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Laura Thieme

Bizresearch President – 10 years - 2007

Fisher College of Business Lecturer on Search Marketing

OSU Russian Studies Grad – 1993

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1st March 2008

Grief

Grief comes in all forms, regardless of the reason you feel it following a death of someone or something.  I have never had to bury a close family member, or for that matter, thank the Lord, “make arrangements”.  However, in the past month I have had to put down two animals, a cat, and a dog.  When it’s necessary to make arrangements to put a dog or cat down, it’s impossible to allow grief to settle in.  Your mind is focused on what you have to do to prepare for one to pass on to the spiritual world. 

Cody, an hour or two before she died

They say there are five stages of grief, which comes from the French word “greve” which means heavy burden.  The five stages reference denial, anger, bargaining, depression and ultimately, you hope, acceptance.  So how does this relate to having and losing a pet?

Denial that a pet is gone - no - doesn’t happen at least I don’t feel that - but perhaps that the pet is dying, perhaps this is spot on. 

Anger - it depends on the situation in how the animal died, I guess.  When I put Max down - I didn’t feel anger  - I prayed to St. Francis, to God - I talked with vets regarding Max about traditional as well as alternative therapy for hyperthyroid and liver disease - and felt truly confident that Max received the best care he could in his last two years of a 17-year wonderful, wonderful life.  I spent money - he responded well - and had a steady decline over a two year period.  I cooked for Max.  I made sure he had smokehouse turkey from Whole Foods of all things, in his last two months of life.  I made him sauteed chicken, or baked chicken.  I was at the grocery store more for Max than anything or anyone.  While he was suffering more in the past year, off and on, in his last two weeks he was pretty much at peace.  He had no “episodes” of extreme sickness in the end, once I had chosen to put him down and began to “make arrangements” for a vet to come to my house.   Perhaps once the cat knows you are ready to let go, they can let go?

Max, sleeping ever so peacefully, the night before he died
Max sleeping very peacefully the night before he died on Jan 31, 2008

I cried, no wailed, off and on for a couple of days after Max died, but truly felt at peace with my decision, and that he was no longer having to take medicine, fight his body for food absorption, and deal with liver disease, which is a side effect of the methimazole medicine he was taking for hyperthyroid condition.  With Max - I just missed him horribly. So, no anger, no depression per se, no denial per se. 

His brother, Misha, is beginning what I fear to be a soon decline - he’s lost 10% of his weight, isn’t grooming himself, and stays on the ottoman where Max passed away.  Perhaps Max is there with him, already, in spirit.  Perhaps I am at times in denial that Misha is dying - perhaps I can prevent it for just a little longer - I don’t want him to leave too.

Misha, laying down by his brother, right before Max died on Jan 31

With Cody - the five stages of grief are off.  Monday, Cody takes a turn and begins to have severe labored breathing - Wednesday afternoon a trip to the vet, a final diagnosis, for which it’s too late to do anything, and then Thursday afternoon - she’s gone.  I literally look back on this week, and say, you know - what the fuck happened? 

When you experience grief, after a pet is gone, and you know you’ve done everything you could do to help them in life before they pass away, or you put them down, you should feel only an emotion of missing them, which is a form of grief, perhaps depression.  But Cody - I feel different about her dying.  Perhaps I have experienced denial for the past several months - I knew cancer might be invading her body - but no doctor, regardless of the thousands of dollars I paid them, could figure it out.  Not one.  After you see your dog opened up, head to toe, and you see how hard it is to recover from exploratory surgery, you can’t help but want to prevent her from the egotistical doctor who just wants another surgery opp.  Regardless of the facility, over a three month period, not one doctor could give me an answer of what was wrong with Cody.

One vet, who listened to her symptoms, whom I have yet to meet, suggested Cody could have three things wrong with her, one of which might have been a mass growing inside her throat or chest. 

