Not a week after the devastating blow that accompanied a diagnosis of Late Stage Lyme and the realization that I could not afford treatment, our 17 year old cat, Jamal, lost use of both of his back legs. He had been declining rapidly over the past year so it was not a surprise, but it was still heartbreaking to know that despite his strong spirit, his body was failing him and it was time to let him go. It wasn't easy, given the timing, to see so much of my own situation in his eyes-his desire to fight, his spirit clinging desperately to life, his body no longer cooperating with the desires of his heart and mind, his physical pain...........
Being animal activists and rescuers of homeless animals, euthanasia is not new to our family. Of course we can always hope that when it is time, our beloved pets will lie down, drift off to dreamland, and not wake up, but I am grateful to be able to choose, something they are unable to choose for themselves, when their quality of life is significantly diminished. We have had to make the choice too many times to count in the past 16 years.
However, I have never had a death sentence hanging over my head when choosing to end the life of one of my babies. This was an entirely new experience for me, and I would be lying if I said I didn't think deeply about my own mortality, my own quality of life, while ending Jamal's.
I know, I know, we all come into this world with only one guarantee-we will die. However, it is something we tend not to think much about when we are healthy and experiencing a life of fulfillment. It is only when faced with our own debilitation and/or imminent death that we begin to reflect, almost desperately at times, on our very existence.
While watching the energy slip too slowly from Jamal's body, I couldn't help but wonder, will someone choose this for me? When I no longer recognize my loved ones and need round the clock care, when my quality of life has diminished so significantly that I am no longer me, can I have a blessed shot that ends my suffering? Oregon law says I must be terminally ill to make that choice. I am terminally ill-without treatment I will die. However, before I do, I will likely be stripped of my dignity, my joy, my memory, my independence, and my identity, and in pondering this, I realized I am not afraid of death, I am afraid of losing my quality of life. The very definition of quality of life is so subjective-this illness has taken 11 years of my life and so many aspects of my very existence along with it. So do I have quality of life? Someone else in my position might say they don't. However, I am not yet there. I will be, much sooner than I had anticipated, but not yet!
As I watched the veterinary technicians swiftly remove Jamal's lifeless body, I couldn't help but wonder also why we as humans have such an aversion to death, myself included, until the moment the technician brought Jamal back to us in his little coffin and directed us to leave the clinic through the side door. Shawn and I walked out of the exam room, and I said to him, somewhat sarcastically, "Death exits through the side door." Sixteen years together, he can read my mind-he knows exactly what I am thinking and he responds, "not today," as we walk out through the front door- hand in hand, tears flowing down our faces, with our kitty coffin through the waiting room of the living instead of the empty hallway of the dead.
Yes, in that moment, death took on an entirely new meaning for me as we bared our souls to the living, our grief displayed for all to see. The discomfort in that room, as a result of our blatantly defying the "rules of death," was palpable, but the act was incredibly freeing-mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. It left me with a sense of peace regarding death that I had not known before while fueling a fire inside of me to live that had long ago been snuffed out by inept and heartless doctors, cruel friends, severe physical pain and my own irrational fears.
I still believe in miracles-I still believe that by some bizarre twist of fate, I will find a way to get treatment, but if I don't, when it's time, give me that blessed shot, let me go, and make sure I exit through the front door!
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