I often hear people who deeply love their companion animals recall the deep pain at the loss of a pet. Many times, that pain is compounded by having to make the decision to end the suffering of a terminally ill animal or to close the book on unending pain of a dear friend. Most of the time those decisions are supported by a veterinarian even though most of us suffer quietly along with our clients.
Euthanasia is a topic that we rarely discuss. Earlier in my career I just considered it part of my job and survived behind some of those “walls” that I wrote about in the story of “Buddy”. But the seasoning that comes with all the gray hair tends to peel all the shucks back and leave me as emotionally naked as an ear of corn when it comes to euthanasia of my patients. It can become such an emotional burden that veterinarians actually require support groups to deal with it.
I have watched countless precotious little pups grow into adulthood, often side by side with children in my client’s families. Then, after the years whistled by, I had to stand there and try to be strong and supportive to my clients when the final decision had to be carried out. I wish I could say how tough it is to be professional and supportive when, inside, another dagger is placed in my heart. Even now, as I struggle to broach this very dark subject, I hear the names and see the faces of so many, many great patients, companions and trusted friends. I hurt, but I do find some peace in the fact that I know the last thing that I had to do to them was truly, in my heart, for them.
I am not treading on this difficult terrain to seek sympathy or understanding but, instead, to set the stage for my next little installment in this blog. Indeed, this very preface has taken me to an emotional place I would rather not be, so it is past time to move to the story.
A couple of months ago it was my pleasure to meet “Bear”. “Bear” is a wonderful six year old Wire Haired Fox Terrier. He is an absolutely fine example of the breed; warm, loving, much calmer than most terriers as as gentle as a butterfly. He is the kind of dog you just want to hug. At that meeting I told his owner that the first dog I ever had as a boy was “Whiskers”, a Wire Haired Fox Terrier.
Two weeks ago “Bear” was on my exam table because his appetite was off and he was vomiting. As I examined him I realized just how sick he really was. His gums had a yellow pallor as did the sclera or “white” part of his eyes. This condition is known as icterus. Icteris is not a disease but rather a symptom. Most often it is caused by either a very sick liver or by the breakdown of red blood cells so suddenly that a normal liver is overwhelmed with the hemoglobin from the blood cells. The byproducts of those broken blood cells accumulate in the body and cause the jaundice that most people relate to.
I told “Bear’s” mom about my findings and explained the gravity of his condition. After a couple of blood tests, we were able to isolate the problem specifically to his liver. I told her it could be viral or bacterial hepatitis or, more seriously, liver cancer. We all understood how serious this was for “Bear” and with a heavy heart I sent him home on some medications and hopes to reevaluate him in a few days. At that time, if necessary, we could move on to more specific tests to confirm a specific diagnosis.
A few days later, as I was finishing up a routine surgery, my receptionist, Alison, came back to advise me that “Bear’s” mom had just called and was about to bring him in to be “put to sleep”. I was crushed that she could give up on such a wonderful dog so quickly. I sat at my desk and didn’t know whether to curse or cry. Why? Could he be that much worse in such a short time? We were just not ready to give up on “Bear” without giving him a fighting chance.
I looked up and Kathy and Alison both had the same look on their faces that I was feeling. I picked up the phone and called “Bear’s” mom and violated about half the ethics codes ever written. I politely asked her if “Bear” could just be my dog for a while. There would be no cost to her; I assured her that Bear would not be allowed to suffer; I would do everything in my power to help him; we would heap love on him; and I would call her every day and tell her about him. I was really afraid she would say no and I would be forced to “understand” .
Lady Luck, God love her, winked at me that day. A very sick “Bear” showed up about an hour later with all his toys and his own bed. He was sick alright. Liver disease makes you feel about as yucky as a toad in a cow pie. I put an IV in him and started him on fluids and every medication in the book that may offer him some help.
In one of those down moments, “Bear” and I sized one another up. He was asking “What the heck is wrong with me?” and all I could do was to hug him and silently hope I was doing the right thing. If I was wrong and only continued his suffering needlessly, I was going to look and feel downright stupid when this was over. Be that as it may, I wanted to believe that “Bear” and I were, for better or worse, in this together.
His blood tests quickly revealed that his liver enzymes were still a train wreck. I found one small glimmer of hope in the fact that his total bilirubin appeared to have peaked. “Bear” fought on and vomited nasty yellow bile in his lovely bed. The girls cleaned him up and turned up the love and affection. They made it hard for him to give up.
