Editor’s note: Today’s offering contains descriptions of an animal in pain.
I had a bitter, almost traumatic experience that many animal parents have faced, or will face in time. I was told that my dog, Cucho, had a severe condition regarding a hernia for his old age, and that sometimes it can get so complicated as to consider euthanasia. I was alone in the exam room with the vet telling me that, with Cucho bleeding and constipated. Even though he told me it didn’t mean I had to consider it right away, it was a possibility I had to think about.
It was as if a part of me was dying even as I breathed, like there was something rotten that infected everything inside. I called my friends Luciana, Fox, my cousin Raafat, and eventually had to call my mom, even though I knew she was about to take a plane to Chicago. It was a horrible weekend. I kept waiting for the vet to be wrong, after I went home. I didn’t feel very satisfied with what happened – more on that below. But now, as I am writing this, Cucho acts as though like nothing happened. We’ll take him to the vet again tomorrow, first thing in the morning.
A cemetery, verdant with life [Pixabay, fietzfotos]
I’ve been writing in my journal more than before, and I want to share an (unedited) excerpt of what I wrote about it as a healing and reflective exercise. I just omitted one part for privacy, but it’s not an important detail:
Cucho was very delicate since we went to that shithole the vet. I’ve been giving him soft food and some lactulose I bought, and since last night he’s been like usual. What worried me the most was all the blood and how inflamed he was, as if he had a potato under the skin right before his tail. Since two days ago, there’s been no blood, and hardly anything before his tail. I still want to take him to a respectable, decent, coherent, thinking second vet at the hospital I usually take him to, but I’m much less worried.
That day, that Friday, I just made my peace with fate, looking Cucho right to the eyes, and smiled as I cried knowing that might be it. I felt grateful for every single thing I got to live with him since he came into my life, how much I changed, all the times he cared and worried for me, every single experience, and accepted that he might not survive. And I was fine with it.
That day, I made a sigil, lit some candles, gave him reiki, asked for help, and used music magic. I just thought “are you a witch or not?” right before taking a bath. My first idea was that, if there’s anything divine in me for being a child of the divine (being/beings/cosmos/life force/whatever), then I should be able to change this, but after taking a deep breath I refocused: whether he survived or died, I wanted Cucho to be at peace, so I just asked for that, light and peace, for the coming days, and made myself the promise that if it was a matter of euthanasia then I’d wait until Mom came back so we would be all together. I also asked for that, for him to stay alive at least to say goodbye to her.
Desperate as I was, I promised that if he survived all of this, then I’d leave chocolate for 6 months. I’m waiting until we can take him to the hospital and see what they recommend, if a surgery is really needed, and depending on what happens, if he’s totally out of danger even after the surgery, then I’ll gladly forget everything about chocolate.
Facing that possibility, losing Cucho overnight, made me look at everything in perspective. I was prepared to lose Dad when he got cancer and just got worse with every day. It hurt. It still hurts, and I cry still. However, I had just a few hours to process and accept that Cucho, who I see as my son instead of my dog or a pet, could die in one or two days.
It was ironic. I’ve been fascinated by death, by the afterlife, souls that haven’t been able to cross, and so on. And I still lost it when I got those news. I’m still human, witch or not, and it scared me, it terrified me, and was hardly able to sleep these last days because of how afraid I was. However, after I accepted the situation and relinquished all control I couldn’t have, staying with was at my hands, then I was able to think clearly, focus on Cucho, taking care of him, and making sure I did everything I could/needed to.
It was my own denial that froze me. Even now, looking at him running and barking and being himself again, I know there’s the chance that he might die during or after the surgery, but I’m not as afraid as before. I guess that I was able to process everything just like I did before Dad died to become a support for my family.
It also made me see how precious time can be. It was an extreme shock therapy to realize that all the money I’ve spent on books I haven’t read, all the candies and sugar and coffees I’ve gotten just because I wanted or had a craving, all that time I’ve lost (…), it’s not coming back. I could have saved that money to get a ticket to NYC and take Cucho to Central Park, I could have invested my time in something way more useful, and all of a sudden I had all possibilities taken away from me. All of it, gone, in the blink of an eye.
That’s what it takes, just a second, to get everything taken away from you. I lived it once with my dad. I came close that Friday with Cucho. And I might still be close to it now. I don’t know. However, I don’t feel maddening desperation that didn’t let me think, the emptiness that eats you inside out. I know it will come, eventually, and I can only hope it will be much, much later.
A butterfly on a tombstone [Pixabay, Huskyherz]
I don’t have control over death, as much as I like to include it in my practice. No Witch does. It will hurt, and hurt a lot, for a long time. And part of me will die when it happens. And I’m fine with it.
I just want to be strong enough when it happens, because for all I know it could be tomorrow, in a month, or a year. I just want to be as good as a dad as I can for Cucho so I can look back and smile, be proud, and remember him happy as well.
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