With Cody - after going through the motions of putting her down yesterday, flying to New York, preparing for a meeting somewhat mindlessly, going through the meeting itself, coming back to the hotel, talking to people, and then entertaining friends tonight, I was unable to embrace grief.  Yet now it is late, and I am back in my room, and re-reading my entry from last night.  Then all of a sudden I begin to feel it - grief, and it is a sinking feeling.  It hurts.  I begin to endorse the feeling of guilt about my care for her.

So out of the emotions mentioned or documented about grief - where’s guilt in all of this?  it can’t be just because I’m Catholic, right?  I woke up today and began to feel anger with the doctors.  I took off my jeans and noticed Cody’s blood spot from when she was lying her head on my pant legs.  She bled far more than I realized.  I feel anger regarding the vets - why couldn’t they figure it out?  Why not?  And for the first time, ever, I questioned God last night.  How could you let a 13-year old innocent, loyal, protective, wise soul suffer so much?  How could you let the doctors miss it?  And then my anger turned inward?  It’s my fault - I knew she had cancer - I just felt it - did I ignore it? No one could prove me right - but I knew it.  Just like I knew she didn’t need the exploratory surgery - and yet doctors convinced me she needed it or might die. 

Intuition is a powerful thing - why do we ignore our intuition?  So, now my grief is anger towards vets who failed to accurate diagnose Cody’s problem, and treat her.  It’s anger towards myself, and yes, believe it or not, it’s a little anger at God.  Cody was my protector and I failed to protect her.  I intuitively and instinctively knew she was dying, and decided to let her live out without more surgeries to open her up again to explore inside her body.  Yet, it was a simple xray that caught the massive tumor and its broken pieces blocking her oxygen from circulating throughout her body.  It was my hand that originally felt it, yet I listened to others who thought it was scar tissue from the exploratory surgery.  Anger, yes, but denial now?  No.  It’s replaced by guilt.

Depression and acceptance are not here yet - but grief - pure unadulterated grief - weighs on my heart, my mind, my physical head, as well as my heart - they all truly “hurt”.  When I walk back into my house tomorrow, will I fall apart?  I have to face Misha, who is barely holding on.  I plan to give him lots of attention, and work harder at getting him to eat, and take him for accupuncture on Tuesday evening.  I’ve switched his food.  Misha does not respond to food like Max did.  I’ve spent more time at home.  I’ve truly been present for those cats and for that matter for the dog.  Yet will it be enough to get Misha to last?  Is he ready to join his brother? 

Grief is difficult for one in charge of arrangements to settle in - but once it does - it is indeed a very heavy weight, a pain, a hole in one’s heart and mind which can affect the spirit of moving forward, and thus allowing acceptance. 

For those who have opened up their homes and lives to pets, and have given them true respect, dedication and proper treatment over the years - I know you can sympathize and feel my pain with me.  I’ve often thought those who did not have animals in their lives - or easily got rid of one who was challenging or difficult - those people not only were selfish but they lacked a soul.  How can one not have compassion for an animal?  For those who lack this compassion, or heartache, I pity your life without this enjoyment, or fulfillment.

Cody - I miss you tonight - so badly - and I am so sorry I could not bring you to the right doctor to help you.  I’m sorry I ignored your pain, at times.  I’m sorry that I didn’t figure it out - that I didn’t listen to my intuition - that I didn’t fight harder for you.  I’m sorry you didn’t get your last months without some crazy hyper dog in your midst.  I’m sorry you had to share your toys and food with this dog, when all you needed to do was breathe calmly, without struggle.  I’m sorry I shut you out of my room at night, sometimes, in the past few months, when you couldn’t sleep, and therefore I couldn’t sleep, due to your heavy breathing.  I’m sorry I couldn’t make you feel better.

Cody a short month before she died

I respect your honor, your valiance, your will to live despite all this - no human being I know could have a tumor that big, and hundreds of other tumors and still eat, walk, play, and climb those stairs several times a day to be with their beloved master, or friend, or lover.  Only you would do that for me.  And I love you even more knowing what I know now, of how much you were suffering just to be with me, just a little longer.  I cry for you but I respect you so much, and request God take good care of you now. 

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