On Friday at 9 a.m., we took Sandy to the vet.
Given how early it was, I didn’t want to go to sleep. I didn’t want to waste eight or nine of her last hours. Instead, we marthoned season nine of How I Met Your Mother. At 5 a.m., I officially tapped out. I was feeling physically ill. When I woke up three hours later, Tim was still awake. He later told me that he wanted to make sure she didn’t want for anything in her last hours. <sob>
We spent a little more time holding her. Then it was time to go. We opted to do without the carrier. After all, she wasn’t going to scamper away or anything. Plus, I wanted a little more time to hold her. Plus, neither of us wanted to have to bring home an empty carrier.
It was pretty awful, as I’m sure you all know. They gave her a sedative, which made her logey. Then they let us spend more time with her. We cut it shorter than we wanted because every second we kept her around was just more time she was struggling to breathe.
They let me hold her while they did the injection. Within a few seconds, it wasn’t Sandy anymore.
I had readied myself as best I could, but the rapidity of the transformation still shocked me. I was holding Sandy, then I was holding a Sandy-shaped object. Which I still couldn’t let go of for a couple of minutes. But then looking at her vacant body became too much and too horrible. Tim sent me out to the car — where I sobbed uncontrollably — while he took care of the bill and other details.
Tim has been amazing in all of this. He’s held my while I cried, hugged me even when I wasn’t crying and run errands as best he could, given that he’s mourning too.
It’s been intermittent sadness. After we got home from the vet, we both needed to crash. I woke up first and went out to lie on the couch and watch some TV. I realized I was waiting for something: Sandy. Normally, she’d prop her two front paws up on the couch whenever I’d lie down. Then, unless I shooed her away, she’d scamper up and lie on me. I realized I was waiting to see her head appear. When it didn’t…
Every so often, I also glance over to where her bed was. (It’s temporarily been put away because Patches loves it more than her own bed. And I’m not ready to see another cat in it just yet.) That’s just tough.
Last night, I spied a beige shape out of the corner of my eye. Turned out to be some two-liters still in the grocery bag. We’ve agreed to take future sodas out of the bags from now on.
This morning was especially difficult. For months now, I’d come out to the living room, turn on the computer and Sandy would already be meowing for food. Which would drive me crazy (“Just a minute, Sandy. Just a minute, Sandy!”) But today I’d have given anything to do it again.
I guess overall I’m just surprised how exhausting mourning can be. I’ve spent most of the weekend feeling tired — tired for me, which is especially impressive. At one point, I tried a nap, but I just started crying instead. I felt a little more energized after that, though.
For now, there’s not much else to report. I’m not wanting to reach through the screen and strangle customers. So that’s a good sign. I can also bury myself in work for awhile because I have a few projects coming up: some promised overtime, two blog posts for the massage therapist, and I’m probably going to nose around for a few more freelance assignments. My check will be much smaller this month, and the various Sandy bills over the past three weeks came to nearly $750.
And when I get sad, I try to remind myself that she’s not in pain — or at least struggling for breath — anymore, which is good. Doesn’t make it suck any less though.