The weird, complicated process that is ending suffering and why it’s NOT the worst part of my job.
***Since euthanasia can be a really sad subject, the pictures in this blog are animals who were saved from euthanasia***
I was going on my usual neighborhood run with the dogs and was coming up on a neighbor’s house who had a dog that I had treated recently. In my tired, oxygen deprived brain, I was thinking – like I had been for the past several weeks – “I wonder how Axle is doing? I should call them.” Then, I remembered with a sinking sensation: “Axle is gone, stupid, you euthanized him last week.” Then, of course, I spent the last agonizing miles going through all of his labs and imaging in my brain trying to figure out what had been wrong with him and if I had missed anything or if I could have done better somehow. This all got me to thinking though about the oddity that is euthanasia and all the weird components that go into it.
The most common assumption about my job that I get is that euthanasias must be the hardest part of the job. For ME, for the vast majority of the cases, euthanasias are (and you’re going to hate me for this) actually one of the easier parts of the job. You don’t have to figure anything out, I have a set way I do it EVERY time, and the only challenge is hitting a vein – which I’ve gotten pretty good at. So, between the 19 year old cat that weighs 3lbs here for euthanasia or the 8 year old english bulldog with all the skin, ear, and eye problems and the owner who refuses to keep up on treatment and wanted to know why you couldn’t just give them antibiotics every 2 weeks? I’ll take that euthanasia, thank you.
So, what’s wrong with me? Am I souless? Do I not care about the love and devotion people have put into their life time companion? Why do I not break down crying and sobbing with the owners every time I have to stop an animal’s heart with an injection and wonder if, when I die I will be punished or not? So, hear me out.
- The vast majority of euthanasias are a good thing. Animals who have reached their limits of life’s comfort and are mostly miserable everyday. Pets and friends who no longer want to get out of bed, can’t keep food down, get confused about where they are, are becoming skeletal despite a good appetite, have a mass that is taking over their body or has ruptured and is bleeding out. Basically, giving these pets the gift of taking away their pain is almost relieving. It is difficult for the client because they are struggling with the decision to euthanize – something we don’t have to deal with (though would like to) in the human world – and are losing their best friend. But, as an outsider, looking in, all I see is a pet that has run out of options for seeking comfort and I’m just sparing them the agonizing wait of slowly withering into nothing, starving to death, bed sores, fear and anxiety as they slowly suffocate from heart failure, daily pain that prevents them from any normal functions.
- Vets, especially the ones who have been practicing awhile, have established deep, dark pits of space where they take hard emotions and bury them down deep. We get all the emotions thrown at us on a daily basis – happy, sad, stress, guilt, anger, frustration, irritation, self loathing, client loathing, patient loathing, public loathing, loathing (generic), annoyance, etc, etc, and if we actually take the time out of our day to process these emotions, we would never get all the patients seen that we are required to see (not to mention the ones that get shoved in when there is no time and the ones we have to send away that hate us and write terrible things about us). Therefore, to survive as a professional and a human, who then has to have functioning relationships with real people away from work, we have gotten super good at flaring with that emotion and then shoving it down into our deep dark caves of oblivion. When you’ve dealt with all that in a day and then you have to euthanize something. This is straightforward. And….
- We euthanize animals ALL THE TIME. All day, everyday, with extra ones being added right before holidays for some reason. Eventually, a thick callous is formed and it just becomes another task in our day. If we’ve been working with a patient for a long time, if the need for euthanasia is sudden and traumatic, sure, it’s way harder on us emotionally, we’re not monsters.
- If we feel that a euthanasia is NOT warranted, we will talk to the owner and try to convince them that maybe this is a treatable or completely fabricated illness (I had one cat euthanasia on a 4 yo cat who was just prancing around the euth room, purring, rubbing my hands and the complaint was she hadn’t pooped in 4 months. I finally convinced them that if that were the case, she would be dead and that she was very likely pooping in a place they haven’t found). I have stopped euthanasia on animals that were being put down for being “miserably itchy all the time” and had no hair. Turns out, they just needed flea medication. Sometimes, medications haven’t been tried and even chronic diseased patients can get several more months of relief with the introduction of these meds. Sometimes, the owner is just not equipped to care for the patient and another owner can afford and dedicate the time to give the animal a great quality of life. But, I’ll tell you what, broaching the topic is somewhat a delicate thing as the owner has likely already been stewing over this decision and introducing even a tinge of doubt can be traumatic for the owner especially if it comes down to a money issue. At the same time, we can’t afford to rescue every animal ourselves and the animal has to be pretty “sellable” (super sweet, not a sketch ball, not super complicated) to convince other people to adopt (as bad as that sounds.)
- Finally, yes, euthanasias affect us. We are not monsters. I can walk into a room, connect with the owners and feel their sadness, feel their depression and their guilt. I make it my priority (after confirming that the animal needs to be euthanized) to make the owner not feel guilt or regret. I talk to them and console and re and reaffirm that this IS the BEST decision they could be making and that it is the RIGHT decision. My job is to the client at this point and once they have rightfully decided to end a patient’s suffering, they need to know that a professional in this field 100% agrees with them. But the WORST euthanasias, by far, besides the obvious when you have worked with a patient for a long time and know the animal and the owner and their full life story, is when there is either an old man, a hardened Clint Eastwood type man, or children in the room. I have a very hard time when that old, withered man who looks like he hasn’t cried since he was a toddler and is ashamed of even that time, has big fat tears welling up and he doesn’t want you to see him. It’s okay, you can cry, I won’t tell anyone. Or children when they seemingly understand what’s going on and then once I say the patient has passed then they get a wild, panicked look in their eyes and ask “You mean he’s DEAD!?!” and then burst into tears or screaming.
Euthanasia is easily the saddest part of the human/animal bond. Whether it’s saying goodbye to a best friend you’ve had since you were a child, or the only thing left you have to link you to your husband who died last year, or even in an unexpected emergency, it’s never any easier, but it is also a sense of relief. Our job as veterinarians is to make sure you make the best decision for the animal and make sure you feel okay with it. When it’s clear cut, nothing could be easier for me than to decide to end the suffering of the animal and to be it’s advocate when the owner’s mind and heart are understandably muddled with emotion.
That all being said, it still sucks.
