November 2, 2022
I had to have Ginger put to sleep a couple weeks ago.
She'd gone senile -- I didn't even know that could happen to dogs -- and had weakness in her back legs. The last few months of her life I carried her up the stairs every night so she could sleep on the bedroom floor instead of being alone in the living room. And then carried her back down in the morning so she wouldn't fall down the steps.
And then she developed bladder infections. At least, that's what I thought they were. She'd had one at the end of August which went away almost too quickly, and then another one a month later. She was scheduled for an ultrasound to determine if there was anything else going on since it had come back so soon.
While we waited she started being more hesitant to eat. One day she ate but threw it all up in the morning. That day she didn't eat at all, and only drank a little water. I spent all day trying to get her to eat, to keep going, but near the end of the day I knew it was time. I called the vet, canceled the ultrasound, and scheduled her to go in the next day.
The 20 hours that followed really sucked.
I know I didn't make the call too soon -- when a dog, especially a beagle, stops eating things are very wrong. And she was 15½ years old, and senile, and having trouble getting around. Nothing anybody could do would be worth the little time she'd get.
But when my brain doesn't want to let me sleep I wonder if I didn't wait too long. What was her life like those last few months? What was she going through just because I was being a scared, selfish little boy? What did I force on her while I waited until the choice was effectively made for me?
When my mom died, it was (relatively speaking) easier. Until the morning she had her heart attack she could speak for herself. And once the heart attack happened and only the machines were keeping her alive until everyone could say goodbye, I knew what she told me she'd wanted and I spoke for her. No second-guessing. It hurt in the moment and the days after but I knew I'd done the right thing at the right time.
With Ginger that certainty isn't there. She couldn't tell me what her life was like, whether she was in pain. And it eats at me, when I let it. That a creature so dependent on me might have needed to be let go days, weeks, months earlier and I let her down.
Three weeks on and it still makes me tear up because I might have delayed that last mercy.
In the end, she held up her end of the bargain all those years. I'll never know if I held up mine.
