My Commonplace Book

R.I.P.




Friday XIII
August 17, 2007
Age 12


It was so sudden.

One of the cats had been eating a little less than usual, but that happens from time to time and they share a dish, so I can't tell who. But it didn't seem that odd, both cats seemed fine, and what I found in the litter boxes seemed normal, so I thought whoever was off his feed would be okay in a few days, as in the past.

But as soon as Friday realized I was awake this morning, he jumped up on the bed and kept crying with distress. He seemed to be trying to pass gas or something, and was breathing really fast. I ran in here to call the vet, and they said the only open appointment was at 6:30 pm. I said he was crying with pain, and she said hold on, and then came back and said "Can you bring him in right now?"

By the time I threw on some clothes and got the carrier Friday had gone under the bed -- something he never does if no one else is in the house -- but fortunately he was close enough to the edge to be reachable, and I pulled him out. As I carried him downstairs to put him in the carrier he cried -- obviously something in the way I was holding him hurt. He barely even protested going in the carrier -- I think he was in so much pain that he didn't care any more.

He's always hated riding in the car, and by the time I brought him in he was panting. I mentioned that he was panting, and the receptionist was alarmed, and had him taken back for evaluation immediately.

After what felt like hours sitting in the waiting room, a vet I didn't know came out and brought me back. (This is a large hospital with about five vets.) She took me to a light box on a corridor wall and showed me Friday's x-ray. She said he had heart failure, and was filled with fluid -- his chest was so full of fluid his lungs couldn't expand, and he had some fluid in the lungs as well, and his abdomen was full of fluid. She also showed me an ultrasound they had done that indicated he was full of fluid.

She started talking about options. I couldn't believe she was going to continue talking just standing there in the hall. I felt weak. I asked "Is there somewhere I can sit down?"

"Oh," she said -- she obviously hadn't even thought of that. She took me in an examining room and I sat down. When I thought about it later I thought it would have been a lot nicer if she had sat down too, instead of standing over me, but she didn't and it didn't occur to me to suggest it. I probably wouldn't have said anything even if I'd thought of it -- I wasn't feeling assertive.

She told me that they could drain the fluid and that would let his lungs exapand so he could breathe a little better, and that a veterinary cardiologist "might be able to give him a little more time." But the more she talked, the more obvious it became that he could never be restored to health. I finally said, "You're dancing all around it, but you haven't said it -- is putting him to sleep the best thing?"

"Euthanasia is an option in situations like this," she said.

I asked to hold him for a little while first, and she said yes, but first they were going to give him a sedative and put an IV port in so they wouldn't have to look for a vein. Such efficiency. This place has the best medical care in town, but it's a very cold, high-tech, efficient place. There's no warmth, no humanity. My previous vet was very chatty and personal, but I was uncomfortable about her competence and when she didn't call me back after Val's visit to the emergency vet, I wanted to go somewhere else. I knew this vet was top-notch, but I didn't realize they were all skill and no heart.

I grabbed my cell phone and called my friend Wendy -- thank heaven she was home! I was sobbing too much to talk, but I finally managed to get out the gist of what was happening and asked if she could come. "I'll be right there," she said.

While I was waiting someone came in with a form for me to sign to permit the euthanasia. It had a series of checkboxes for what I wanted to do with his body. There were five choices: take him home to bury; have him cremated by the pet cremation company they deal with and, so they say, scattered in their memorial garden; have him cremated and get the ashes; just let them take care of it; and I don't remember the other one. Fortunately she said I didn't have to choose right now, just sign it, so I did. I hoped Wendy would get there before I had to give them an answer ... I really couldn't make this decision all alone.

It seemed to take a long time, but they finally brought Friday in. I told them my friend was coming, and they said they'd bring her in. I sat there with in him my lap, crying. He loved petting, but he was never a cuddler, and I certainly didn't want to cause him physical or emotional pain, so I didn't try to hold him close, just let him lie on my lap and stroked his soft, silky coat.

It seemed like forever till Wendy got there, but time seems to slow down when you're in distress. I know she dropped whatever she was doing and ran out the door.

It was a huge relief that she was there ... not only is she a very sympathetic and caring friend, but she is also the only person Friday has ever allowed to touch him. While she was cat-sitting during my Alaska trip in May, she worked and worked on getting Friday to come over, and he finally did and even let her brush him. I was amazed to hear that when she told me.

