Make It Make Sense

We lost Willow on May 13.

She had surgery to remove a vulvar tumor on April 22, and she seemed to be recovering just fine.  She didn't like wearing a collar, and she didn't like being shut away in a room overnight.  But otherwise, she was eating and drinking.  A couple of days before she died, she was playing with a toy.

On the evening of May 12, she began to drool badly. She threw up a few times, and she crouched and hid. We should've taken her to the ER vet that night.  I still have such horrible regret when I think that we let her down, when I think that maybe they could've done something for her.

When I got up on May 13, I looked for her and found her lying on her side beneath the bed, right under the foot.  I got on the floor and touched her.  She felt cold and didn't move.  I gently shook her and she still didn't move.

Starting to cry, I woke Eli up, repeating, "I think Willow's dead."  He blearily got out of bed and slid his hands under her to bring her out from beneath the bed.  She stirred with a soft "mew."

He put her in the carrier and drove to the ER vet in Arden Hills.

Her body temperature, blood sugar, and heart rate were low. The vet didn't know what was wrong with her. She said they could keep her at the hospital for a few days, try a few different things, but in the long run, she wasn't sure anything they could do would help.

Eli called me and explained this, and we decided to let her go.  He couldn't go in to be with her because of COVID protocols.

To this day, it rips my soul apart to know that she died surrounded by strangers. Was she aware of what was going on? Did she realize we weren't there?

And then it enrages me. Because people in this fucking country refused to take COVID seriously and do what was necessary to suppress it, Willow had to die without us there.  It makes me sick and sad and furious all at once.

I don't think I'm ever going to accept not knowing what happened with her.