entering the canal

I always think about the processes of being born and dying as that of entering a canal. It might take a while to get to the other side. But once you start down the path, there's no going back. It seems like Juliet has started the journey down her own canal.

For the last few days, she's been fairly cheerful, eating well, mostly able to purr. Her eye has been ugly and growing uglier, and that's been of concern. It means that the tumor is overpowering the prednisone and pushing on the back of her eye.

This morning, I went into my usual routine. We snuggled for a while and I got her purring. Then I got up, checked email, and went downstairs to prepare for hydration and to get kitty breakfast and meds ready. Just as I came back into the room, I realized that Juliet was out of bed. She was in the middle of the bedroom, squatting, and had just finished peeing an enormous puddle onto the rug.

Now, this is a cat who occasionally shows disdain by pooping in the corner of a room, but she's never peed outside of the box except when surprised or frightened. No, she knew this spot was on my walking path to come get her for her meds. I'm fairly certain she was saying "I'm done. Stop medicating me."

Maybe I'm projecting, but it felt exactly like the day that Mark turned to his nurse (just an hour or so before dying) and said "I've had enough, thank you." And that went for everything, but especially meds.

I locked Juliet in the bathroom, which has all the amenities, including a heated floor and a comfy sheepskin rug to lie on top of. And then I went to work for a while.

I had a long phone conversation with Dr. Randy during which he suggested that she might be too weak to make it to the box (not with the muscular squat she was doing) or that she might have a urinary tract infection (unlikely -- no crying, no blood, but I could be wrong). We tossed around the idea of stopping her meds, but I think that would make her even more miserable.

We eventually came up with a plan. I brought her in this afternoon. He gave her an acupuncture treatment two days early, then gave her aquapuncture which included a steroid. We agreed that if she's not better tomorrow, or at the latest, Friday, that's it -- it's time. If she is better, well, I guess we go from there.

I brought her home, she ate a great deal, and she is now resting comfortably on the heated bed. Her eye still looks bad, but it might be a while before it looks any different. I'll call in tomorrow morning and let them know how things look either way.

I'm sad, but I think after the crying I did (was it last week?) I've shifted into some deeper kind of acceptance and understanding. And I certainly don't want to prolong things if to do so causes pain or suffering.