She's one of the most loving people I've ever known, and gave that love freely to my cats, taking care of them as if they were her own, spending time with them, keeping company with them, brushing them, and doing far more than just "cat sitting." So she bonded with them, and she said she was glad she had the chance to say goodbye to Friday, as well as being with me. I introduced her as Friday's godmother.

Wendy sat down next to me and put her arms around me, and we cried together and talked. I told her the choices on the form, and said that the last two were out. I know now what they do with deceased pets -- they're rendered and then added to pet food. It's horrible to think about. I didn't trust the memorial garden one either -- the tech said they cremate each animal separately and scatter the ashes, but there was a scandal a few years ago where a pet crematorium in Northern Virginia was just throwing all the animals in the retort together and taking out some random ashes to return to the owner -- and pets whose ashes weren't being returned weren't even being cremated, just dumped in the woods to rot. I didn't think this one would do that, but if you're not getting the ashes back, maybe they just put them all in together and dump the ashes wherever they dump them.

The safest and least costly option was to just bring his body home, I said, but I can't dig a hole. As I expected, Wendy immediately said, "I can." So I talked about that, but I mentioned how Meredith has her cats' ashes together in an urn, and will add the other cats as they die, and I thought it might be nice to put Val and Friday together, since they were so close all their lives.



(This picture and the one at the top were taken just eight days ago, on August 9. They're the last pictures ever taken of Friday. The album is here if anyone wants to look at other pictures of my beautiful, golden-eyed cat, and the two "brothers" together. (I was going to write "my kitty", but that never fit him. He was always too regal and dignified. Val's a kitty. Friday was a cat.))


Once I thought of it that just felt like the right choice, so I said the heck with the cost, that's what I'm going to do.

After awhile I said, "Friday's obviously in pain, I think it's time." She got the vet, and I held Friday in my lap while she put the tube in the IV. He had his head up longer than I thought he would, and I said, "How long does it take?" I think time was just still running slowly for me. "Not long," she said, and then I felt Friday's body relax and his head drooped.

"Is he gone?" I said? She listened to his heart, and said yes. So I scooped him up and cuddled him, knowing that he wouldn't mind it any more, and that he was free of pain. I said I wanted to hold him for a little while, and the vet and the tech went out, and I sat there stroking Friday's wonderfully silky fur and talking about him. I asked Wendy if she'd come home with me to tell Val. Of course I knew intellectually that Val wouldn't have any idea of what we were saying, but emotionally it felt like what I wanted to do, and Wendy understood perfectly.

After awhile Friday's body began to cool, and I felt that I was ready, so Wendy pushed the button to call them. After they took him away, I thought about paying the bill and couldn't face it. They always expect payment at time of service, and I didn't think they'd make an exception, so I grabbed my credit card,  stuck it out toward Wendy and said, "Here -- I can't do it. I'll wait outside." As I passed her at the reception desk on the way out, I said, "Just sign my name.  I can't stand being in here another minute." I saw her nod as I pushed open the door.

I saw a fairly secluded corner where I could cry in relative privacy, but I had barely gotten there when Wendy came out. "They said they'd send the bill," she said, handing back my credit card. I was shocked, but very grateful. "Oh, good!" I said. "Let's get out of here." Wendy asked if I wanted her to drive and we could come back for my car later. I was very grateful for the offer. "I don't think I can see to drive," I said.

We came back to my house and I tried to talk to Val, but he was upset by the bad "vet" smell and didn't want to be held. So Wendy and I just sat and talked. Eventually I finally realized I was hungry. I didn't feel like eating, but I hadn't had a thing to eat all day (and found out that Wendy hadn't either -- dear friend that she is, she never said a word about how hungry she was, but just let me do whatever I needed to).

I really wanted to do something to distract myself, but it was over 90º and much too hot to go for a walk, so I tried to think of air-conditioned places we could go, and finally thought of the movies. We looked in the paper to see what was playing and Wendy urged for Death at a Funeral. It's a British comedy, and Wendy said "I know it sounds wrong, but it's really funny, and it will be good for you to laugh." I knew she was right, and the movies I thought I'd rather see were at the wrong times, so against my better judgment I said okay.

We went out for lunch and then went to the movie. It was a typical broad British farce, and I heard lots of laughter around me, but I didn't laugh. I know Wendy meant well, but I just wasn't up for that kind of humor. She was right that the funeral aspect didn't bother me -- there was no sadness in the movie -- I just wasn't in the mood for that style of humor and would have enjoyed something gentler.

