My heartbreak

Sherman isn't with me any more. He had a host of problems and complications from the problems, including a heart murmur, feline asthma, and chronic kidney disease. He got pneumonia about 4 months ago and his kidneys tanked. We hospitalized him for 3 days, which bought him some time - he was otherwise a goner. The 4 months since had been full of me giving him medicines and other treatments, sub-cutaneous fluids daily, a hormone injection weekly, and multiple pills and supplements twice a day. But I'm so glad I got those additional 4 months.

2 weeks ago or so, Sherman's blood pressure went through the roof and caused him to go blind. Unfortunately, I don't think we recognized his blindness right away - he was already not very active, and knew the apartment well enough to keep getting around. But Thursday night it was unmistakable. His eyes were so big and it was obvious he wasn't seeing a thing. You could really see the bewildered and concerned look in his face - like he just didn't understand what was happening to him. We took him to the ER the next day. His retinas had ruptured and he would never get his vision back. We started managing his blood pressure as well, and got it back to normal. And even though he couldn't see, he kept going, moved about the apartment, bumped into walls and had to hunt around for the familiar places now and then, but didn't let it stop him. Unfortunately though, this was the beginning of the end.

So last week I juggled working from home half days to make sure Sherman ate and drank, which he didn't much want to do. He would only drink or eat when I was holding him, holding food or water for him, then coaxing him for 2 or 3 minutes (and being very patient). By Thursday, that wasn't always working either and he had grown so weak he could no longer hop up to the spot he had made for himself on the love seat (even with the "step" I had made for him to make it easier). Then, when I was putting him down to do some work, I put him in front of his litter box in case he needed to use it before going to lay down. He went inside and I waited... he was in there a long time so I lifted the lid to see if he was having trouble, and he was just laying in it, too tired to come out I guess. My heart broke for about the 100th time that week when I saw him there.

Friday morning, things were even more grim. I came home at lunchtime to check on him, hoping against hope for a sign of improvement, but there wasn't any. So I called a doctor who makes house calls and who had been referred to us to discuss end of life options. I was planning to make the appointment for Saturday (or if he was unavailable, Tuesday, since he doesn't have hours on Sunday or Mondays). While speaking with him, he offered to come over that afternoon as well. That's the option Jay wanted, thinking it would be easier to get it over with. So I went from having a remaining day to spend with Sherman to having about 45 minutes. The vet came into our bedroom and put Sherman to sleep while I held him. Sherman was comfortable and ended peacefully. But it hit me like a wrecking ball when I laid him down, trying to be gentle, and saw him lifeless as I let go of him. It was beyond anything I imagined and I can't begin to describe the grief, which was likely compounded by the absolute helplessness I felt that I could no longer do anything whatsoever for him and the fact that I was making a purposeful decision, without his knowledge, to end his life and hoping it was the decision he would ask me to make if he could.

In the long run, I think Jay was right - Saturday was probably not as bad as it would have been. But Friday afternoon was about the most painful day I have ever experienced - at least that I remember (and of course, the memory is still fresh). And so I'm still trying to say goodbye to Sherman

Ever since he was a kitten, I sang "Baby Mine" to Sherman. This was the last time I got to sing it to him, the day before he died.



I miss you, Shermonster.