Then I read this.
It sure puts life into perspective, no?
One of my friends from high school is dying of cancer. We never spoke much then, but I do remember he was friendly and had a really nice smile. I haven't spoken to him in over 18 years. We were never close. We didn't even really hang out with the same people. But reading his mom's blog has brought me to tears on more than one occasion. Here is a man, same age as me, fighting a losing battle with a nasty, awful disease. He has fought bravely in the face of this adversary, and it is winning. And now, the only escape from horrifying pain and suffering is death.
In veterinary medicine, euthanasia is one of the ways we treat horrifying pain and suffering. When nothing more can be done, and a dog is not able to have fun being a dog anymore, then it's time. Euthanasia, translated, means, "the good death." Death is by fatal injection of a powerful anesthetic. No pain is felt, except the stick of the needle. And when an IV catheter is placed prior to the procedure, or sedation is given prior, then the animal feels nothing at all. They just fall asleep, and then their heart stops, and they die.
So, performing euthanasia is part of my job. When I speak of this to my clients, I use a euphemism. Euthanasia. Go to heaven. It's time. Put to sleep. Cross the Rainbow Bridge. But when I go home and need to deal with what I have done, I don't hide behind the nice words. For me, I need to stare it in the face.
For me, I need to deal with the fact that part of my job is to kill my patients. To make peace with this, I need to know in my heart that nothing else could have been done. Be it physical constraints or financial ones, I need to know that I did my best to keep that pet not only alive, but healthy and happy. If I know that those criteria have been met, I can more or less sleep that night. I'll still cry in the car on the way home from work, but I can live with myself.
So for this past week, I have been part of an electronic vigil for my friend. I have seen numerous friends from high school write on his Facebook wall, wishing him final peace, and an end to his suffering. I, too, have written the same thing.
But I need to look at what I'm saying in the face, in order for me to deal with what it is that I am really and truely saying. And to do that, I need to strip away the euphemisms:
I have prayed for my old friend to die.
How can I justify that? If I use the same criteria I use when I recommend euthanasia, then I suppose I can. Nothing more can be done, and my friend is suffering terribly. Unfortunately, there's no injection of Fatal Plus that can free him from his awful pain. It's times like this that I wish people could be euthanized. Humanely killed. When you think about it, even dogs don't have to suffer the way my friend is suffering right now.
So this is me, looking my death wish in the face:
Pete, you've fought that bastard long enough. Now it's time to stop. I really, really hope you die soon. I want you to die because right now, that bastard cancer is torturing you and making you suffer, and nothing more can be done to stop it from hurting you.
I pray for your death because your only way out is through that door.
You have fought a brave and valiant fight. And even though I haven't spoken to you since high school, I am glad to have known you. And I am proud of you for being so tough in the face of such a formidable enemy.
It's ok to die. Please. So many of us are lovingly praying for your death. And we all mean it in the best possible way.
Love,
Annie Nonymous
ETA: Shortly after I posted this, I learned that Pete has finally died. I thank God for finally ending his suffering and calling him home. Rest in peace, Pete. You will be missed.
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