Enough Already!

Epilogue

Well, I think I’m going to put a period at the end of this long sentence. It has been quite a ride to say the least. The girls, Ariella and Raquel, are doing great. Of course, you never know how hard it will be to be a parent until you know. People tell you it’s rough, people tell you your life will never be the same. There is just no way, however, to know the truth of those words until you’ve lived it.

Night wakings, sleep deprivation, crying, colic, rocking until your back aches, wishing for just an hour, one hour to yourself, and then realizing what they mean by your life will never be your own again. And then you sit, in a dimly lit room in the middle of winter, looking out at the window of the nursery, at the overcast sky at the break of dawn, rocking your baby snuggled up in your arms, and you realize that there is nothing else that you’d rather be doing. And the winter morning somehow doesn’t seem as cold and dark as it used to. You are warmed by the love that has grown inside you. And then you realize, you will never be the same either. And that’s a good thing.

Thank you all for your support along this journey, which has not ended, but simply taken a new turn.

I plan to keep this blog as is and let it stand as a beacon of hope for those of you out there who still suffer. When I get time, I intend to start a new blog called “Finding a New Gear: Motherhood after Infertility”. So stay tuned.

The Bo Bo Memorial Sun Spot

Well, she’s gone.

She kind of left little by little at first. There were the Sub Q fluids. The weight loss. But the sweetness never waned. There was always the sweetness. The paw that she would hit me with to say “hey, scratch my chin” And then she would actually hold my arm in her paws to make sure I scratched her chin as I cradled her in my arms.

Her sweetness would make you a diabetic. And she never lost that up until the moment she died. There were the Sub Q fluids. Then she couldn’t jump up on the couch so I put a foot stool up there to help her. Same thing with the bed. Then she couldn’t get up to go pee so she peed on me and the bed. Then she couldn’t climb up on the stair step to the kitchen counter that I put the cats’ food on so I put her in the extra bedroom with her own food during the day.

Then she couldn’t walk without staggering. She couldn’t sit in the sun spots around the house w/o laying down. Then she lay in my arms like a wet noodle; just staring up at me w/o sleeping.

I tortured myself with how to give her a good death b/c at this point, that was all I had to offer. I prayed she would just die in her sleep like my last cat, Autumn. But Autumn died alone. I didn’t want that for Bo Bo. Injection in a Vet’s office? No. I wanted to be there with her and help her make this transition. She was with me for half of my life, I had to be there with her at the last point in her life. She was my baby.

I called the vet and got on the “list”. Actually, I find that my vet is much more compassionate that my RE. He put us on for the next day. My husband came home from Cinci Tuesday night. We slept w/ Bo in between us as usual (she’s done that for the whole 12 yrs. we’ve been together). She peed on the bed as usual b/c she was too weak to get up to go pee.

We got up at 7:00 and had breakfast. I carried Bo Bo into the living room and put her on the pillows she’s slept on for at least the past 2 years. She acted like she wanted to get up. Lately, she’s just been staying where you pose her b/c she is so weak. She traveled around the house; sun spot hunting. She kept going to the places where the sun spots usually fall in the day time. The window in the front of the house, the sun room, the place in front of the door to the carport. But the sun spots were not open for business then.

Finally, I had my breakfast and the sun spot fell into the sunroom and she motored over there. It really seemed like she was rallying and by 8:30 a.m. (CST) I was doubting my decision to have her put down. What to do?

My preference, my criteria: was to have her die a peaceful death with her family. This could only be done w/my husband in town (which he came in for this) and a vet. Do I have to go through with this like a well planned wedding? Will I regret this the rest of my life?

So I showered and got dressed with the plan that I could hold her for 1 hour before the vet showed up at 10:30. It really was a nice day. Sunny, and low humidity. I checked on Bo Bo. Instead of sitting in her sunspot, she was laying in it. She was so weak she could not hold herself up. I rushed to get dressed so we’d have our hour.

We sat outside in a chair and I cradled her in my arms. At some point she made a noise like she was having a problem and I laid her down. It was like pouring detergent out of a bottle. She just slowly melted into the towel onto the ground. I thought she was going to die right there. How poetic. Why did this frighten me? It was like saving an death row inmate from prison to save him for the execution.

She didn’t die but she was but a breath away. The Vet finally showed up. He was very compassionate, as he always is. But he referred to her as “my buddy” b/c I made the mistake of naming her a boy name – Beau.

I placed her on the dining room table on a towel and Dr. Compassion gave her something to sedate her. We petted her. Then he gave her the injection and it was over; in a matter of seconds she succumbed. And when I looked at her dead body, there was only a whisper of a difference between her alive and her dead. She had given me every ounce of life that she had in her.

Thank you Bo Bo. I love you. And I’ll miss you forever.

That’s Enough Already.

Post Script: The Bo Bo Memorial Sun Spot comes from my husband. After she was gone, I tearfully pointed to one of her favorite sun spots and said "That's Bo Bo's sun spot". And he said "Well, from now on, its the Bo Bo Memorial Sun Spot". I now see each sun spot around my house as a quiet memorial to her sweetness and warmth.