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