He Trusted Me. And I Killed Him.
Hi all,
Sorry in advance for the long post.
I put my 15-year-old dog down less than 24 hours ago. I've had him since he was five weeks old - a gift to me from my then-boyfriend.
My beautiful boy had a Grade 3 sarcoma removed four years ago, so he had cancer. He had dementia. He was recently diagnosed with Cushing's. He started knuckling on his back legs probably a month or two ago, so the vet guessed he also had spinal degeneration as well. Finally, he suffered seizures, which had increased in frequency.
I had made the decision to euthanize him on July 3rd.The vet said he had absolutely no fat reserves left, that his body was eating itself. At this point, he hadn't substantively eaten in two days, having had only a single breakfast in those 48 hours. He'd had diarrhea for probably three days. And he was down to 39.8lbs; at peak, he was 63. But I decided, "No I just need to buy a rotisserie chicken." And so I did. And he gobbled it up. "He's BACK, " I decided and canceled the euthanasia appointment.
The next day, not only did he eat more chicken, he ate DOG food. It had been the first time in days. On top of that, after seeking the opinion from his regular vet (I didn't go to him originally for a QOL assessment because they are always slammed), he reviewed the first vet's labs and notes, took new X-rays at my request, and said he found no pleural effusion whatsoever. He said that two vets confirmed that. He said everything else - the explosive diarrhea (with blood in it), the knuckling, the muscle wasting, the thinness, the refusing to eat? Just increase his Cushings meds, and he'd get better. He gave me hope.
Then, the next day, he refused to eat. I had to force his meds down his throat, which he had been violently fighting for months by this point. But if I was to save his life, he had to have his meds. But here's the thing - if he ate and discovered a pill, he'd stop eating. He would go despondent and refuse to eat because he didn't trust the food in front of him now. I called the regular vet again - the same one who gave me hope - and this time he said something different: "I think, for him and for you, it's best to go ahead and euthanize him. The ups and downs are fair to neither of you."
So then I rescheduled euthanasia. My calculus was this: "the only way to make him better is to be able to reliably administer his six meds DAILY. And I can't. I have to choose between his eating or his getting his meds, and both are necessary to sustain life."
Med administration was always hell for both of us, but of course, especially for him. It was violent. I'd have to press on both sides of him with my legs and force the pills down his throat. He always fought violently. The cats would scram whenever it was time for me to give him meds. And I had to do it this way; he had found it in pill pockets, in the Vetoryl bacon-flavored paste, in his food, in his turkey, in his chicken. Over the past year or so, I genuinely tried everything. Forced syringe or forced pill down the throat was the only way to give him medicine, and he'd lose his trust in me immediately afterwards.
But then I took him for one last walk, and besides the knuckling, he did wonderfully. He perked up when I grabbed the harness. Even after 30 minutes in the hot sun, he wanted more. And then he came in, cooled down, and ate chicken. Again I thought "HES BACK".
So I again called to cancel euthanasia. They didn't answer. But they called me back, after he thwarted my brilliant idea to hide the pill, not in his dog food, but in the highly desirable rotisserie chicken. He found it and refused to eat anymore. So by the time they called back, I had lost all hope again. I said "I'm sorry, I'm just struggling with this. I think it's time. I had called to cancel, but I think it's time."
It was done last night. He was gone 50 minutes into the appointment, at 7:50pm.
Today, I miss him. Today, one of my cats who groomed him every night is walking around, looking for him. I can't ever hold him again. I can't fix it. I couldn't fix him. I can't save him.
He trusted me with his life. I have a video of him as I picked him up from daycare so that I could spend the day with him before his euthanasia appointment. His tail, it wagged so enthusiastically at the sight of me. He trusted me. And I repaid that trust by paying someone to come to his home and snuff him out.
He was mobile. Sure, he knuckled, and his back would sink into the floor whenever he ate. And his dementia kept me, the cats, and himself up all night. Diarrhea everywhere. Confusion. Getting stuck in corners. Hyper-attachment to me to the point that if I turned left, he also turned left. I've kneed him in the face multiple times because I don't realize he's followed me and...yeah.
But this was not an immobile dog. He didn't lie in his pee (except for when he had seizures). And he would eat, just not dog food - chicken. And only as long as he didn't find meds in it.
What if he had a few weeks left? Maybe a few months? What if all I needed to do was to figure out how to administer those six medications? Maybe my calculus was off - maybe "I can't give him both his meds and food reliably anymore, and that's not compatible with life" was too limited? Maybe it should have been "just focus on the meds. With time, he'll develop his appetite again and gain weight and will feel better"?
I was tired. I lost my sister not even six months ago to cancer; she was 39. I was her caregiver for many years before, and up to, her death. And so many times, I've wondered if I wanted my pup to go. Maybe I wanted the break. Maybe I, on a subconscious level, wanted him to go because I was tired. I don't know...
Did I betray him? Does it sound like I could have done anything else?