Palliative Care

I have posted before about Joy and Sorrow, including this quote from Khalil Gibran:

"Joy and sorrow are inseparable. . . together they come and when one sits alone with you . . remember that the other is asleep upon your bed."

You can read about it "here" and "here".

What I have learned is that we must exist amongst both. Joy is all around us. We just have to open our minds to it. If we close off to joy, we stunt our living. We cannot hide from the sorrow nor can we wallow in it. We must take the moments of joy when they come and experience the moments of sorrow as they pass and throughout, we must model to the younger generations (and sometimes the older) that situations can be managed, with tender care and dignity, courage and determination.

Meet Snookums. He is one of our two beloved gerbils. He is almost 4 years old. And he is dying. Not a quick death, but a slow, painful one. He developed a tumor in his scent gland, apparently a fairly common event in gerbils. He started trying to remove it himself and chewed pretty thoroughly on his tiny tummy. Upon realizing this, I took him to the vet (yes, some see gerbils-considered "exotic" pets) and told the young woman that I did not want to euthanize him, as he was still eating and active, but I just wanted some meds to provide comfort and pain relief. Sent home with anti-biotics, pain meds and special cream to apply with a cotton topped stick to his tummy, I set about my business of providing end of life care to our furry friend.

Snookums on April 26

I know the signs of life slowing down. I watched my sweet mother-in-law go through it just 2 years ago. I was amazed at how long she was able to enjoy simple pleasures, like ice cream sandwiches, which she ate everyday, sometime twice! Each morning, I give Snookums a slice of banana. At first, he grasped it energetically, then the last few days I have had to sort of prop it in his paws. Today, he left it unfinished in his bedding. I know the end is near. 

The lessons to the children are strong. They have offered to hold the tiny liquid dispensers for me as I give him the medicine twice a day. At first, he struggled to get away. Now, he just curls in my hand and waits for it to be done. When I set him down in the cage I need to prop him up so he doesn't tip over. It's very sad to watch.

We all know he will die soon. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, but soon. I remember that time, waiting for my mother-in-law to die, very clearly. Wishing for her discomfort to end, but selfishly not wanting to let her go. 

Snookums lived a good long life and he enjoyed his moments of joy, and he will die peacefully, and I will know that we helped him along on his journey of life. Goodbye, Snookums. We will miss you. Update: Snookums passed away gently, the same evening I wrote this.

Snookums on May 8, 13 days later