I never thought having a pet put down would be so hard. I put my cat -- Freddy -- down yesterday. It was probably one of the hardest things I've had to do. I thought I was prepared when I took her in, but I soon realized I wasn't ready to let go. She stopped eating cat food about two weeks ago. I tried feeding her moist food, chicken, tuna, cooked beef, deli meat, and I think the last thing she ate was a couple bites of potato chip. I waited all week hoping she would either overcome this illness or pass at home, but I finally took her in after watching her lay around the house all week "sleeping" with her eyes open and feeling every bump in her spine when I would pet her. The suffering had to end. 

The vet didn't really know what was wrong with her - I was told she would have to be "hospitalized" and undergo a few invasive procedures. I didn't want to put Freddy through all of that, especially if her chance of rehabilitating to her normal state was poor. I did decide to stay and watch the anesthetic take over her body. I didn't want to leave her and I felt like I should be there when she took her final breath although I may regret seeing her final moment it because it was very quick and painful to watch, but I'm glad I was with her when she passed.  

I cried all the way home and I'm still feeling the effects as if I've lost a family member or close friend. I loved Fred. I'm completely heartbroken.

I'm so sorry Fred. I know you're in a better place. =(

It's about that time of the year...

The worst part about working in healthcare is watching hundreds of people come into the hospital unexpectedly due to some freak accident or failure of one of their organs and they come in alone. These people lay or sit in hospital beds awake for 8, 16, maybe even 20 hours a day without a single visitor. I can’t even begin to imagine how alone or useless they might feel sitting and wondering where their eight children are or wondering why this had to happen to them. No one is around to comfort them besides the nurse who they just met 5 minutes ago. In 10 more minutes that same nurse is going to bathe them. The doctor might be able to comfort them about their condition, if they would speak to their patients instead of down to them or over their head, but this is very unlikely. I’ve witnessed on various occasions where the doctor speaks to his or her medical students or the nurse about “he” or “she’s” condition directly in front of the patient and doesn’t explain anything to them. The patient looks up intently and confused as the doctor speaks to their students, begins to worry, then the doctor asks the patient if they have any questions and the patient doesn’t even know what to ask. Two seconds later the doctor says, “OK, we’ll do these tests and see you in the morning” and quickly exits the room to repeat the same sequence in the next room.

Graduation is in less than 6 months. I have to be completely honest, I’m a little nervous about having to work everyday for the rest of my life. I really love what I do, but of course I’m nervous about having people’s lives placed in my hands. I have a job now, and I’m not exactly happy with it. I could try a new location, but will I be satisfied there either? Obviously that’s a chance I have to take. I’ve taken an interest in other careers since I started my education with Respiratory Therapy. I could go back to school and get another degree or to continue my education, but who says I’m going to be happier with my next degree or happier in school rather than starting work now? I might as well get over it because I have to start working. If only I enjoyed my job right now; I probably wouldn’t be sitting here typing out all of this nonsense. I really have no option unless I want to be in debt. I would never ask my father to pay for me to continue my education. He’s already done plenty, maybe even too much for me already.  

I’ve been reading a book called 'The Joy Luck Club', again, and it has me thinking a lot about my parents. As bad as it sounds, I know almost nothing about my parents’ past or their childhood. What was it like for them to grow up?  Where did they work? What kind of car was their first car? How old were they when they met each other? Where did they go or what did they do on their first date? How did my father propose to my mother? And many other personal questions pertaining to their lives. I know some things will never be answered.

This was written by my mother’s best friend.

Judi’s Legacy

            I lost my oldest and dearest friend in November 2004. Because of life’s twists and turns, as adults long periods of time would sometimes pass without much communication. When big events --- births, deaths, graduations, weddings --- happened we always made sure to pass on the news or send invitations. And there were usually lengthy notes and pictures in our Christmas cards. Judi was always on the perimeter of my thoughts. And so were her parents, Charlie and Bertha.

