Sentimental times.....

This is an email/journal entry from my first year of practice. Kathy, the lady in the letter is alive and well and I saw her last week. She has a new kitten, named Buddy, and she is such a sweet woman. She is so vibrant and strong. I told her of this letter - of the impact that day had on my professional career, and I sent it to her. She brought me a journal a few days later with the inscription: I love your writing... please continue.

Instead of writing about the rodeos and injuries, I thought I would let you guys see the more vulnerable side of vet med. At least for a rookie doc. Warning: this one is a tear jerker (if you are prone.....)

January 4th, 2003

Today was a pretty normal, not-too-crazy Saturday. (Except for a
hair-losing Guinea Pig) The last appointment of the day however is
still weighing heavy on my heart. On December 4th I met a new client
named Kathy Brereton. She had a cat named Buddy ("Bud Bud") who had
just not been feeling well. A chemistry panel revealed what I
suspected – kidney failure. She also had a whopping heart murmur.
Kathy took the news especially hard – and further conversation
revealed that Kathy had just started chemo for breast cancer. Her
tumor was too big to remove just yet – they were trying chemo to
shrink it. I even went over her own blood work with her. I knew
that Buddy didn't have a really long time – and I tried my best to
prepare Kathy and explain to her what to look for when it was time to
tell Buddy goodbye.

Kathy brought in some cookies and a Christmas card to us a few days
before the 25th. She was the only client to bring something in with
MY name on it. Not Dr. Bowman's. That is very cool. I kept the
card. (And ate the cookies.)

Kathy 's friend Ellen called us this morning. Ellen is also a client
and a breast cancer survivor. She is in Kathy's support group and is
a surrogate mom to her of sorts. (Kathy's own mom has passed away.)
She called to say that it was time to euthanize Buddy. It was scheduled
as the last appointment in the day. I knew it would be hard, but,
geesh.

Kathy explained to me that she has a friend that is a vet that
treated Buddy earlier in the week with 3 days of IV fluids. She
didn't improve and her kidney values were pretty crappy. Buddy
started vomiting last night and was just feeling terrible. Our
records showed that she had lost a pound since Dec. I talked to them
about what was going to happen – that I would do an injection into the
heart and hand her back to Kathy. Normally, I hit the heart and the cat dies
within 30 seconds. This morning I missed. BUT – it worked really
well. Kathy held Buddy and she peacefully went to sleep and died
very gently over a period of 10 minutes or so. We talked while she
was passing – talked about life and death and people. About
compassion and dying with dignity. About fighting and letting go.
We talked about Africa. :)

I wish Buddy was still there for Kathy. She said that she RAN to
greet her at the door every time she came home. And Kathy wishes
that she had more strength to try and take care of Buddy. Her vet
friend told her about doing sub-q fluids twice a week to try and keep
her alive. Kathy knew that she wouldn't be able to do that – and she
didn't think that was fair to Bud Bud. I agreed. But the harsh
reality of losing an unconditional loving companion at such a hard
time in her life is … hard. It doesn't seem fair.

Kathy has a presence about her that I just connected with. She has
strength in her eyes and a lovely compassion and understanding in her
voice. I don't want to forget her. And I hope I'll see her again
with her other cat – under better circumstances.

This profession is about so much more that I had bargained for. To
do a good job at it I have to open my heart – open it up to the
people and animals that I care for (for I am realizing more and more
every day that I care for both.) Opening it up to experience the joy
that comes when I witness a miracle and opening it up to experiencing
that immense pain that comes when I look into a person's eyes and see
the grief that comes when their pet, their friend, dies. Good grief
it hurts. And it beats me up. But if I close that emotion off, then
I miss the point – I miss the bigger picture. I can't have the joy
and not have the pain – it doesn't work that way.

I've resolved to take the beatings. God will pick me up when I fall.
And He will also take care of Kathy. I pray that He will replace
the loss of Buddy with a new friend – one even more loving and strong
than she.

I love my job.