The next day, instead of looking at food with disgust, “Bear” actually sniffed a piece of chicken biscuit I shared with him. The medication regimen continued full bore and, with a little imagination, I thought he looked more “alive”. I called his mom and, with some positive spin, advised her of his condition. She came for a visit. So far, so good.
On day three we repeated his liver enzyme tests. I wanted to dance a polka when the analyzer spit forth his numbers. This liver was getting better. I told “Bear” and he ate half my chicken biscuit. We prepared a buffet and he thanked us by vomiting my chicken biscuit into his bed at the site of the food. No matter, I told the girls, “Trust me, this dog is getting well!”
Days went by and things continued to go well and “Bear” spent the Memorial Day weekend back home where he belonged. He continues to do well and as I write this, I believe that his ordeal is over. “Bear” is well and I was so lucky that I didn’t have to minister over the passing of yet another little friend.
“Bear”, I hope that day is many years away. If it comes, God forbid, I will find some comfort in the bonus days I was lucky enough to offer you. I know that you will continue to provide great joy to the hearts of all that know you. And, most of all, thank you for the nobility of your struggle and your will to live. Your battle, though uncomfortable, may just touch another to not give up too early.
Hugs, little buddy. Live long and happy!
17 responses so far ↓
Melissa Starbuck // June 1, 2009 at 3:25 am |
I cannot think of anything I’ve experienced that was harder than having to have a beloved friend put to sleep (over the years, three different dogs and one cat). One minute you are relieved and grateful that you have the ability to stop their pain and suffering when there is absolutely no hope for improvement (something you cannot do for a human); the next minute you panic and think, “What have I done!” And through it all your heart is totally and forever broken. It is an incredibly difficult spectrum of overwhelmingly intense emotions, so very painful, and you never really get over it. I’m so happy Bear got another chance. Hopefully he’ll have many happy years ahead. Thanks for sharing this story. And thanks for sharing the vet’s perspective………something we clients may sometimes forget to consider.
jennifer j // June 1, 2009 at 3:53 am |
It is a very difficult decision that I think most pet owners would find relief in knowing their veterinarians truly understand what it is they are expeiencing. I’m glad this one got a second chance-so few are able to.
Kelly // June 1, 2009 at 4:17 am |
Great story Doc. You have helped me thru many hard times with the K9’s. You have helped me lay to rest many good K9 friends and you have kept many in my life a little longer. Chester (FUBAR) loved your story. We think you are the best and miss you very, very much. Keep on keeping on brother. Love, kelly, chester, josie
Judy // June 1, 2009 at 4:59 am |
It’s late, I’m tired and you bum – you got me crying! You’re a good man, Norm Griggs and when your time comes to leave this earth, I can only imagine the number of furry, fuzzy and feathered things that will be there to greet you!
Becky Jones // June 1, 2009 at 12:13 pm |
“He is your friend, your partner, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion.” (Author unknown)
I could get on my soap box with a social commentary about “giving up.” but won’t. We can be thankful we have people among us who try to raise the moral awareness of “doing what is right.” The easy way, as opposed to the right way, is often the path of choice.
Barbara Tysz // June 1, 2009 at 2:18 pm |
This is a wonderful story. Thank you ever so much for believing in Bear. I can’t imagine why some people take the easy way – to me that is the hardest decision one would have to make. I am thankful that “Patches” my 21 year old “grand old lady” (remember her) was @ home & passed on peacefully. And now Maximus – my precious diabetic cat who has to have shots 2 x day, is dependent on me – take the easy way – no way. I just appreciate every moment I get to share w/him. You left a legacy here in Bartlett. Dr. Ledbury & Maximus have become friends. Thank you for your stories.
Melissa Starbuck // June 1, 2009 at 3:08 pm |
I have read the newer comments and I would like to say that perhaps we are being to hard on Bear’s mom. I don’t think “taking the easy way” was what she had in mind. I’m sure it was a very difficult decision for her and she could not stand to see her dog so sick and did not think he was getting better. Fortunately for her, Dr. Griggs saw a ray of hope from a medical perspective which she could not have seen. I’m sure she is eternally grateful to have her dog back. I don’t think putting him to sleep was “taking the easy way” for her at all………….I think she couldn’t stand seeing her dog suffer. I am happy for her and relieved that she did not have to go through that right now. Trying to decide what is best for your pet is extremely difficult at times…….without benefit of the medical perspective, it is even more difficult. That is what vets are for, and fortunately for Bear AND his mom, Dr. Griggs was there. Bless you all!!
Pam // June 1, 2009 at 8:29 pm |
Lucky, lucky Bear to have you Norm! And there’s always time for a “good cry”. I know folks were praying that you were right, especially Bear’s Mom. I think I have said this before….I wish you were my doctor!
