"hospitalization" poems

Lymphoma There was a fundraising run for lymphoma and other cancers A little notice for it on top of the garbage can at a home grown Jamba Juice right off the BART in Berkeley It hit home: what I was up against People don't run through the streets casually and my cat had lymphoma I couldn't find him last night for the first time He had his weekly appointment and I brought in something that didn't look at all like he was the week before They paged the vet and she came in saying thing like he needed an IV and tests and wasn't there nothing else to do didn't she say that he needs hospitalization--his liver we can't tell you what to do but it would all go in a circle and come back to a suffering being who had come to the end of what science could do for him what she was trying to tell me in her barrage of words came through loud and clear They brought him in with a blanket and a catheter and he struggled until he got warm and then rested I wanted him to see me, as the last thing he saw in this world She took the three syringes out of her white coat Don't hurt him, just don't hurt him my only request There was no pain Only relaxation, sleep and then at last no heartbeat Her ability, her smoothness of execution was perfect and he went limp in my arms not suffering The nurse took his body away "It's the last gift we can give them" she said and I imagined a man, a stereotypical image of a man pacing back and forth in a white coat in front of a lecture hall full of vet students saying that exact thing and there was a serious air in the classroom and some wrote this down, it was so true, sound, capable and final but this woman said it this veterinarian from Michigan and through my tears and grief there was some kind of undercurrent of relief, that there is no more pain for him He no longer suffers and I did all I could do

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Jul 27, 2012

Jul 27, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC

zulu-samperfas

The Last Gift We Can Give Them

Lymphoma There was a fundraising run for lymphoma and other cancers A little notice for it on top of the garbage can at a home grown Jamba Juice right off the BART in Berkeley It hit home: what I was up against People don't run through the streets casually and my cat had lymphoma I couldn't find him last night for the first time He had his weekly appointment and I brought in something that didn't look at all like he was the week before They paged the vet and she came in saying thing like he needed an IV and tests and wasn't there nothing else to do didn't she say that he needs hospitalization--his liver we can't tell you what to do but it would all go in a circle and come back to a suffering being who had come to the end of what science could do for him what she was trying to tell me in her barrage of words came through loud and clear They brought him in with a blanket and a catheter and he struggled until he got warm and then rested I wanted him to see me, as the last thing he saw in this world She took the three syringes out of her white coat Don't hurt him, just don't hurt him my only request There was no pain Only relaxation, sleep and then at last no heartbeat Her ability, her smoothness of execution was perfect and he went limp in my arms not suffering The nurse took his body away "It's the last gift we can give them" she said and I imagined a man, a stereotypical image of a man pacing back and forth in a white coat in front of a lecture hall full of vet students saying that exact thing and there was a serious air in the classroom and some wrote this down, it was so true, sound, capable and final but this woman said it this veterinarian from Michigan and through my tears and grief there was some kind of undercurrent of relief, that there is no more pain for him He no longer suffers and I did all I could do