The Silent Scream Frozen For All Time, MacKenzie, My Angel Options

[Monique]

MacKenzie and her siblings, born feral around Sept 2002, hailed from a local animal services center. Their fate was slim and I decided to take the little family home to tame them and find them homes. MacKenzie was the first of her siblings who tamed and from that first step towards me, she and I were BFFs. Additionally, she started exhibiting many behaviors and mannerisms specific to my cat, Dominoe, who went to heaven in 2000. She even looked like Dominoe. For the last almost 12 years, I had the pleasure and honor to have both my girls by my side.

I lost my beloved MacKenzie, Friday evening, 11 July 2014, right after getting her home from gallbladder removal surgery that Thursday, 10 July. Her health had been failing for about a year and a half. Despite a period of reprieve in 2013, weight loss resumed late last year – early this year, and supportive therapies were having little success. She became very thin again, struggling with in appetence, and generally not participating in life. For the last few months, she moped around the house and mostly slept deep under the bed. To encourage her to eat, I would give her valium and canned food, including AD, to entice her to eat. She would rarely eat without the Valium. The first ultra sound in April 2013, showed a slight shadow in her gallbladder. This past June, the shadow was definitive, thus indicative of a stone or stones. As she was asymptomatic except for this test result, my vet and I decided to resume supportive therapies in March. It was becoming more and more difficult to medicate her. She was not happy; there was a haunting sadness in her eyes. I had not seen her sleep in her favorite spots for months. She remained in a depressed and wasted state.

Supported by my vet, I made the difficult decision for MacKenzie to have this surgery, hoping to restore her health while her vital signs and chemistry results were still good. She championed through the surgery and was recovering well. The gallbladder was removed; the surgeon found a stone the size of a pea (the gallbladder in a cat is only the size of a pecan). When I went to pick her up Friday afternoon, she felt very cold. Her temperature had dropped 5 degrees in about 4 hours, which was the last time her temperature was checked. She was transitioning from IV fluid support to tube feeding and fluids through her feeding tube. Not only was she very cold to the touch when I first saw her, she was weak and unable to walk. I sat with her wrapped in blankets and heating pads for an hour. Her temperature was up by a degree, all vital signs were good. She was still weak and not able to walk without stumbling, but the vet thought she was OK to go home given all the other positive vital signs.

Once home, I settled her in my upstairs bathroom, where I was going to rehabilitate her in the company of a little kitten, Ariel, who is also recovering from trauma. Within an hour MacKenzie was gone. The last time I checked on her, I shifted her position to get her comfortable as I noticed her breathing was a bit raspy. She stretched and took one more breath and was gone. The agony I felt was indescribable.

I have been involved in animal rescue for many years and have a large, mostly aging, multi-species animal household. Unfortunately, loss is a very real and frequent part of my life. Loss is never easy. Some loss is better to process than others; MacKenzie makes 10 for just this year. Losing MacKenzie is as heart wrenching as losing my Molly this past Jan. In many ways, she is my worst loss ever. My heart is broken and my brain is screaming to understand. An autopsy revealed an ailing heart. It is possible she had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (HCM) and perhaps her heart couldn’t process a blood clot or some residual stress from the surgery/anesthesia. Despite the fact that she championed through the surgery, something happened to cause the sudden death. Biopsy were submitted and provided no answers as to cause of death. They showed secondary organ issues from the malfunctioning gallbladder. Her pancreas was not well, her small intestine was inflamed and infected, her lymph nodes working over time, she was anemic from chronic disease... It has been an insane exercise to try and find answers and meaning while my own heart is barely beating. My will to live is only alive as many at home still depend on me.

I have read and re-read all of the things I have gathered about dealing with loss over the years. I have researched further and found this site and read extensively on it. My heart only aches more, and I now also feel the pain from everyone else.

Since losing MacKenzie, I have been in a silent, agonizing scream, seemingly frozen for all time. It has been only two weeks. I feel in some respects she has been gone forever for all the energy I have expended in cycling endlessly through blame, guilt, shame, anger. Mostly, just the gut-wrenching agony I felt when she slipped away as I tried to ease her position. Her final breath. My silent scream in slow motion. Assaults from very dark places. The futile attempts to revive her... OMG...

I see that painting, The Scream, like a movie reel stuck on one frame. I can't breathe.

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[moon_beam]

Hi, Monique, thank you so much for sharing with us how you're doing. Indeed, this world is filled with many gruesome acts of cruelty against all living beings that it can make some of us deeply wonder about humanity's purpose for existence. The sad reality is we live in an imperfect world which includes both the bad and good that humanity has to offer. In this age of technology when events are instantaneously publicized it is easy to become overwhelmed by the constant bombardment of things that happen in our world - - particularly the bad things. And when we are grieving our own losses we are more vulnerable to the sorrow, sadness, and cruelty happening in the world. Both the TV and internet continuously replay horrifying events that deeply affects us emotionally, and this can lead to - - and contribute to - - feelings of depression and despair to the point where we can feel as you so poignantly share with us "For all of us humanitarians who try to do to respect, protect life, rehabilitate broken bodies and spirits... it just appears to be a losing battle."

Please let me try to reassure you, Monique, that what you, and each of us does, is truly not a losing battle. I remember in my younger years how I wanted so badly to make a positive "difference" in the world, and now that I am in my senior years I realize I have done nothing with my life to make the global world a "better place." I haven't invented anything, I haven't cured any diseases, I haven't improved the life of third world countries, I haven't prevented any wars, I haven't discovered any means for preventing disasters, etc.. But I have loved and cared for and provided for those who have been directly entrusted to my care to the best of my ability, and I add my voice with others who seek support in changing and improving the lives of our fellow inhabitants of every life form. We can only do the best we can to try to make a difference in the "world" in which we individually live. We may not receive recognition or acknowledgement for our efforts during our earthly journey, - - but I assure you, Monique, that your beloved MacKenzie - - and all of your beloved and precious companions - - are eternally grateful for everything you do for them, and they will be greeting you with your crown of glory when it is your appropriate time to join them in eternal joy.

I hope today is treating you and each of your precious companions kindly, Monique, and that you will have a peaceful evening blessed with your beloved MacKenzie's and all of your beloved companions' sweet Living Spirits to comfort you. Please know you are in my thoughts and prayers, Monique, and please let us know how you're doing.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam