"Feral ~ from feminine of ferus wild: having escaped from domestication and become wild"...




Thursday

Thank you for being patient as I write this out. Writing is my way of coping, and it may not go as fast as what people would like to read. I am writing daily as I post each update. This is definitely not easy to talk about, let alone write.

Maybe I should not have done it this way, or have written about it at all, as my goal is not to irritate people, but to work through this horrible event with written words. This just happened in February, my close friends & family are the only ones who know, and I’m coping right now by going at my own pace, not by any other person’s expectations. 

Thank you again for understanding that I am human, and a writer who works emotions out on “paper.”  


This time, I choose to share as I write.





~

I phoned the small animal vet on call immediately, even though it was after midnight. Through her sleepy voice, she identified all of Georgy’s symptoms as FATE.

Georgy couldn’t move her back legs. She could wiggle her tail, but her back legs would not move due to the large blood clot that was lodged in her pelvic saddle aorta.  Her back feet were cold, terribly cold, the most prominent tattletale sign of FATE.  This is painful.  Heartbreakingly painful.  Georgy was now crying loudly and writhing in agony.

Feline Aortic ThromboEmbolism (FATE) is otherwise known as a saddle thrombus. It is a large blood clot that lodges in the pelvic region, making a “saddle,” completely blocking blood flow to both legs.  Those who have experienced this with their own kitties understand what a horrible and vulgar event this is. It is awful. It is abrupt. It is fatal.

Georgy had just simply sat up, and a large hidden blood clot from her undetected diseased heart moved into her pelvis, blocking all blood flow entirely to her back legs. We didn’t know.

She was only Four years old. 

We didn’t know.

The vet groggily listed the prognosis. “No positive outcome.  If we treat her, it would be experimental, and an excruciating recovery for Georgy, if she lives.  It is caused by undiagnosed heart disease, comes on suddenly, and most times there are no health warnings at all, like now.  Heart disease is a silent killer. She is suffering as it is very painful.”

The vet became quiet, waiting for my response.

No positive outcome.

My thoughts tumbled.  We live forty-four miles away, graveled and now snowy roads. It is almost one in the morning, and the snow isn't expected to let up until the day after tomorrow. Georgy is in terrible pain, and there is no positive outcome.
  
Remote ranch living in Montana means sometimes you have to make decisions that you wish you never had to. Montana has laws to address this, such as not prohibiting a person from humanely destroying an animal for just cause.  Just cause.

No positive outcome.

I knew what we needed to do, but knew I couldn’t do it myself.

 I didn't want to.

I looked up at Mr. Foresterman, who was standing over me as I sat on the floor holding the phone and cradling a writhing, terrified Georgy. 

“Can you do it?”

He didn’t hear the whole phone conversation, but he knew what I meant. And he knew I didn’t want to, for a good reason. To Georgy I was her mom, her adored mom, the giver of love and healing.

Not this.

He nodded. 

“Yes, I will.”


I didn’t want Georgy to suffer needlessly. And getting her to town forty-four miles away was all based on If’s.  IF we could get to vet office in the snowstorm, IF the vet could get there too- just too many ifs.  It would be many hours before we could get her the relief she needed. Too many.

I spoke words into the phone I never want to speak again.  

“We will put her down here, right now.”

The tired Vet checked again to make sure I understood how painful this was to Georgy, and to remind me that it was the most humane thing I could do for her. There was no cure.  Georgy was hurting.

She wanted to make sure I knew this.

I know.




A discussion and a life decision made in less than ten minutes.














~

17 comments:

  1. How absolutely heartbreaking. Agony for all involved. I am so sorry for you all.

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  2. I'm crying, I'm so sorry...been there too with a cat, I had to call the neighbor to "do it" as my husband was at work....

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  3. I have a lump in my throat. I've been there so I totally understand. Our beloved Airedale and our cat, within two weeks. We THINK someone MIGHT have given them antifreeze. Who knows. Odd that they both were suffering from kidney failure within two weeks time. My husband did it. I couldn't. I'm so, so, so sorry.

    Cindy

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  4. I am so very very sorry. My tears are falling and my heart is breaking for you. Growing up in eastern Montana I know many people who had to put down their animals and it took so much courage. Even though it was the right thing to do for the beloved pet. I am just so sorry.

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  5. I have been reading but not commenting on this series of posts...
    Having nearly lost my beloved Tess this past week, I sure do understand your heartbreak. Georgy was a beautiful and special kitty.
    Your husband is a rock. Bless him for taking care of what must have been very hard for him too.

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  6. Tough, difficult decision. Still, you did the right thing. Prolonging suffering for ANY creature is the wrong choice. But that doesn't make it any easier. We miss those we love--forever. I found footprints of white paint behind the wood stove when I cleaned yesterday. They were left by a feline friend who has been gone for several years. I cried. (also shows how often I clean behind the stove)

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  7. Bless you, girl, and Mr. Foresterman too. That was not an easy thing to do but it was the right thing. Hugs all around.

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  8. How heartbreaking. This had to be so hard to write - let along go through... I am so sorry for the loss of your sweet Georgy. I am glad you shared this - making us aware of this awful "condition". Georgy's little footprints will be with you guys always... How could they not.
    )))hugs(((

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  9. Dear friend, I'm so sorry to hear about Georgy. I know this decision was difficult for you and Mr. Foresterman. Georgy will always be a sweet angel watching over you.
    Blessings to you both.
    Sandy

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  10. Poor kitty. Animal emergencies when you live far from assistance (we're 1.5 hours away from nearest small animal vet) can be heartbreaking.

    I was curious about FATE so did some digging. (lost a cat suddenly to what we think was un-diagnosed heart disease) Found this info in (relatively) non-technical terminology. Looks like even under the best of circumstances treatment would have been very hard on Georgy... so sorry for your loss.

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I am feral, so although I dont respond at all like most domesticated bloggers, I will try my best - Thank you for even wanting to leave a comment, as it may draw me out from the woods from whence I came!

Or under a rock, it depends most days...