During the movie I was sorry I hadn't chosen Arctic Tale. I'd read two reviews of it that said the anthropormorphism and cloying sweetness went much too far, and I was afraid I'd be annoyed by that, but of the two, I think I would have enjoyed it more than Death at a Funeral. But it was good to escape reality for a couple of hours, and who knows, I might have been much more upset by the death of real animals in Arctic Tale. The more I think about it, the more I'm thinking that the escapism of Death at a Funeral probably was the right choice after all. Even though it didn't make me laugh or even smile, it certainly was an escape from the real world.

But tomorrow's weather is supposed to be beautiful -- much cooler and drier, with highs in the low 80s. So Wendy and I are going to spend the day in the woods. On a gorgeous Saturday after weeks of heat, we needed to pick a place that wouldn't be jammed with people enjoying the beautiful weekend, so we're going to drive up to the least-known place we could think of -- Middle Patuxent Environmental Area. Unfortunately when I just thought to check the trail status page I found out that part of the Loop Trail -- my favorite trail -- is in such bad condition that it's pretty much impassible. We'll still go, but we'll have to decide whether to give that a shot, go through Clegg's Meadow, or go down to the Southwind Trail. We can talk it over on the way there.

I never expected that Friday would go first. He was 12 and a good weight, and Val is 15 and very overweight. (Maybe now I can slim him down a little bit since I can regulate his food without worrying about Friday not getting enough to eat.) So far Val hasn't tried to search for Friday, but I'm wondering what's going to happen as the days go by and his kid brother isn't around. I really feel blindsided by this happening -- I thought he just needed some care. I never expected them to tell me that I was going to go home without him.

So, that was my day. It's taken hours to write this, but I feel calmer for having gotten it all out. I'm going to have something to eat and go to bed.

If I ever have to go to a nursing home, I hope it's a compassionate one like Steere House in Providence. They moved to a new building in 1991, and within the first week they found a mangled and starving cat under a car in the parking lot. They took him in, and he lived in the nursing home for the rest of his life. Steere House is now home to 120 humans, six cats, a slew of parakeets and a floppy-eared rabbit.

But one of the cats, a gray-and-white tabby named Oscar, is special. The two-year-old cat can predict when a resident is about to die.

Oscar was adopted as a kitten and grew up in the end-stage dementia unit. After about six months, the staff noticed Oscar would make his own rounds, just like the doctors and nurses. He'd sniff and observe patients, then sit beside people who would wind up dying in a few hours.

By now, when Oscar settles down on the bed with someone, the staff calls the family. So far he's been at the bedside of more than 25 residents within two hours of their passing. He stays there quietly until they die, then jumps down and leaves the room.

I don't know why Oscar does this, but I have no doubt that he's able to tell when someone is about to die. Personally, I think it's a matter of scent. ms_interpret has told me that she can clearly smell when someone is sick, and if a human can, certainly a cat can. Service dogs have been trained to alert epileptic owners when they're about to have a seizure, and I believe the dogs can sense a difference in scent caused by whatever cascade of chemicals is beginning to take place. As much as we know about the human body, there's far more that we don't know.

One of the doctors who practices in the unit wrote a beautiful essay about Oscar and submitted it to the New England Journal of Medicine. It was published today, which started the media storm. Get a tissue before you read it.

I love this story because my mother died in a dementia unit in 1991. I wish they had had animals living there -- my mother would have enjoyed that, as long she didn't have to take care of them! I wasn't with her when she died because there was no warning. I'm glad the families of the residents on the third floor at Steere House have Oscar.

The Boston Globe also has a wonderful article about Oscar, with a photo.

I keep saying this, but nobody else ever seems to notice. I'm glad someone else is paying attention ... but is anyone listening?

A Deadly Story We Keep Missing

The non-story of 2006 was also the non-story of 2005. It is a non-story every year going back decades. Yet the number of people who die in car crashes in the United States is staggering, even if it is absent from the agenda of most public officials and largely ignored by the public. ...

