On Anticipatory Grief, Tough Pet Diagnoses, and Making the Euthanasia Call
Today’s Brew: Iced Chai Latté. My usual Rishi Masala has been backordered for several months, so I had to resort to another brand that doesn’t quite measure up. “Any port in a storm,” however.
Tarot Card of the Day: The Empress
One of my rescue pit bulls, Hazelnut Pumpkin Pie, just had surgery to remove cancer in her mammaries. During surgery, they found another cancerous lump on the back of a paw, and removed that, too. She’s young, somewhere around three to five years old.
Her surgery led to very serious complications that resulted in a second surgery a couple days later. She’s home and spending her days healing in my lap as I lay with here on the floor of my Butler’s Pantry. While I’m still waiting on the full results of the tumor analysis, it seems likely that she has widespread cancer.
I’ve had three other dogs with cancer, maybe four. Willow, a Great Dane mix, died from aggressive bone cancer. My German Shepherd, Wren, had a glandular cancer that spread to her spine. Another, Stella, died when undetected cancer burst her spleen—it’s known as the “silent killer” cancer because it’s usually not detected until autopsy in dogs. And Snuffaluffagus, a senior bullmastiff, quickly deteriorated and was suspected to have an aggressive cancer that vets just hadn’t been able to find in the short time he had left.
Hazelnut’s cancer journey has me reflecting on death not in a sad or morbid way, but in a practical and nurturing one. I rescue disabled, hospice, and senior dogs. I’ve had to say goodbye to many over the years. While saying goodbye is never easy, the passing of my hospice and senior adoptions don’t carry the same feeling of tragedy as the others. When I adopt dogs knowing they have a limited amount of time left, I know that my job is to give them great final chapters. I don’t know a younger version of them to compare them to, which makes their disability or old age quirks seem endearing and funny rather than sad. But Hazelnut is young, and should be in the prime of her life.
Over the years, I’ve seen comments on my Instagram calling me a sort of Death Doula for dogs. They’ve said that maybe my purpose in life is to help give dogs I adopt great ends to life and peaceful, loving transitions from this physical realm. I think that resonates with me. Other pet parents seem to struggle to make euthanasia decisions. I’ve known people who allow their dogs to suffer endlessly, ignoring vet advice, refusing to make the call. Humane euthanasia is a gift we give our pets. It’s and end to suffering. It’s a peaceful transition. People who haven’t seen natural death seem to assume it happens quickly and easily, like it does in films. In reality, it’s often painful, messy, traumatic, drawn-out. Humane euthanasia allows them to leave quickly, painlessly, and surrounded by love. Who could ask for more? It’s a kindness, and, more than that, in my eyes: a responsibility. Being able to make those calls with a veterinarian is part of good animal husbandry, and I will always prioritize my pets’ quality of life over my own desire to keep them around for as long as possible. Focusing on longevity, at some point, is just staving off the inevitable. When a dog is riddled with cancer or struggling incurably with something else that impacts their quality of life in a major way, the cost of longevity often becomes too great.
Seeing Hazelnut now, in recovery from her second surgery in three days, I’m regretting putting her through this operation. They only discovered she had a second site of cancer during the surgery. I’d gotten her xrays and ultrasound before surgery to try to detect signs of spread, because my worst fear was putting her through a traumatic surgery only to find out that she has malignant cancer, and that seem to be what’s happened. Her veterinary team has been wonderful and gone above and beyond to help her; there are some things that are only clear in hindsight.
I’m not doing this to her again. I love her so much, with everything in me. We developed such a close and special bond through her rehabilitation (physical, mental, behavioral). She’s a soul-dog, but I’m not willing to put her through more harsh treatments or pain just to try to keep her here a little longer. I’m going to focus on giving her the best time she can have as long as she can have it. I’m DNR myself; that’s also what I want. I’m not afraid of death, I know there’s so much more out there for us. So many of my beloved pets are on the other side; I know dying is my best chance of seeing them again, and there’s a lot of comfort in that. I’m at peace with the transition whenever it happens. But, as far as Hazelnut is concerned, I hope that, somehow, she gets to live a long, healthy, and happy life with me. And if that can’t be the case, I’m still going to be by her side, loving her and centering her comfort in every little step of the way, for the rest of the way. All pets deserve that much.
