Why did I do what I did?

I know that my decision to stay with Zoe and to be so intimately involved in her care will strike some people as beyond ridiculous.  My decision not to even really try to force myself to take basic care of my body with food and sleep was admittedly psychologically unhealthy.  I realize that because I was so intimately involved in Zoe's care, I saw a lot that perhaps an owner shouldn't see.  What I saw was undeniably traumatizing.  This was a self-inflicted wound.  I don't feel the need to justify it, but I have reflected a lot over these last several days about why I've done it.

As pet-owners, we are responsible for our pets' health and well-being.  I believe we have a duty to give them the best life we can give them, even when this requires great sacrifice.  I also believe we have a duty, when the time comes, to give them a good death.  To me, this means they don't die alone or only in the company of strangers, they don't die in fear, and they die quickly (typically through euthanasia) when the remainder of their natural life promises nothing but suffering.  If my dog has to die, and it is at all physically possible for me make that death a good one, I will of course do so.

In my opinion, Millie and Ruby did not have good deaths.  Millie died alone while I slept peacefully, expecting her to come home the next day.  I'll never know if she died quickly or if she suffered for minutes or even hours before death brought her relief.  I did my best to give Ruby a good death.  I knew that the experience of going to the vet's office to euthanize her would be terrifying, so the vet gave me a hefty dose of tranquilizer to give her before bringing her in.  The amount of tranquilizer I gave her should have taken her down completely, but it had no significant effect, which reveals something about how intense her body's fight-or-flight response was, and how much adrenaline was circulating in her body even on what was a perfectly ordinary day from her perspective.  But because the tranquilizer didn't work, she did not die in peace.  We sat in a courtyard outside the vet's office, since going inside would be much more stressful for her.  She had to wear her muzzle, and I had to restrain her while the vet quickly administered a drug that would paralyze her, followed not soon enough by the drug that would stop her heart.  I held her head in my lap waiting for the paralytic drug to take effect, for what seemed like forever.  She was physically healthy and strong.  She did not want to die.  She struggled to get up again and again.  I knew that everything in her body was telling her to get up and run.  I stroked her head and spoke calmly to her, but I know she was beyond any comfort anyone could provide.  I know she was very afraid in the moments before she died.

So in four years, I had already lost two dogs, and I had been unable to give either of them a good death.  When it became clear how gravely ill Zoe was, I was afraid that she would die, and I was even more afraid that I would once again be unable to give my dog a good death.  So I wasn't psychologically capable of doing anything other than what I did.  If the vet hospital had not allowed me to stay with Zoe, I would have sat in their waiting room all day and all night asking to visit as often as I could.  If they kicked me out, I would have waited in my car in the parking lot.

I did manage to give Zoe a good death.  The gratitude I feel toward the vet hospital staff for allowing me to do what I needed to do is almost as strong as the grief itself.  Because of their decisions, I was able to shoulder some of Zoe's burden.  Yes, I was exhausted and uncomfortable (I even have bruises from lying on my side on a not-very-soft mat for so long).  But by enduring my own discomfort I was able to make Zoe more comfortable than she would have been otherwise.  No vet hospital can keep a constant eye on a single patient, certainly not for three days.  For most of the time that she was sick, what seemed to make her most uncomfortable was when she would urinate, defecate, or bleed, and she was unable to get herself out of the mess.  This happened about every 30 to 60 minutes.  As I wrote in my previous post, during roughly the last 36 hours she was able to move herself around, but she couldn't clean herself up.  Because the vet and nurses, especially at night, have so many critically ill patients to monitor, I know that Zoe would have had to lay in these messes for a lot longer, even in a facility that I believe gives its patients the best possible care, based on what I saw during the many hours I spent sitting with Zoe in the ICU before they set us up in an exam room.  By being there, I could often tell from her breathing that she was about to make a mess, and I could always tell within a minute or so if she already had.  (She had to be covered by a blanket to make sure she stayed warm enough, so these messes weren't automatically visible.)  So because I was there and able to monitor her constantly, I made it possible for her to get comfortable again in less than a couple of minutes, and I also prevented her from developing the kinds of skin irritation that result from laying in such a mess.  I was also able to make sure she was getting enough pain medication, since I could immediately detect the fluctuations in her comfort level and report them to the vet or nurses.  There is no doubt that my sacrifice kept her more comfortable and in better condition than she otherwise would have been.  That undeniable fact made it obvious (to me at least) that I was doing the right thing.

I also had purely selfish reasons.  I could not focus on anything else but Zoe.  When I was away from her, I couldn't stop worrying about her, wondering what was happening at that very moment, wondering if she would die, wondering if she already had died, and so on.  When I was with her, I could focus on the immediate task of keeping her comfortable and monitoring her.  It was meditative and very calming.  By focusing on whether or not her immediate, basic needs were being met, I was able to avoid worrying excessively about the bigger question of whether or not she would survive.

So I am grateful for the way things went.  This is a crushing loss, made worse by the fact that this is the third dog I've lost in four years.  But at least it was not the third time I was unable to fulfill what I think is one of the most basic obligations we have to our pets.  It's a small comfort, knowing that I gave Zoe a good death, but a comfort nonetheless.