Avian flu has killed 157 people since 2003, according to the World Health Organization. West Nile virus has killed 931 people in the US since 1999. Exactly 5 people died during the anthrax scare, but over a billion dollars has been spent on bio-detection systems for the postal service, which is expected to cost $120 million a year to operate. A total of 2,973 people died on September 11, 2001, and it's considered an enormous tragedy --  just look at the lengths the government has gone to in order to prevent a repetition. When a commercial airplane crashes and a few hundred people die, it's a major deal, and airline industry and the FAA tighten things up to prevent future crashes. As of today, 2,983 members of the U.S. military have died in Iraq.

The list of killers that the public and the government are running scared of and/or up in arms about could go on and on. Billions upon billions of dollars are being spent on these issues to keep more people from dying of them. Yet the carnage on the highways goes merrily on to the tune of 44,000 deaths every year, with practically no publicity and little being done to lower the toll.

A few important automobile safety features have been mandated, but most of them are left up to the manufacturers to include or not. Half the states have secondary seat belt laws, which can be enforced only if the driver is stopped for another infraction -- and one state, New Hampshire, doesn't require seat belt use at all. (Their state motto should be changed to "Live free and die.") Drunk drivers are scolded, slapped on the wrist, and released to drink and drive again and again until they kill somebody.

If 44,000 people were dying of a disease, the government would be throwing billions of dollars at it in an effort to eliminate the cause and find a cure. If 44,000 people were dying of terrorist attacks every year, just imagine what kind of publicity and response it would get!

Consider:

• At the 2006 casualty rate of 800 soldiers per year, the United States would have to be in Iraq for more than 50 years to equal just one year of automobile deaths back home.
  
• In any five-year period, the total number of traffic deaths in the United States equals or exceeds the number of people who died in the horrific South Asian tsunami in December 2004. U.S. traffic deaths amount to the equivalent of two tsunamis every 10 years.
  
• According to the National Safety Council, your chance of dying in an automobile crash is one in 84 over your lifetime. But your chances of winning the Mega Millions lottery are just one in 175 million.
  
• If you laid out side by side 8-by-10 photos of all those killed in crashes this year, the pictures would stretch more than five miles.
  
• If you made a yearbook containing the photos of those killed this year, putting 12 photos on each page, it would have 3,500 pages. If you wanted to limit your traffic-death yearbook to a manageable 400 pages, you'd either have to squeeze more than 100 photos onto each page or issue an eight-volume set.

Automobile deaths are the leading cause of death for children, for teenagers and in fact for all people from age 3 to 33. Yet this annual tragedy is not a cause celebre.

Opinion leaders largely ignore the ubiquitous massacre. No marches, walkathons, commemorative stamps or fundraising drives are organized. It is not brought up in the State of the Union address. It is rarely the subject of public affairs shows. Statistics aren't updated daily in major newspapers or broadcasts.

Gruesome crashes are reported just one at a time, each as if it might never happen again. Little attention is paid to the aftermath: safety measures taken or not taken, the workings or non-workings of the justice system. These avoidable deaths, as well as more than 2 million nonfatal dismemberments, disfigurements and other injuries that go along with them, have become part of the fabric of everyday life in the United States.

The safety of both vehicles and roads need to be upgraded to stop the carnage. But it's not going to happen unless the media takes up the kind of hue and cry that the more unusual causes of death receive. Paradoxically, I think highway deaths are too common. If they were rarer, they'd get more attention and maybe more money for prevention.

But just think about that number. Over 40,000 deaths every year, year in and year out, year after year after year. Tens of thousands of young people are losing their lives, and tens of thousands of families are robbed of loved ones, every year, year in and year out. But little is said or done.

I've ranted about this before. I'll probably rant about it again. The illogic of getting all worked up about something that causes a relative handful of deaths, and ignoring the huge toll on the highways, drives me crazy.


( Full text )

A growing number of U.S. schools are screening teenagers for suicidal tendencies or signs of mental illness, triggering a debate between those who seek to reduce the toll of youthful suicides and others who say the tests are unreliable and intrude on family privacy.

Needless to say, it's the conservatives who are protestng spending money on such things. Let 'em pull themselves up by their bootstraps! Just snap out of it! Hey, they're kids, these are the best years of their lives!

One screening program, TeenScreen, developed by Columbia University, has been administered to more than 150,000 children in 42 states and the District. The state of New York plans to start screening 400,000 children a year, and the federal government is directing tens of millions of dollars to expand screening nationwide. Hilda Anyanwu was 16 when her high school did TeenScreen, and says it saved her life.

But why has the Republican-dominated Congress authorized so much money for this "useless" program? Because Sen. Gordon Smith (R-Ore.) lost his son Garrett to suicide in 2003. He took his life the day before his 22nd birthday. So the Republican senator bucked the objections of several conservative groups to push into law the Garrett Lee Smith Memorial Actm an $82 million effort to expand programs such as TeenScreen.

"Without any doubt, had TeenScreen been available to us as Garrett's parents, I am convinced we would have been empowered to save his life," Smith said in an interview. "Logic tells me the more you know, the more you are able to help."

I'm delighted that the government is funding this program, but the way it came about drives me crazy. The Republicans care more about dollars than human needs -- but they  suddenly wake up when something happens to a member of their own family or a close friend. Laws funding research and aid of various sorts have been passed repeatedly by Congress after a Republican lawmaker experienced a loss that suddenly makes them realize what a tragedy it is for people, and how important it is to prevent it. But unless it happens to them ... forget about it.

Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there's a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see.
                    —Helen Keller (1880-1968), American speaker and author

To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die.
                —Thomas Campbell (1777-1844), Scottish poet

Two days ago, Meredith's cat Empress Wu didn't want to eat. Yesterday when they got home from work, she was so sick they took her to the emergency vet.  Wu did not do well during the night, and was scheduled to see a cardiologist this morning on an emergency basis.

It turned out that she was too ill to save and a couple of hours ago Meredith posted that she and A were both on their way to the animal hospital to say goodbye to Wu. By now she is gone.

Wu was a very sweet cat. Maine Coons are known for their gentle disposition. When Wu's first owner decided she didn't want the cat any more, Meredith and A took her in rather than have her go to the county shelter. With five cats in the house already, they tried to find a home for Wu. I was pressed to take her, and I wanted to -- she was such a lovely cat! -- but I was really afraid of upsetting Val's applecart. He's so old and set in his ways, and just wants peace and quiet. Occasionally he even exhibits annoyance at Friday, to whom he has always acted as a very affectionate big brother, when Friday tries to get him to play.

Meredith and A did find someone whom they felt comfortable would give Wu a loving home -- but when they talked about it, they realized they had fallen in love with her, and could not give her up. She had learned to get along with the other cats by then too, so they joyfully added her to the household. She's always needed some special care -- she had gum problems and needed frequent tooth cleanings -- but was otherwise a healthy cat. This came on so suddenly, without warning. And now there is a hole in their hearts. And in mine, because Wu was almost mine ... and because my dear ones are grieving.

Wu would have been 7 years old next month. Rest in peace, sweet girl.

ADDED: eudyptes had the idea of lighting a candle in Wu's name. I liked the idea and lit one also (although I can't match the poetry and simple beauty of what he wrote). If you'd like to light a candle for them, you can do it here.

Say not you know another entirely till you have divided an inheritance with him.
                        —Johann Kaspar Lavater (1741-1801), Swiss theologian, mystic

My daughter's father died last week. Although we had been divorced for many years, it was still a shock to hear about it -- after all, we were married for 8 years and had a child together. He was 55.

Because he abandoned her at age 2, woofiegrrl has no memories of her father. She would have wanted to go to his funeral, but she wasn't notified until after it was over. Because he had no will, did not remarry and had no other children, Meredith is the sole heir and administrator of the estate -- what there is of it. It appears that it will entail more problems and paperwork than benefit, and she has been doing a very impressive job so far in finding out what she needs to do and getting started on as much as possible. Meredith, her partner A, and I will have to spend several days in New Jersey (where her father lived) to take care of everything. It will not be fun.

To escape I did what I always do to find healing -- go to the woods. The fall foliage is at its peak right now, which is very late (global warming or simply seasonal variation?). Because of the drought through the second half of the summer it's not as vibrant as it usually is, but it's still very beautiful. eudyptes was kind enough to come with me so I could go to the back country, and we went up to Patapsco Valley State Park. There's a lookout point in the Hollofield Area -- it's the only valley overlook in the park, and I'd been wanting to go during fall foliage season. After a cloudy morning, a few minutes after we reached the overlook the sun came out!

When we finally finished drinking in the glorious view (and taking lots of pictures, which are still in the camera at this point -- I'll try to get them posted soon), we hiked the short but extremely steep and rocky Union Dam Trail down to the Patapsco River to the old decommissioned dam.

( The rest of the day )

A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own.
                  —Thomas Mann (1875-1955), German author