Linda and Bear Man
Member Since 2009
10/6 condo: viewtopic.php?f=9&t=26807
10/7 Pat's condo (Bear's last moon party): viewtopic.php?f=9&t=26852
10/8 Bridge condo: viewtopic.php?f=9&t=26934
Video Tribute: viewtopic.php?f=9&t=27035
Thank you to everyone for their words of support and comfort. They mean so much to me. It has been wonderful being a part of this community. (Cheryl, thanks for the link to my first post).
I just wanted to open a last condo to say a few more words about Bear Man. Firstly, his last two days were comfortable. He was eating, purring, and was social and cuddly. I was very tempted to change my plans, but had some long talks with friends and my vet. The last rebound came at the expense of three vet visits for fluids and drugs, and a dose of steroids that would have to be tapered down soon, and that would cause other side effects in him. I had taken the week off work to nurse him around the clock. Coming up were a holiday weekend with no access to vet care (other than ER), then a return to work, when he would be alone all day long. It was, in other words, not sustainable. This rebound could last days or weeks, but would inevitably end and he would be sick again. He would need to make visits every week or two to the vet for Aranesp shots to survive his anemia. And finally, as I watched him walk on weak legs, have his seizures, stumble and fall, only to make it from the litter box to his little bed on the bathroom floor, I knew his quality of life was not there. I did not want to wait to see him sick again. I had long prayed for a sign that I would know the time to let him go. I never had expected it to be a quiet and gentle sign from him.
I had had a discussion with my vet a few months ago about how I wanted Bear’s last day to be. I did not want him to be in a crisis, in terrible pain, in a cage in an ER in the middle of the night with strangers. He did not deserve that. I asked the vet to tell me when I was going too far in treating him. We both cried that day, and agreed that Bear deserved to die at home with dignity. A friend mentioned that human hospice patients are given the gift of being made comfortable in their last days. I knew that what I would want for my own death would be to die at home on a good day. I knew that any further prolonging of his life would be for my own sake, not for his. And so, I am deeply grateful that his last two days were filled with the things he loved best – some treats, some fresh window breezes, lots of tummy scratches, and snuggles with his beloved Teddy. He died peacefully in my arms, with his vet crying and stroking him as well.
I found Bear at the local humane society where I was a volunteer. He had been abandoned in an apartment by owners who moved away. He was discovered days later by a landlord. Bear and I bonded the day I first saw him, and he was my brave and gentle companion for 13 years. He is sadly missed by his brother Teddy, who is now so very alone. My life and my little family feel much smaller now. There is a Bear-sized hole in my heart.
On his last morning:
10/7 Pat's condo (Bear's last moon party): viewtopic.php?f=9&t=26852
10/8 Bridge condo: viewtopic.php?f=9&t=26934
Video Tribute: viewtopic.php?f=9&t=27035
Thank you to everyone for their words of support and comfort. They mean so much to me. It has been wonderful being a part of this community. (Cheryl, thanks for the link to my first post).
I just wanted to open a last condo to say a few more words about Bear Man. Firstly, his last two days were comfortable. He was eating, purring, and was social and cuddly. I was very tempted to change my plans, but had some long talks with friends and my vet. The last rebound came at the expense of three vet visits for fluids and drugs, and a dose of steroids that would have to be tapered down soon, and that would cause other side effects in him. I had taken the week off work to nurse him around the clock. Coming up were a holiday weekend with no access to vet care (other than ER), then a return to work, when he would be alone all day long. It was, in other words, not sustainable. This rebound could last days or weeks, but would inevitably end and he would be sick again. He would need to make visits every week or two to the vet for Aranesp shots to survive his anemia. And finally, as I watched him walk on weak legs, have his seizures, stumble and fall, only to make it from the litter box to his little bed on the bathroom floor, I knew his quality of life was not there. I did not want to wait to see him sick again. I had long prayed for a sign that I would know the time to let him go. I never had expected it to be a quiet and gentle sign from him.
I had had a discussion with my vet a few months ago about how I wanted Bear’s last day to be. I did not want him to be in a crisis, in terrible pain, in a cage in an ER in the middle of the night with strangers. He did not deserve that. I asked the vet to tell me when I was going too far in treating him. We both cried that day, and agreed that Bear deserved to die at home with dignity. A friend mentioned that human hospice patients are given the gift of being made comfortable in their last days. I knew that what I would want for my own death would be to die at home on a good day. I knew that any further prolonging of his life would be for my own sake, not for his. And so, I am deeply grateful that his last two days were filled with the things he loved best – some treats, some fresh window breezes, lots of tummy scratches, and snuggles with his beloved Teddy. He died peacefully in my arms, with his vet crying and stroking him as well.
I found Bear at the local humane society where I was a volunteer. He had been abandoned in an apartment by owners who moved away. He was discovered days later by a landlord. Bear and I bonded the day I first saw him, and he was my brave and gentle companion for 13 years. He is sadly missed by his brother Teddy, who is now so very alone. My life and my little family feel much smaller now. There is a Bear-sized hole in my heart.
On his last morning:
