“Ma’am, I have to be honest, she has a slim chance of making it. But we will do our best to do what we can to save her.”
Tears sprang down my face upon hearing those words. Indeed, the surgical mask and the face shield were my lifesavers in sparing me from the occurring emotional breakdown in front of the veterinarian.
Could I have done more? Was I too late?
Questions start to rise at the back of my head as I partly blame myself for the mishap.
I should’ve done better… I should’ve done it sooner.
As I sat there, contemplating my feline friend’s chances of surviving, I was brought back to the time when I grieved so hard for the passing away of Eily last year. He was not just a pet. He was family.
So is Gee.
Thoughts started to race my mind: bills, continued medication if she survives, cost of putting her to sleep just in case, etc. However, at that moment, the financial costs were tossed aside.
A good friend and companion, she was worth the sacrifice.
Come what may.
Putting her life at the hands of these professionals was already the least that I could do. I was uncertain of her chances but frankly selfish to admit that we no longer have much time. Thus, I sat at the waiting area expecting for the worst, yet hoping for the best.
Will I sit here and wait in spite of the academic requirement that is due tonight?
I got up and took a look at her in the operating room: She was there. Fighting for her life or fighting against her life: injected with an IV, covered in an oxygen mask, and heard the vet’s words, “We lost her for a moment but we managed to revive her…”. As she purrs her loudest, stroking her fur for her comfort was what I could only do.
But staying and surrounding her further with any negative energy can only stress her.
“I promise to be back, Gee.”
I left the clinic to get some fresh air.
Lord, if she makes it, I’ll be grateful. But if she doesn’t, remind me that everything happens for a reason.
I walked along that busy avenue, thought of the next plan around the corner, and distracted myself by texting back some friends from overseas.
I should be fine. I got this. Or so I thought.
It was not that long when I got notified, “Good morning, Ma’am. We are sorry to inform you but Gee didn’t make it.”
I stood there. Numb. I saw this coming, but I still spaced out. You can never be truly prepared when the death of someone you hold dear meets you face to face.
I mustered the courage to call the clinic and avoid any signs of my voice cracking up, “Hi. Please wait for me. I’ll pick her up.”.
As promised, I came back for her. She was already inside the box that carried her a few hours back. But this time, for a different reason.
I took her as the vet uttered, “We are so sorry”.
I hopped in the cab to rush home. Memories started to flood on the way back. The what if’s started to combat any light of optimism and acceptance — what if I had her spayed back then, what if I never let her out, what if I shouldn’t have taken things so lightly, what if, what if.
But reality struck me: we could only do so much but not everything. There are things that we can choose to do and not to do, but there are circumstances that are beyond our control. And at that moment, it was my dear feline’s life.
Just as people do, everything and everyone come and go. I could only look back at the good. Indeed, there was too much to be grateful for, there was too much to carry on. But from then on, she will be a memory.
We laid her to rest and breathed heavily, “I am so sorry. Say hello and hug Eily for me.”.
Indeed, love is the only thing that we could carry with us when we go, and it might make the end so easy.
I am thankful for our borrowed time. Until we meet again.
For now, run free, my Gee.
