Euthanasia Doesn't Have To Be A Bad Word

“Humane Euthanasia” . . .

I used to share the same visceral reaction that most pet lovers experience when they hear this phrase uttered by a veterinary professional - squishing my eyes shut, wrinkling my nose, bowing my head, and not wanting to hear any more words or thinking about this topic anymore.

As a veterinary professional myself, I oftentimes still have trouble broaching the subject of humane euthanasia to clients for fear of deeply upsetting them, especially if the subject hasn’t entered their own minds at all when their pets are gravely ill. What if they aren’t ready to contemplate that option? What if they feel like I am “giving up” on their pet?

I realize now that all of those questions are legitimate. Some pet owners aren’t ready to contemplate the option of humane euthanasia, and some pet owners will go to great lengths to treat their beloved best friends, who may or may not recover well from their illness. But, these questions that I ask myself often stem from not wanting someone else to be angry or upset with me. Sometimes, I tread more lightly around the subject of humane euthanasia than I should.

When my soul dog, Potter, was diagnosed with an aggressive heart-based cancer in 2015, I was that pet owner. I didn’t want to even turn the concept of humane euthanasia over in my brain. His cancer diagnosis came way too quickly all on its own for my brain to comprehend and digest, and I couldn’t handle thinking about a procedure that would take my best friend away from me forever.

Luckily or unluckily, depending on how you look at it, my family and friends (some of whom were my coworkers), never took me aside during those tumultuous two weeks and discussed the option of humane euthanasia with me. Perhaps, it was because they were pondering the same questions that I often do. Perhaps, they thought that, because I was a veterinarian, I would know when “the right time” would be to make that decision. Perhaps, they were just trying to be incredibly kind and respectful of my feelings.

I spent the last two weeks of Potter’s life - between his diagnosis and his passing - worrying and fretting, all the while trying (and failing) to be brave and strong for him. I worried that his heart would literally burst, and he would collapse and die in a sheer instant. This may sound a bit dramatic, but it was a legitimate possibility, according to the emergency doctor who diagnosed him. I worried that I would lose him suddenly while I was at work and wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to him. I worried that I wasn’t doing enough for him to make him comfortable. I worried that I was doing too much - I had elected to start him on a chemotherapy regimen - and that I was subjecting him to treatments that weren’t going to help him substantially. What I didn’t do was stop and truly enjoy the little moments of each day that I still had with him.

It is amazing that hindsight always seems to be 20:20. If I could have seen the photos of Potter that I was taking over those last two weeks of his life like I have seen over and over again over the last five years since losing him, perhaps my perception of how he was doing and what he was struggling through would have been different.

I think that one of the biggest reasons why people skirt around the concept of humane euthanasia is guilt. People feel guilty that they are letting their pets down, that they can’t or won’t do more for their pets, that they don’t have the right to “play God,” that they themselves are giving up. I can say these words honestly because that is how I felt five years ago. I was solely responsible for Potter’s welfare - he depended upon me for everything - and I was letting him down.

But, where does one draw the line between continuing to fight the fight and letting go? That line varies for everyone. That line depends on our previous experiences, our morals, our financial constraints, the actions of our beloved pets, and the thoughts and feelings of our reliable peers. That line may move forward and backward, too, depending on the situation.

No matter what, that line is, at best, grey and partially transparent. It is not a solid black line that is easily visualized and understood. And, sometimes, our guilt and anticipatory grief muddy and push that line around a lot.

I was forced to contemplate the decision for humane euthanasia of my best buddy on June 12th, 2015. Within three hours, he was gone. I knew that morning when he wouldn’t take a walk down the street with me before I had to leave for work - walking was his most favorite thing to do in the whole world - that he was telling me he was truly tired. When I think back on that day, I am partially surprised that I made that fateful decision so quickly. There was really no pondering involved. It was time, and my brain knew it. It didn’t seem to matter that my heart was screaming a completely different answer. My brain decided to go on autopilot that morning. Perhaps, it was my way of shielding myself from the devastating loss I was about to experience. I had promised Potter that I would be brave and strong for him when he needed to go, and I wasn’t going to back out of my promise. My brain shielded my heart that day, if only for a few moments. Within three hours, the whole ordeal - from my decision to Potter’s last breath - was over.

But, in every other aspect, it was just the beginning . . . of my intense grief, my guilt, my what if’s and maybes, and my 20:20 hindsight. I had lost the better part of me, and it felt entirely my fault. I felt that way for a very long time, and still to this day, I feel like I am a shell of my former self.

However, somewhere along the way, as I stumbled along through my life, I forgave myself for making that decision on June 12th, 2015. Maybe, my heart had finally caught up with my brain. Maybe, I was finally hearing the words that I so freely share with clients who are facing similar situations: this is not your fault, you are giving your best friend peace without discomfort, you are making the best decision that you can make given the circumstances you’ve been dealt with.

No matter the reasoning, and no matter the length of time it took me to get to that point of forgiveness, I finally realized that Potter had truly been exhausted that last morning of his life. He wasn’t going to get better, and there certainly was no hope at all for a miracle cure. My decision to let him go was the last kindness that I could offer to him, my very best friend in the whole world. As many people often say at times like these, I didn’t want him to suffer.

“Humane Euthanasia” . . .

This phrase has such an innately negative connotation for us as pet lovers. But, euthanasia doesn’t have to be a bad word, and it doesn’t have to be a concept that is danced around between veterinarians and pet owners, neither wanting to be the first to utter the phrase or make the suggestion.

Euthanasia literally translates to “good death.” It represents the chance to allow us to give our beloved best friends the most selfless gift that we have to offer in their time of need . . . the gift of peace without discomfort, without suffering. We are allowed to provide a beautiful and controlled send-off, surrounding our pets with all of the people who love them.

As a veterinarian, I no longer skirt around the topic of humane euthanasia as I used to do. It is still a very sensitive subject - how could it be anything less? - but, I approach it as the opportunity for a person or family to give their pet a beautiful gift. Guilt will still enter the picture - it almost always does - but, hopefully, it will be no match for the feeling of relief that washes over us when we see our pets finally at peace.

Euthanasia is not the end result of a failed attempt at treatment, nor is it representative of “giving up” on a beloved pet. Rather, it allows us to provide one last, beautiful treatment for our best friend. Perhaps, I will go so far as to say that euthanasia represents the ultimate sacrifice of love that we have to offer our best friends. It represents the chance that we create for ourselves to say farewell and “see you later” in a controlled and peaceful way. It gives us the chance to create the most beautiful and peaceful send-off possible, a send-off worthy of their unconditional love for us.