| |
|
From Whil Wheaton's blog
About two weeks ago, Sketch had a couple of days where he seemed to really go downhill. His breathing was up to almost 50, and he had that freaked out look in his eyes that he had the weekend that we found out he had CHF. I made several frantic phone calls to his vet and his kitty cardiologist, and they advised me to give him extra medication to clear his lungs. After several hours, he was down to the low 40s, but was clearly still struggling. I worried that the medicine just wasn't enough, and I hated seeing him in so much discomfort, so I sat down next to him on the floor in my bedroom and said, "I know that you're feeling pretty lousy right now, and if you're tired of medications and trips to the vet and feeling this way, I understand. I love you, and you've brought a lot to my life, but if you're really suffering, I don't want to force you to stay alive. But if you want to fight, we can help you feel better, and your doctors have told me what to do." I scratched his little head and told him that he could let me know what he wanted me to do. |
|
|
