My good friend John called tonight. Actually he called the other morning at 3:30am which caused me to roar with laughter, once I realized there was no emergency and he just wanted to gab. John is a philosopher which makes for intriguing conversations.
He asked how FORD was doing. (She is sleeping soundly now.)
I had cancelled my evening plans at the last minute- I was supposed to join a focus group for 2 women writing a book- when she awoke and seamed restless. I couldn’t bear the possibility that her restlessness might increase into duress without me there to take care of her, and intervene if necessary. So, I called, apologized, and cancelled. Then I crawled into bed and snuggled up to spoon her, rubbed her tiny tummy and we dozed into a lovely nap!
A couple of hours later, John called and we began processing the latest scenarios of our lives.
I had been thinking, once again, about this life and the value of it. Who determines one’s value- the self or the other? Do we make that determination based on power, fear, or love? Is the value of a life renegotiated, especially in instances of decline? If so by whom? Who gets to make the choices?
Much of this stems for reading a gem of a little book written by the late Chuck Meyers, A Good Death. In the book, Meyers presents research and testimony from his years as a hospital chaplain and workshop facilitator regarding the circumstances and desires of the dying. Meyers argues that the onslaught of medical technology has left us with what he calls “technological imperative”, which often serves technology better than it serves the patient. I think his point is well made, which is to say that in my observation and experience, I concur. It boils down to this: when asked, most people say they don’t want grandma or uncle billy to die without trying every procedure possible to “save” them, no matter what the cost- physical pain, emotional, or monetary. Yet when grandma or uncle billy are asked, they say they want to die at home, or in the garden, surrounded by those they love and without all sorts of tubes and monitors and rib cracking shock treatments. A good death. Makes sense, doesn’t it?
Death of a dog can be more complicated, since there’s no advance directive that accepts a paw print for agreement.
But to paraphrase Patricia McConnell, PhD., there are times when it makes sense to anthropomorphize. If that is so- situations and circumstances around death must be one of them.
My friend’s ex brother-in-law was a straight and narrow, no-nonsense vet who used to tell his family, “When I start going downhill, treat me like your favoite horse. Shoot me and put me out of my misery.” Ironically, he spent the last year of his 62 on earth incapacitated from an inoperable brain tumor. He was stuck in bed unable to do anything to take care of himself, frustrated that he couldn’t speak, in pain from the cancer, suffering, and there was no way to end the misery.
I’ve often thought that there is truth to the statement that we are able to be more faithful and loving to companion animals than to other humans, when we are able to end their suffering with a mercy-filled, permanently sedating injection. I was sure, and have never doubted, that that was the case with Miss Maya who left this world that way in January 2004, while cradled in my tear speckled arms. Maya was running 2-3 miles a day on the ranch in Colorado until 3 days before her death.
But FORD is another story, another life. Both dogs chose to spend their time with me (how lucky I am to keep getting re-rescued!)
FORD and I long ago lost the rich life we once had: riding together in my Mazda pick-up, romping through mountains, deserts, production offices and film stages. She is my FORD Escort and my FORD Explorer only in memory now.
FORD is no longer useful in the way that she was for so long- she can’t crash a party with me and be the belle of the ball, protect me from drunken men staggering to the truck window at a red light, hike to the top of our favorite peak, or be the darling at the film shoot, or the coolest dog in the campground! She can’t really do anything useful. She sleeps. She eats and drinks. She eliminates. And she loves. She still licks my fingers when I wipe her eyes, she still burrows her head in my hand or against my leg, she still breathes with the rhythm of my breaths. She is.
I am daring, maybe foolish or stupid, to write about this as I won’t even discuss it with many people. There is a bias toward euthanasia that decides ahead of time and circumstance and without regard to individual character and situation what is the “humane” thing to do. (who determines “humane”? based on all the human depravity going on in the world today…) OR there’s a selfish insistance to “keep Fluffy alive, I can’t bear to lose her” which neglects the other and focuses only on the suffering self, the lover losing the beloved.
I am trying to find another way- our way, her way. I am endeavoring to be found faithful, by FORD, as her life winds down.
I can imagine that other beings (and I think that I am one of them) would not have worked so hard to be mobile (she was “supposed” to be paralyzed due to spinal cord compression- that diagnosis, via MRI, came over 3 years ago, while she was still herding cattle & hiking at 8-10,000 ft. el.). I can imagine that other beings (again, I think that I am one of them) might be too world and road weary to hang on for very long when multiple organ failure sets in (this happened in March). And I can imagine that I would want to die in Colorado- in the place that feeds my soul, not in the humidty and mold that aches my joints and clogs my sinus cavities. But I’ve never had the fire in my belly that FORD has in hers.
I had planned on FORD dying this summer- at the ranch. I had envisioned a pastoral denouement at sunset, at the beginning of our summer there. She would be buried next to Maya and Tory and we would cry and sing and toast her with champagne as the Canada Geese honked overhead. Then Clementine and I could hike and heal and I would be well into my next major relationship with a dog before returning to Texas in August. I had it all figured out. After all, I had a career as a coordinator. I do know how to be in charge!
But FORD wasn’t ready to die then and there. Againt all odds, and every prediction, she enjoyed a delightful summer of being taken to favorite spots along trails, peaks, streams, and campgrounds along with tottering about the ranch and even nipping a horse’s nose when he got too close! She revelled in being there- eating like a mad-dog, breathing in the crisp, clean mountain air and she remained bright, intent, and alive, very alive. Until the end- I stayed an extra week, which turned into three, and finally could no longer postpone coming back to Austin to prepare Bark for Peace! for the Texas State Fair. I thought she was gonna die while traveling cross country- which as one friend pointed out might not be the worst thing ever- we loved our road trips, they were always legendary.
We’ve been back in Austin for over two months now. Hospice- the compassionate care given at the end of life, continues. It’s about being useful to the other. No extraordinary measures, just companionship, good food and good company. Maybe that’s all we ever need.
This is hospice and hospice is about love.
I am going now to once again snuggle and share sweet dreams with her, my brave companion of the road…
