Loss

I am going to be choking back tears as I write this entire post.  Last night, Ryan and I made the heartbreaking decision to say goodbye to our beloved Phoebe.  Yesterday I received a phone call with the histopathology results for Phoebe's tracheal tumor.  It was not lymphoma.  It was much worse.  It was squamous cell carcinoma a very rapidly growing tumor that is essentially untreatable in felines.  Her grim prognosis became hopeless.

Phoebe's Last Day

After I heard the news, I went by the doctor's office to pick up some Prednisone to keep Phoebe as comfortable as possible.  When I got home, it was impossible not to notice that her breathing had declined.  I gave her the medication immediately in a desperate attempt to ease her discomfort.  As the night wore on, we sat with Phoebe downstairs in front of the television and listened to her shallow breaths until it was time for bed.  I naively waited for the medicine to kick in.

I laid in bed with Phoebe like I always do, holding her under my arm and close to my chest like a stuffed animal.  I kept listening to her breaths get progressively more laborious and I cried. I cried until two o'clock in the morning as I waited for her breaths to get stronger.  It didn't happen.  Finally, I tapped Ryan and I said, "I think it's time."  He began to cry as he silently nodded and got out of bed to get dressed.

We wrapped Phoebe in a blanket and drove to the emergency clinic.  We were both teary messes when we got to the receptionist desk.  She took us back to a room where we could enjoy our sweet kitty for a few moments longer.  Phoebe usually loves to explore new surroundings, but this time she stayed put.  Content to be near us and to purr the best she could with her shallow breaths.  They came into the room to take Phoebe back and place the IV line.

While Phoebe was away, we told her life story.  I told Ryan about when I got her, how she helped me through so much sadness when I was living alone, and how she chose Niko to be her companion.  Then Ryan began to fill in with details of his own.  We laughed and cried as we talked.  After what seemed to be an eternity, they brought our little girl back to us so we could say our final goodbyes.  We held her and told her how much we loved her, then the doctor came in to administer the medication.  We both kissed her, then watched helplessly as the life drained out of her precious yellow eyes.

People keep telling me that we did the right thing.  Knowing that doesn't make the loss any easier.  My heart is still broken.  The places she used to love to rest are still empty.  I keep trying to make sense of it.  All I can come up with is that God was trying to protect my heart and possibly even my future family.  Watching her decline steadily for four days was excruciating.  I'm not sure I was emotionally capable of doing it any longer.  And right now, more than ever, it is important for me to be stable and to limit the stress in my life as much as possible.  I think that our future with IVF would have been at risk if I was also nursing a cancer patient pet.  The stress would have been about as high as I've ever experienced in my life.  I've been told many times by my doctor, and now my acupuncturist, that managing stress at this juncture is crucial.  If the IVF had failed due to intense levels of stress, I would be childless and still slowly losing Phoebe.  I think God knows that would have broken me.