I’m No Longer in Charge

My voice sounds forceful as I instruct my daughter, over the phone, to act quickly. I know it’s easy to give advice when I’m not the one making the decision to pull the plug on a fifteen-year-old dog.

 Sparky isn’t looking so sick that he needs to be put out of his misery like Rocky. When was Rocky put down? Just a few months ago? He was obviously in pain. He didn’t know where he was. Urinating at will. Having seizures. It was a blessing when he died to those who watched the agony he was in.

Sparky’s still attentive. He welcomes my daughter home and sits next to her on the sofa. In fact, while I’m talking, I hear her voice softly soothing Sparky. The only problem with bladder cancer is that he is having trouble voiding.  He wears a white absorbent cloth around his lower abdomen. My daughter learned from a friend there are diapers for dogs. Well, that solves one problem but not the frequency, especially at night. He has to go out every two hours. He whimpers for attention. My son-in-law gets up and lets him out—agreeably. But he’ll be away on business next week. The vet said there will be an immediate problem for Sparky at the end, which is unpredictable. Deciding when to put him down can’t be too early but it can be too late. My daughter tells me that she doesn’t want my 17 year-old grandson to have to handle an emergency if he is home alone. Or, of course, to have Sparky suffer.

I hang up the phone with nothing resolved. But this is not my problem to solve. I saw the issue immediately. There is a two-day window: today and tomorrow, before the new puppy comes on Saturday. Not the best of timing. Again, not my choice.

My phone call with my daughter reminds me of my role as hospice nurse. Telling the obvious to a family that doesn’t want to hear the obvious. They already know the scenario and are avoiding the reality. And here I am—a stranger—telling them awful news. Not a nice position to be in but it was my job.

When I was the admitting nurse in a hospice program, I had to see what my patients didn’t see, or didn’t want to see. I was the one with the education and experience, the one who knew more about the dying process than they did. I could list the choices they had, and I also could say which choice I thought was best.

Since when do I have the education or experience about the lives of dogs and their illnesses. Much less what would be the best choice of action as they creep closer to death. Orchestrating the final stage of Sparky’s life is not on my to-do list.

I still have an inner core of the nurse practitioner authoritative personality. It is embedded in my DNA. I am in charge. Suddenly I see myself as insufferable. Here am I, 82 years old, newly aware of this side of myself. It’s hard to stifle the assertive role that I played for years. I’m quick to give unsolicited advice. Seems I don’t take the time to consider the words I’m going to share with an unwitting receiver.

My daughter calls later in the day. She and her husband have come up with a timetable for next week. My son-in-law will be gone on Monday and Tuesday and my daughter, and her son, will share letting Sparky out during the night. She made an appointment with the vet that cared for Rocky. Sparky will be euthanized after her husband comes home on Wednesday.  

There are reasons for this schedule. It involves the families’ abilities to struggle with the hand they are dealt, what they want for Sparky, and the choice they made to get a new puppy at this time. Not for me to judge. 

It’s difficult to shed the status that I held while I worked as a nurse practitioner. It’s so inbred that I hardly notice it when I give people unsolicited advice. The hard part is to let go of my judgment of what is best for people who have no need or desire to hear what I think.

We all reach old age after developing our personalities over the course of our lives and in the end we are a cumulation of all that we have experienced. Mine has been of a skilled health care provider. I have seen mostly successes with the information and the care that I gave to my patients. I’m no longer in that role. But I do have a lifetime of experience. I know that the best gift I can give someone is to accept them for what they are, understand where they are going, and listen to them as they struggle to make their own decisions.

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