Magical Truthsaying Bastard Shadesong (shadesong) wrote,
Magical Truthsaying Bastard Shadesong

After Jack.

* Adam met us at the vet's. I won't go through all of the horrible wrenching sobs. What I will say is that we gave him hugs and final scritches from everyone, with the last and biggest hug from Elayna, who's in Florida this week.

* The vet confirmed in detail that there was absolutely no way at all that Jack could live. Massively metastasized cancer; it was probably too late when he first showed signs of Something Wrong. I will not list some of the reasons the vets know there was no chance, because some are so horrifying that the sentences are running in a constantly-escalating loop in my head, and they don't have to be in yours. Just - our decision was right. It was the only possible decision.

* (I'd wanted to push for the ultrasound earlier. As it turns out, that would not have saved him, but it would have saved him some of the pain. Next time I will trust myself more and be more aggressive.)

* (The ultrasound was $340; it was worth it to know for absolute certain that we were doing the right thing. The euthanasia and cremation are $210, I think the tech said. They're letting us pay for that later. Which is good, because we couldn't have right now.)

* Adam and Judah and I were there for him at the end. We petted and kissed him and told him what a very good boy he had always been.

* He went instantly. Almost as soon as the butterfly needle went in, he laid his head down and left. He was so ready to go.

* I couldn't bear to leave his body in the room. I had to go back and cry again.

* I have never done this before. I haven't had a pet die since I was ten.

* When we go home, we cleaned. Judah took the lead, because I can't stand the smell of the floor-cleaning stuff; Jack had lost bladder and bowel control the last few days, and my bedroom and office, his sickrooms, reeked and were streaked with his fluids and semisolids. I cleaned up syringes, fluid bags, amoxicillin, painkillers, and Judah swept, mopped, scrubbed. I don't know if the duvet is destroyed; I'll run it through the washer a few times today. Saturday, we will paint my bedroom. We will transform it into not-Jack's-sickroom.

* Adam and Judah played video games in separate rooms. I curled up on the couch. Adam wrote a post. Judah wrote a poem.

* The other cats haven't reacted because Jack has been sequestered this whole time; they're used to not seeing him.

* There is a Jack-shaped hole in the world, and none of us yet really understand how to live around that hole.

*Today the guys go back to work. I am allowing myself the day off.
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