Uncomfortable Decision

So okay, it’s more like a seriously crappy decision. I keep putting it off… looking for more definitive benchmarks to help me figure out the right thing to do. Nothing’s helping. How does one determine how far along a disease has progressed to decide that quality of life is compromised enough to consider euthanasia a humane alternative?

This is where I am now with Ms. Pukesalot. I’m past the point of: “I know it’s coming up some day soon, so I’ll worry about it when it gets here.” I’m past the point of: “Let’s see if one more dose of subcutaneous fluids helps, and then I’ll decide what to do.” I’m even past the point of, “Let’s see how MUCH one more dose of fluids helps, and then I’ll call the vet and ask her opinion.”

I’m now at the point of not knowing how to call the vet and ask “Do you think I should kill my cat now?” A big part of me desperately wants her to tell me what to do, but I highly suspect she won’t. She’s already told me that there’s nothing else that we can do, and once fluids stop working, that’s pretty much the end of the road. Besides, this isn’t her decision… it’s mine, and I’m a big fat weenie for wanting to push that off on somebody else. I sincerely wish Ms. Pukesalot could put her two cents worth in, but unfortunately all I can do is try to gauge her behavior. Which isn’t promising.

She stopped eating on her own about 3 weeks ago. I first started force feeding her just a little, hoping that would motivate her to eat a bit. But it wasn’t working, and she is now disturbingly gaunt. I steadily increased the amount and regularity of her feedings, but it’s not a pleasant experience, and she promptly hides from me afterwards for at least an hour or so.

The administering of fluids is an even less pleasant experience. After that first disastrous try, I did much better on the second try, but she fought hard, and it took all three of us to hold her down. This last time, I was worried about how lethargic she was and wanted to give her a dose early… but chickened out and ended up taking her in to the vet for it. She didn’t fight as badly there, but I think she was too busy being nervous about the vet to put up too much of a fuss.

Her “perkiness” after each dose of fluids is markedly declining as well. I really paid attention this last time (Monday), looking for clues. She was a little more back to her old self… poking her face in mine to wake me up in the morning… following me to bed in the evening… actually getting up and move around a little bit during the day… talking to me a little bit… and not looking at me with that… “off” look in her eyes. But when she’s not hiding after I’ve fed her, she still spends most of her time just laying like a lethargic bump on a log… and rarely in my lap. Last time, her improved behavior lasted about a week after her dose of fluids. This time, the benefits seem to be waning a little sooner.

But it’s so hard to tell. I’m never sure to trust my own judgment… I mean, I see her every day… it’s hard to gauge small yet steady changes. She doesn’t seem to be in distress or pain or discomfort. She just seems to have lost the will to live. Is this death-sentence material? The cats we’ve had in the past who had kidney failure experienced spectacularly unpleasant symptoms near the end. It was very easy to decide the humane thing to do for them.

But is it right to kill Ms. Pukesalot when she’s obviously declining but NOT in obvious distress, before it gets to the point of a horrible death?

Should I stop all of my efforts to keep the rest of her as healthy as I can, and let everything fail, or let her starve to death?

Or should I continue the unpleasant business of force feeding her every day, and the traumatic experience of pushing fluids once a week (or more often, depending on how quickly this goes), and hope nature is kind to her in the end?

Option 2 is out of the question. Besides the fact that I refuse to watch my cat starve to death, that is just plain negligence, pure and simple.

Contemplating Option 3 is much akin to facing down a particularly grueling trek through crocodile-infested jungles… for an indeterminate amount of time. But am I avoiding that choice because it will be harder on me or because it will be harder on her? I thought that by this point it would be eas(ier) to determine that, but it’s actually harder, because all of my indicators for making this choice are about as clear as mud.

I don’t want to just kill my cat because she’s become a burden to me… but as Mom quite succinctly pointed out, I don’t to make her suffer because I’m afraid of being selfish. I just have no idea how to determine how much she’s actually “suffering”. How much should the fluids be working? What defines “working”?

My apprehension over this decision is not that I want to keep her with me as long as possible. I’m ready to let her go. A less-than-admirable part of me was ready to let her go a long time ago (in a different way), but a sense of obligation… as well as familiarity and affection for her … helped me decide to keep her around. No, my problem is being responsible for the actual termination of a life without knowing for sure it’s the best option for that life. That’s always been a sensitive spot for me. I’ve never had to test it before… and I’m not horribly thrilled to be presented with an opportunity to do so now. Yeah, yeah, I know...goes with the territory of being a pet-owner.

*sigh*

I should have been working overtime this week to catch up on work. My boss finally authorized it a few weeks ago, and I got a good amount in last week. But Mom, speaking from experience, has convinced me that I will kick myself to oblivion if I essentially abandon Ms. Pukesalot during her last days. So I’m doing my best to get caught up during normal work hours. Fortunately, the office has been relatively slow this week, and I’ve made decent headway. Unfortunately, I haven’t had as good of luck pushing the distraction of all this unpleasant business out of my head.

Mother’s Day is this Sunday, and I’ve wondered if it might be a good idea for my family (including Gram) to come to my place for dinner… and to have one last chance to see Ms. Pukesalot. At least in a pleasant setting. Mom and Pop have told me they’ll be with me for moral support if I need it whenever I have to make a decision, but the vet will hardly be an optimal setting for pleasant good-byes.

Amway, that’s about all the agonizing over the situation that I can articulate. The rest of it is still milling about in my head… and my conscience. But it does help to at least get some of it down in some sort of coherent fashion.