In my baby book, my mom wrote, Jessica is fond of animals; she
has a compassion for them unlike most kids; I think she might be a vet.
When I was 11 years old, my parents took me to this
apartment I’d never been to before. They wouldn’t tell me why they were taking
me there, but upon opening the door and seeing a mama basset hound I knew! I
was picking out my first puppy for my birthday. I can’t remember how many
basset hound puppies there were, maybe 7 or 8, but I remember how absolutely
adorable they were. Covered in brown, black, white, or checkered with all
three, they all had ears—loppy, floppy, and insanely cute. One had the biggest,
blackest ears that as she ran to greet me, she tripped on them. I fell in love
with her instantly. We took her home and I named her Lady Molly Madison
Montana. Years later, she was fatally struck by a nasty neighbor who refused to
drive no less than 70 mph down our 35 mph road. Thankfully, I was in college at
the time, so I missed the terrible episode my parents had to experience. My
parents waited to tell me about Molly until after semester finals because they
knew I would be devastated (at the time I was ticked they waited, but in
hindsight, it was a smart move.)
During Zoology lab in my sophomore year in college, we were
asked to inject a LIVING sea urchin with a saline solution that forced the urchin
to secrete eggs (or sperm, I can’t remember). I asked, will the saline solution
kill the sea urchin? Well yeah, my professor flippant. I put my sea urchin down
and walked out. I didn’t care if I failed the class; I would not be a part of killing
an animal.
To this day, I don’t kill ants, spiders, or flies when they
enter my home if I can help it. Nope. Instead, I trap them in a glass and whisk
them outside. I’ve stopped traffic to rescue a turtle tramped on a busy street.
I refuse to stab worms with fish hooks. My Facebook page is littered with
anti-poaching, palm oil bans, and save the Earth campaigns (to the point where
people have stated, you don’t post much about yourself, do you?) All in all, I am
an animal person. I pretty much love all of them, even the ugly ones (wait,
there are no ugly ones.)
I understand people and animals must die; it’s a part of
life. However, it’s the pain just before death I hate. Life’s biggest injustice
is the pain a being feels before death. And, if possible and pretty much at any
cost, I do not want to contribute to that injustice in any way. This time, however,
I can’t rely on my parents to protect me, walk out on a lab experiment, or go
vegetarian when it suits my fancy. Death is knocking on my door.
My 13-year old cat, Rusty, has a giant mass attached to his
liver in his right abdomen. It may simply be a cyst, a light bulb shaped growth
squishing against his organs, thus causing discomfort when he eats. Or, it may,
of course, be the dreaded cancer, which can be exceptionally aggressive especially
when disturbed. Problem is, we don’t know what it is unless we operate (though
he also has other smaller lesions growing directly on his liver, a sign of
cancer.)
Since adopting Rusty seven years ago from the Animal Rescue
League, he has been my constant companion. Through late night study sessions,
arguments with boyfriends, the passing of my wonderful grandfather, personal
sick days, moving days, and lazy Sundays, he has seen it all and still loves
me. Even as I type this, he is nestled on my desk, head tucked under a paw,
sleeping against my arm. I know he is not supposed to live forever and as my
mom so poignantly noted, don’t you want to outlive your pets; otherwise, who
else but you would take good care of them? She is so right.
Even still, I’m faced with a decision. Go through with
surgery, which sounds easy cheesy coming from the surgeon, “We just cut his
chest open from his forearms down about six inches, remove the tumor, and
stitch him back up,” he says, “he’ll be in the hospital 2 or 3 days, then
expect a 10-14 day recovery period at home.” To me, it sounds like I’m waiting
for UPS to deliver a package.
Of course, the cost is expensive. But, even if I had a mere $100
or an explosive $1,000,000, I know I could come up with the money. Money is not
the issue. My issue is whether he should go through a surgery like this? Even
in the human world, cutting open one’s chest followed by a 2-3 day stay in the
hospital is substantial. Recovery doesn’t wrap itself up in a cute little bow in
10-14 days. In reality, there will be pain medication, check-up visits every 2
to 3 months, ultrasounds to see if the tumor is back and metastasizing to other
organs, blood samples to test organ functions, and x-rays to monitor the
remaining lesions on the liver that are not removable.
So, agree to a surgery hoping the mass will not grow back
and his internal organs will have room making eating more comfortable (assuming
he will still be interested in eating at that point); agree to surgery that will
also most definitely bring pain to his body and destroy any semblance of peace and
comfort he currently has; agree to a surgery that might end his life because,
if it is cancer, we are disturbing a beast? Time of survival? If it does not metastasize,
then he lives as long as the lesions on his liver will allow. If it does, he has approximately 2 to 3
months.
Otherwise, decline the surgery, leaving the huge mass. He will
experience discomfort after eating some days; other days, he will be fine.
Until eventually, he will stop eating altogether. The mass will have grown so
big, nothing else will fit. Eventually he will die of starvation, dehydration,
or liver failure (from those damn lesions). Time of survival? Unknown.
Right now, he is eating, drinking, sleeping, purring, and
snuggling. Surgery or no surgery, I’m preparing myself for the day I have to
take him to the vet for that final needle. I say prepare because I need to.
Even though it is down the road, I can already feel my heart breaking.
In my life I have saved spiders, sea urchins, turtles, cats,
and dogs…overall, providing comfort to animals whenever I can. Now, I wonder if
Death is just laughing at my indecision and pointing at my fruitless efforts to
give Rusty a painless death. He knows he has a winning hand. Inevitably, victory
will be his. My question is at what cost to Rusty?
