I had an appointment the other week scheduled as “Quality of Life.” I assumed that the family was likely ready to euthanize their cat, as I had exchanged a couple of emails with the female owner a few weeks prior to this appointment asking what we could do to be sure that their cat was as comfortable as he could be. She noted that he had lost a lot of weight and had some other changes at the time, but she felt that he overall was still eating OK and had a certain time of day where he exhibited a bit of spunk. In the emails, I made sure that she knew that she didn’t have to keep to his prescription diet at this point, if he would eat something else better. We went back and forth about a couple of medications we could use if they were seeing certain behaviors.
When my tech returned from getting the history, she said, “I don’t think today is the day.”
I entered the exam room and found a very skinny old cat who was also bright, alert and interactive. His owners told me that when they made the appointment, they also thought that it was going to be his last visit, but he was having a really good day that day. I examined him, and other than being quite thin, he seemed stable and happy. We talked for a bit about what his family saw from him at home and the trends they noticed. I went through my quality of life talk, and contrary to the one I gave a couple of days prior this one, they allowed me to go through each of my points and share some personal anecdotes.
A couple of times during our conversation, one or the other of this cat’s owners would say something like, “Oh, wow. I never would have thought to consider that!” or, “Hmmm… I hadn’t realized that.” At the end, both clients agreed that having the conversation was very helpful to them and had given them a lot to think about. The female owner stated, “I feel like you should teach a class on this.” I chuckled a little, thanked her and said, “I don’t think many people would want to attend that class though.” She responded with, “But it’s SO important!”
She’s right, of course. It is a very important topic that no one wants to have to think about. When people reach a point where they do need to consider it, it’s always very emotional. A lot of people tend to comment that euthanasia must be the worst part of my job. In most cases, it’s not even close.
The word “euthanasia” originates from Greek and essentially means “easy death.” When it goes well, which is usually my experience, that’s exactly what it is. To me, being able to offer euthanasia to my patients and their families is a wonderful gift. Is it an easy decision to make for the families? No. Never. Is it a kind decision? Yes, it absolutely is.
Of course we can’t come right out and ask our patients/companions if they’re ready to move on from this life. Even if we could, I don’t know that we know enough about how they think and view the world around the them or their lives to 100% know what they would say. We go off of our thoughts, our feelings, our observations, our beliefs and our history with the individual animal to make this (and other treatment) decisions for them. Maybe someday researchers will figure out all of our unkowns. Until that day, we’re just doing the best we can with the information we have.
To me, there is nothing wrong with going out on a good day, especially when you’ve started to have a fair number of bad days. At some point, you know that the inevitable end is coming. Why force someone that you love to live through an increasing number of tough, painful days when you can release them after a lifetime of happy, pain-free days?
From what we do know about our animals, they live in the here and now. They don’t know that tomorrow or next week may be better, that they just have to get through to then. That’s useful for acute conditions that really diminish quality of life. For those animals at the natural end of their lives, where they are gradually declining, I’ve watched 3 of my 4 grandparents undergo hospice care. It isn’t pretty. There’s nothing nice about it, and it’s painful for their loved ones to see them so weak and uncomfortable. I am grateful that I have another option for my patients, and I’m proud to be good at helping their families through those times.
Afterall, it is important.
“In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” ~ Abraham Lincoln
