Write

For a long time, I have felt the need to write.  I have ignored it, but tonight my inner voice has been nagging at me to write.  So, inner voice you have been heard.

My emotions are all over the place.  I had to put Knuckles down on November 9th at 5:15 p.m.  He was my beautiful 18 year old cat.  Over two years ago, I noticed he was losing weight, and he was having a hard time navigating the stairs.  I took him to the vet and he was diagnosed with diabetes.  Thus began the daily insulin shots.  Every morning at 8:30 a.m.   He became so use to these that he would be waiting in the kitchen every morning for me to receive his dose.  His health improved, but then, a year ago, I noticed a nodule at the base of his tail.  I took him in to the vet, and she did a needle aspiration and determined he had fibrosarcoma, an aggressive form of cancer.  I opted for surgery.  He had the surgery and recovered quite nicely.  But then a few months later the cancer returned.  I consulted with his vet and asked "What would you do if this was your cat?"   She told me that if it were her cat, she would do nothing.  However, if I wanted another surgery, she would insist on chemotherapy.  My decision was to do nothing.

The tumor grew.  Subsequently, routine blood work revealed Knuckles had kidney problems, so, on to a special diet.  I observed him.  My thoughts were, if he is eating, drinking, and playing, that I would not put him down.  For months he continued to eat, drink, and play.  The tumor grew to a size of a softball and began oozing two weeks ago.  Finally it opened up and started to bleed,  all the while he was still eating, drinking, but not playing anymore.  I had to confine him to a room with my other two cats to prevent him from bleeding all over the house.  It broke my heart to do this.

The night before I put him to sleep,  I noticed a wild, confused look in his eyes.  I cuddled with him and called my best friend M.  She had just put her dear dog down a month before.  She reasoned with me.  She told me that he would not plateau and he surely was not going to get any better.  She told me to make an appointment the next day, and that she would pick Knuckles and I up and take us to the vet.  M who just had a devastating loss, was willing to do this for me.

She picked us up at 5:00 and we went to the clinic.  As I was carrying him in, I started to cry. M went in the room with us.  She and I stroked him and cried together.  It was a very gentle process, just as she said it would be. 

After, as she was driving me home, I cried.  I felt such guilt that I might have let it go on too long.  M told me, that I had done this at the right time for him, at that I did not let it go on too long.  She offered to let me stay at her place.  I wanted to be home.  That night I sat on my couch, and my other two cats that are not cuddlers, sat by my side and I stroked and talked to them.