            Judi’s family lived down the road from my grandparents and we grew up together. As nearly as I can remember, we first started playing together when I was four and she was five. We were friends for 51 years. The Mousers became my second family and I couldn’t have wanted a better one. I know I must have been a nuisance and intruded on more than one occasion, but they never made me feel unwelcome. I was so proud when Bertha would say she was going to get new living room furniture once she got her girls raised. I was included in meals and trips to Judi’s grandparents’ homes and family reunions. I’m not sure why it happened, but it seemed that every time Judi and I dried the dishes after supper, she had to go to the bathroom and left Bertha and me to complete the task. I was also included in hay baling although that didn’t work out so well. Maybe because I was covered with poison ivy at the time. Or maybe that was the time I stepped on a nail when we went out to gather eggs for breakfast. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the time the yellow jackets stung my shoulder as we played “Follow the Leader” through unused hog houses. And it wasn’t the time Polly, Judi’s 4-H project, nudged me over the fence with her nose. Polly was a cow who thought she was a pet; but I knew better and I still have the scar. At least it was there the last time I saw my knees.

            Sometimes we played a game called “Stretch” which involved throwing a knife “borrowed” from the kitchen so it would stick in the ground near your opponent’s foot. There were some other rules but they seem pretty irrelevant now. I think the whole point of the game was to see if we could get away with something we knew we weren’t allowed to do. We had some tamer indoor activities. They included hiding Charlie’s hat in the freezer. That doesn’t seem so awful until you realize that he never, ever went outside without his hat. On his very bald head. Sometimes we hid things in the bottom of Bertha’s nightly bowl of ice cream. If you pour enough Hershey’s syrup, it’s really hard to see potato chips and pickles. They never suspected a thing. I’m sure they never even heard the not-so-stifled giggling in the kitchen.

            Sometimes we would go to one of Judi’s piano recitals or a school play. I remember trying to help fix her hair before a high school performance of “The Music Man.” She even let me go back stage with her to meet some of her fiends before I joined Charlie and Bertha in the audience. I thought meeting her friends was pretty neat. It never occurred to me that she would be interested in doing the same thing when I was in plays at my school. Once she came to my house, a rare event, and we went to see “West Side Story” at the theater in Grove City. We stayed and watched it over and over and over.

            In our early 20s we drifted apart, caught up with new husbands and babies and jobs and all the other “stuff” that took up so much of our time. But through it all, Judi and her parents we never far from my thoughts. As time went on, I kept thinking how nice it would be to rekindle the friendship but I didn’t want to intrude on Judi’s busy life with Paul and their four children. Judi had so many friends and I was sure I was just one among many and certainly not a very important one. Then Judi got sick.

            Even though her illness was very serious, I still thought there would be time. But I got divorced and began working a part-time job in addition to my full-time job. I was thinking about leaving my second job and planning what I would do with all of my spare time. One of the things I always planned on was spending more time with Judi. I thought we could have a standing lunch date every month or maybe just visit. Because of her illness and my poor hearing, phone conversations were difficult. But we still exchanged brief notes on holidays and birthdays and sometimes in between, just because.

            Then I got a call I could have never imagined. Judi’s husband, Paul, called Thanksgiving weekend. He told me “we lost Mother” today. I assumed he meant Bertha, who had been in failing health for some time. It wasn’t until he continued that I realized he was talking about Judi. It slipped my mind that he always called Judi, “mother.” I didn’t know what to say and I’m sure Paul must have thought I was quite an idiot. Or uncaring. There are no words for what I thought and felt. And I had those plans for when there was more time.

            But there was no more time. During the conversation, Paul mentioned that Judi always spoke so highly of me. I dismissed that because I knew that Judi was the important one in our relationship. A few days later, at the funeral home, he said something along those same lines. Still, I thought it was just something nice to say. I was the lucky one to have had Judi as a friend. I deeply regretted that I had not let Judi know how important she was in my life and how much she meant to me. I let myself off of the hook a little by rationalizing that I was the “hanger-on” and Judi was the center of the friendship. I certainly was not important enough to matter all that much to her. I should have told her and I will forever regret that I waited because I thought there would be time.

            So Judi’s legacy is this: I am telling you, my friend, that you are important to my life. It doesn’t matter at all if I am important to you. You have touched my life, and made me a better person for knowing you. Thank You. God bless you.

Love,

Jan