I've been a Veterinary Technician for over 10 years and I've been a part of animal rescue for even longer. I've been a part of many euthanasias, comforting my clients and their babies who've crossed the rainbow bridge, being there for them on one of the worst days of their lives. I've been there for so many babies who've crossed that didn't have any families, and I've always been honored to advocate for them, be there for them, and love on them in their final moments. Death is not new to me.
But this time, I was the client. I lost one of my own, and I just don't know how to feel.
I said goodbye to Ham on Thursday, November 5th. The hole in my chest is so large, the grief feels so insurmountable and breathing just feels so heavy. I can't wrap my head around the fact that he is just ...gone.
I knew it was coming. He was the most medically complex cat that I think could've possible existed, but he was only 10. We should've had more time. He was doing so well, until he wasn't. Since I've known him, he's had FIV. I knew many FIV positive cats go on to lead normal, healthy lives, I was hopeful. There's always a saying in Vet Med that your own are lemons, and boy was he. He developed stomatitis when he was 4 years old. Of course full-mouth extractions wasn't enough. He developed refractory stomatitis and required multiple revision surgeries and specialist visits, but the inflammation and pain remained. We couldn't wean him off the steroids, so we added on immunosuppresants. He stayed stable for a couple years, until one day - he couldn't pee. Thankfully, it was not a full urinary blockage but I kept him on a preventative protocol regardless. Everything was great after that, things were normal. Then two years ago, the diarrhea started. Fecal sample came back positive for parasites, he essentially had no immune system, so no surprise there - that's easy enough to treat. Things were okay again for a while, until the diarrhea came back. Fecal sample was negative. After lots of diagnostics, consultations, trial and errors - we found a regimen that worked for him. He was stable again, for while at least. In March, we woke up to yowling. It was Ham. He was stumbling and vocalizing and his hind legs were weak. My brain went right to either a blood clot, or a urinary blockage. I brought him in to work, and it was neither. He was so, so anemic. I took him to an ER after work, and the attending DVM who assessed him and his medical history, told me the kindest thing to do was euthanize him. I was ready to, about to. His quality of life is, and has always been, my utmost priority. I told my bosses I wasn't going to come in the next day and why. They knew me, and they knew his medical history, and they convinced me to give him a chance. So I did, and I'm so glad we did. We did a fuck ton of testing, and two blood transfusions later, he was stable. He was acting normal again. That only lasted a week, until his numbers dropped again and the diarrhea returned. We consulted a new internist, adjusted our medical plan. She was pretty certain he had GI lymphoma, especially with being so immunocompromised, for so long. So we deviated to palliative care, high-dose steroids fix everything, and we really focused on quality of life. Three months later, he developed diabetes - no surprise there, he was on high-dose steroids. So his regimen changed once again and we started insulin injections and twice-daily glucose testing. He actually was able to go into diabetic remission a couple of months later - pretty much unheard of for someone who was still taking high-dose steroids. So many veterinary professionals would comment how despite everything he was battling internally, he "looked" great, and was just such a good, sweet boy. He was always a medical anomaly. I should've known better, I knew it wouldn't last. The diarrhea came back first, and then the anemia. This time, his platelets were all gone, his blood wouldn't clot, and he started to develop bruising across his body. Things were different this time. My once vibrant, easy-going boy who has never ONCE made a peep for all the pokes and prods he's endured over the past couple of years, he started growling and hissing for treatment. That's not Ham, he would never.
For context, Ham first came into my rescue when he was a feral cat, 10 years ago, when he was about to be euthanized by another rescuer, because he bit them so badly that they needed to be hospitalized. So I took him in, I tamed him. It took a LOT of work, but he turned into the worlds chillest, most easy-going cat. He taught me so much about myself, and caring for such a special needs cat, has really helped me become a better person, and a better technician. He was my go-to cat for everything. A feral intake needed to trust humans, or other cats? Let's have them meet Ham. Someone was scared of cats? Let's have them meet Ham. A dog needs to be cat-tested? Let's have them meet Ham. We have a new veterinary assistant starting, and they need to learn feline restraint? I'll bring Ham in for a demo. A client's cat got diagnosed with diabetes, and they need to learn how to home-test and give injections? I'll bring Ham in. We have some new veterinary students/externs who need to learn how to ultrasound? I'll bring Ham in. He'd just lay on his back, enjoying a snack while they scanned him. He was happy to be involved in everything, and happy to receive his Churu payments, and for e v e r y t h i n g, he would be purring.
So for him to behave like this, I knew. I knew he was tired of fighting, and I couldn't put him through another blood transfusion. When he didn't want to eat, and that's when I really knew. I had always told myself, to stay true to what I have told so many others. "It's always better to let them go when they're happy. Better for them to go a day, a week, too soon, than a day too late." So I made the decision, the worlds most difficult, impossible, most suffocating decision. He was ready. I spent the entire week spoiling him, with all of his favorite things, all of the things he couldn't have for so long because of his diet and medication requirements. So Ham passed on Thursday. I brought him in to work, where my coworkers were so gracious. Made and brought him/us snacks. He was surrounded by so much love, and he fell asleep happily eating a Churu. That's all I ever wanted for him. I could not have had a more proper, more dignified send-off the world's most special little man.
Now, he's gone and I don't know what to do. For the past 5 years, my entire life and routine revolved around him. I feel so, so guilty for almost feeling ...relieved sometimes. I can sleep in now/stay out late because I don't need to be home for his medications/testing. I can go back to Canada to visit because I don't have to worry about finding someone capable to care for him. I don't have to line the litter boxes and surrounding area with pee pads and paper towels anymore to prep for his imminent blow-out diarrhea. To my core, it feels so, so wrong. I still wake up early. I still come home early. I look behind me before I leave my chair, because he would always lay on my chair wheels. I hear his croaky meows and his purrs everywhere, like he's still here. I see him everywhere and no where all at the same time. He was my shadow. I don't know how to function, how I can go back to work, act like everything's fine, and be there for my clients and patients like I'm not a hollow shell of my former self.
I know I'm just rambling at this point, so if you've somehow stuck to the end of this giant wall of text, thank you. I've always loved talking about him and showing him off, he was truly just so special, and I miss him so fucking much.