Shannon Rhue // June 2, 2009 at 2:07 am |
The first part of this story really got to me. I suppose that as often as you have to deal with euthanasia that there are two choices, harden your heart or not. I know for a fact that you have not hardened yours. When you and I were discussing Belle’s last days, the tear on your cheek came from the same place as the tear on mine. Bear is lucky that you followed your heart. I hope he and his family enjoy the bonus round.
connie bowers // June 6, 2009 at 10:04 pm |
What a touching story! Dr. Griggs you are most compassionate vet I have ever been in contact with!
Thank you, Connie
Jamie // July 8, 2009 at 1:36 am |
If only every person had a heart like yours ~ this crazy world would be heaven! You managed to make me cry once again with your wonderful stories and Cheyenne and I miss having you around :-} Keep up the wonderful work.
Janie Harris // August 9, 2009 at 5:18 pm |
Words cannot express our respect and admiration for your difficulty in remaining “professional and supportive” in the midst of grieving alonside your patients. We saw this when you helped us deal with RocketMan (we remain grateful). Genuine compassion is was sets you apart from many other veterinarians and is perhaps the biggest challenge of any medical occupation. To be willing to emotionally get right in the middle of despair with a client helps their suffering as they don’t feel alone. Thank you for not abandoning us, your vulnerability is your greatest strength!
Janie Harris // August 9, 2009 at 5:27 pm |
I hate typos… 2nd line last word in my post (above) should of been “alongside”…after reading this story I couldn’t see my keyboard!!!
Chuck // August 27, 2009 at 8:51 pm |
Dr. Griggs–thank you for all that you did for Bear. What you did will always be greatly appreciated.
As for Bear’s Mom…it is unfortunate that people jump to ill founded conclusions. Bear’s Mom and I were under the assumption that any treatment for Bear would be costly. Bear was already rejecting the medicine that he was given, he had not eaten in days, and we did not expect him to make it.
We have three sons in college, and try to sacrifice for them. Our oldest was a Marine who was almost killed by an IED in Iraq. Our second graduated from West Point, is a 2nd Lt in the Army, and is about to deploy overseas. Bear’s Mom has done an amazing job with all of our sons.
Bear’s Mom is a mother that any son would find a blessing.
Thanks again to Dr. Griggs. We and Bear will always remember you.
-Bear’s Dad
norm80 // September 13, 2009 at 2:51 pm |
Thank you for your comments Chuck. It is the kindness and spirit of you and your wife’s devotion that make Bear’s life possible. I believe in my heart that this outcome was meant to be. The sacrifice of your family for our country leaves me forever in your debt. May peace, happiness and warm, wet licks be yours. Semper Fi.
Chuck // August 28, 2009 at 1:29 am |
P.S.
This is not the first time that Bear came back from adversity. We came across Bear at a Fox Terrier Rescue. If we have the story right his original owner died. Then the brother of the original owner kept him outside on a chain. He was then given over to a Terrier Rescue. He then found a new home. At his new home he kept digging under the fence, escaping, and fighting neighborhood dogs. He then found himself back at the Terrier Rescue. We love Bear, and are thrilled that Dr. Grigs was used to give him a new lease on life.
Dawn Call // November 9, 2009 at 4:39 am |
Dr. Griggs, I just read your story about “Bear” how wonderful that you followed your heart and saved the little guy. A couple of months ago when I brought my little “Baxter” in you had to give me the heart breaking news that he had pancreatic cancer and how sick he was and that it would be best to put him down as he was suffering, I had only had him for 8 mo as he was one of my many rescues, but I loved him just the same, and it broke my heart to part with him, but I did not want him to suffer and you assured me that he knew how much I loved him so I had to make the choice of letting him go. Last Mon I had to make another choice by “Best Friend” Spuddy a Jack Russell who I had the pleasure of having in my life for 12 1/2 yrs became ill and I had to make the choice to let him pass over “The Rainbow Bridge” I still hear his footsteps coming down the hall, when I call the dogs I still holler for Spuddy, he was the first one to meet me at the door. I have such a void in my life without him. On Wed I had to rush my precious little Jack Russell “Boogie” in to your office as she had a run in with a poisionous toad frog and I was so upset and afraid that I was going to lose her too, but you assured me that I would be able to take her home with me that nite and I did. You hooked her up to IV’s and saved her life. I will always be grateful to you for bringing her back to me as she was a very sick little girl. I admire your love , compassion and caring nature that you have for our pets. Your the best and I’m so thankful that we have you here in Wakulla County.