy it without feeling like we were living in a construction zone. We finished the downstairs family room this past winter and it was so nice to spend the colder months down there with the pellet stove going. Whenever my husband and I would go down there, the two cats would always come down too and I was so happy that the whole family was together.

Part of what bothers me now is that Sydney will never get to enjoy the fully finished house with us. She was there from the beginning when we moved in and first started the renovations. It's her house just as much as it is the rest of ours and she should get to enjoy it. I don't know why that bothers me so much, but it does. I was so looking forward to putting the Christmas tree downstairs this year, and now the idea of Christmas just makes me so incredibly sad.

~Jessica