Post by pinky on Jan 12, 2009 23:00:55 GMT -4
Last night I returned from my boyfriend's and took Mal out to run on the blanket. She had definitely taken a turn for the worse. She moved slowly and unsteadily, and she would stop often, breathing hard. I noticed, too, that while she was like a water balloon she was also emaciated. I burst into tears and said, "It's time, Mal. It's time."
This morning I got an appointment at 9:30. Mal's usual vet (the lady) wasn't available, but the male vet who cared for Fuzz was, and that was fine--he's exceptionally compassionate, having called me when he heard that Fuzz died. He came out to us in the waiting room when he realized that we had been waiting for a bit to explain that he was a bit behind and that we wouldn't have to wait too much longer. I told him that it was ok--that we were having our special time together.
And we were. Mal lay in my hands, eyes closed, as I caressed her. She had done the same thing last night, and that too told me that it was her time.
I had no idea that the vet would ask me if I wanted to be present for the euthanasia, but he did. I said yes (and I didn't regret it). In brief, she was given inhalation anesthesia first so that she wouldn't experience any discomfort from the injection. We talked about her and her condition. After the injection he checked for a heartbeat, then picked her up, kissed her, and handed her to me. I put her back in the purple pumpkin, and he hugged me. He offered to have a gal come in and take care of the payment transaction there so that I didn't have to stand out in the waiting room, but I said I was ok. I finished writing my note to the other vet and gave it to them to put in her mailbox, paid, and took my precious Mal home.
I realized then that I had been sobbing on and off, but that what I needed was to have a good cry. So I had one.
Then I went to work, where my colleagues did a good job of distracting me.
Now that I am home again, it is more of a struggle. I haven't gone into my bedroom, where the empty cage will stare back at me. I know I have to move Mal from the fridge to the freezer. I may be a mile from the ocean, but the ground is still hard.
So as the vet said: the burial will have to wait, but Mal's spirit is free. Lovely.
Mal, you were my first dwarfie, my first adopted hamster. You loved your toilet paper; your nests were works of art. Unlike the Chinese, you would see me and come to the side of the cage, standing on your hind legs and hoping I'd take you out. You would also sometimes take a break from running to curl up by me for several minutes and let yourself be petted. Those times were very very special.
You are very very special. Rest in peace, my Malloria.
This morning I got an appointment at 9:30. Mal's usual vet (the lady) wasn't available, but the male vet who cared for Fuzz was, and that was fine--he's exceptionally compassionate, having called me when he heard that Fuzz died. He came out to us in the waiting room when he realized that we had been waiting for a bit to explain that he was a bit behind and that we wouldn't have to wait too much longer. I told him that it was ok--that we were having our special time together.
And we were. Mal lay in my hands, eyes closed, as I caressed her. She had done the same thing last night, and that too told me that it was her time.
I had no idea that the vet would ask me if I wanted to be present for the euthanasia, but he did. I said yes (and I didn't regret it). In brief, she was given inhalation anesthesia first so that she wouldn't experience any discomfort from the injection. We talked about her and her condition. After the injection he checked for a heartbeat, then picked her up, kissed her, and handed her to me. I put her back in the purple pumpkin, and he hugged me. He offered to have a gal come in and take care of the payment transaction there so that I didn't have to stand out in the waiting room, but I said I was ok. I finished writing my note to the other vet and gave it to them to put in her mailbox, paid, and took my precious Mal home.
I realized then that I had been sobbing on and off, but that what I needed was to have a good cry. So I had one.
Then I went to work, where my colleagues did a good job of distracting me.Now that I am home again, it is more of a struggle. I haven't gone into my bedroom, where the empty cage will stare back at me. I know I have to move Mal from the fridge to the freezer. I may be a mile from the ocean, but the ground is still hard.
So as the vet said: the burial will have to wait, but Mal's spirit is free. Lovely.
Mal, you were my first dwarfie, my first adopted hamster. You loved your toilet paper; your nests were works of art. Unlike the Chinese, you would see me and come to the side of the cage, standing on your hind legs and hoping I'd take you out. You would also sometimes take a break from running to curl up by me for several minutes and let yourself be petted. Those times were very very special.
You are very very special. Rest in peace, my Malloria.
