Letting go

We got more bad news from the vet yesterday: Sweetheart’s tumor is a carcinoma, which does not respond to chemotherapy.  The vet told me as gently as he could that her life expectancy was a few weeks at best.

Sweetheart seems to have made her own decision, however, as she has stopped eating or drinking, and sleeps most of the time, though she is still lucid and affectionate when awake.  We think it will only be a few more days.  So we’ve made an appointment at the vet for her on Friday, and we hope she’ll be comfortable until then.  That still gives us a day or two to cuddle up to her and let her know we love her, before she leaves us.

I’ve cried so much in the last three days that I feel like I have permanent red eyeliner, but I feel like I’m starting to come out on the other side.  Sweetheart and I spent a long time bonding in a petting session during one of her more wakeful times, which helped a lot: she’s still there and loves me, even though she’s dying, and she knows I love her.  That’s all I can do for her right now, and all she can do for me.

This has all been such a shock: five days ago she seemed healthy, and now she’s at death’s door.  It just underscores how precious the moments are.   I’m glad I spent as much time as I did (as much time as I could) with her when she was healthy.  She was a much-loved, much-petted, and thoroughly adored cat, and she loved me with all her heart.  I wouldn’t change a thing, as heartbroken as I feel.  But it is making me appreciate how fragile life is, once again.