About a month after Mom died in August 2016, her little kitty cat Pia Roma, who had lived with me since late February 2013, began to behave strangely. Coquetishly cute Pia, with her big yellow eyes, had always been a little odd, but this was different. She wasn’t herself at all. There were continence issues, a lot of meowing and more vomiting than usual.
“She has chronic kidney disease,” the vet told me after some blood tests and an overnight stay at the clinic. “And probably a bit of feline dementia too.”
The vet gave me medication for the CKD, and put Pia on a special diet. Pia continued to enjoy an active life for an older cat, despite her dementia. When I took her back for a check-up in 2017, Pia’s kidneys had actually improved. In the four years we’d been together, we’d grown really close, and I was delighted she continued to be so well. I was equally devastated, however, with the results of this year’s check-up, which took place last week. I wrote about it on my personal FB page:
“I took Pia to the vet yesterday afternoon. Unfortunately, the news isn’t good. The vet was impressed with the great shape she’s in for a cat her age, which I think is 16. The vet said her heart is in fabulous condition; she was surprised and impressed when I told her that Pia still runs around, plays, and jumps up and down from my desk to the floor and onto my very high bed.
The blood tests, however, told a different story. The results showed that, while her thyroid is fine, her kidney disease has progressed from stage I, which is was two years ago, to stage III, which it is now. The vet reckons she only has about six months more in this world.
The only thing that can be done for her now is palliative care to keep her comfortable. Of course I feel desperately sad, and I can’t stop crying, but what to do? This is life. And death.”
As with any terminal illness (e.g. Alzheimer’s disease, kidney disease, etc.), the patient does not suddenly die the minute she or he is diagnosed. People (and animals!) can continued to live relatively well until they die. I believe our job as care partners is to support those we love in living as they go through the process of dying. If I’m not mistaken, that’s what palliative care should be about. Hard as hell in the midst of our own grief, no doubt about that. But I know it’s possible.
So I have a palliative care plan for Pia. It’s essentially the same as what I tried to do for Mom, even though my hands were tied in many ways. Here’s the plan:
1) watch and listen carefully to try to determine what her needs are and do what I can to meet them
2) focus on what she can do each day
3) make her life as joyful as possible
4) maximize comfort
5) minimize pain
6) let her be the driver
7) respect the process and hold space for both of us
I know all these things worked a treat when I was with Mom, and I believe they’ll help Pia as well. Maybe they’ll be a blessing for those you love too.