Loss and grief is an element of veterinary medicine that is unavoidable. It is something I see quite frequently across the front desk but, how a human handles this emotion, is entirely different from person to person. As a colleague said to me, 'That is quite a big kettle of fish to unpack.' Yes, it is. But, let us start with what I see.
Now, don't get me wrong. I have had my fair share of grief after the loss of a pet. At a young age, I grew up on a fairly isolated cattle station. When a pet became ill, it was almost a certainty that you had to start saying your goodbyes. There was no veterinary help close by at the time. You would grieve before the fact, and it would sting a little less after. It wasn't uncommon for sick pet to 'pass in their sleep' and Dad would have buried them before we got out of bed. Coincidentally though, the old .22 would make an appearance in the farm ute around the same time. As a kid, the math didn't really click. Now that I'm an adult and am all knowing (arguable if you talk to my partner), the math adds up to Milo probably not passing in her sleep. That may seem very harsh, even a tough way to grow up. But, that is reality. Reality doesn't wait for you to be prepared for such events.
When I started as a receptionist at a veterinary clinic, humane euthanasia was a very new concept to me. I understood the process and what it involved, but nothing quite prepared me for being someone to lean on for many pet owners prior to and after the process. My job entails checking in the pet in their last moments, receiving payment and signing the paperwork as well as handling cremation paperwork and payment afterwards. Occasionally, I also prepare the room for the families. Through experience, I have refined the process down to making it as easy and stress free as I can, so families get to spend as much time as possible with their pet.
My first experience with this process was in the first week or two of starting my job. A lady came in with two dogs. One was hers, and the other was her daughter's. These two dogs had recently been fighting quite a lot, one of whom had recently had a stitch up as a result. On this day however, this family made the decision to put both dogs to sleep. Although a responsible decision for them and the safety of their family, it was a confronting decision for myself when my vet came to let me know what was about to occur. What happened next is something I still hear and visualise very vividly almost two years later. The daughter was in one room across the clinic and this woman was in the room directly behind my desk. I listened as I heard my vet enter the room. Small talk occurred, with some sniffles in between. A brief silence was followed by an absolutely heartbreaking wail. She cried out for her boy, she apologised profusely to him, begged him to come back to her. Even now, I remember the goose bumps I had, the screen of microchipping paperwork I had in front of me, and the immediate welling of water in my eyes. After a little while, the crying came down to a whimper and sniffles. Shortly after, she exited the room. She gave me sincere thanks and exited the clinic (her daughter had left shortly before.) That dumbfounded me at the time. To receive 'thanks' for such an event was truly an eye opener.
On the other hand, one of my more recent experiences was an elderly lady. Her little dog had taken quite a bad turn. He was on oxygen and the outlook for his quality of life was next to none. She had come to say goodbye but did not want to be present. My vet brought her to the front desk to finalise her bill. As she was processing payment on the EFTPOS machine, she started fiddling through the cat bells next to her on the bench.
"You know," she began, "I went to Japan a couple of years ago, and EVERYONE has these bells! They are on their keys, their bags, on bracelets. Apparently, they're not just for locating cats but people too!"
I chuckled with her as she told me more about her trip to Japan. As she spoke, I thought it was incredible that this, of all things at this time, was what her mind went to. Her little dog would be quitely passing in the back room, and she was aware of this, and yet this is what was the topic of conversation. I listened intently until she gave me her 'thanks' and left.
Fun fact, that story was one of my inspirations to start this blog. I should be giving her my 'thanks.'
Now, receiving 'thanks' in these moments of grief is a regular occurrence. But, now I have understood why. It is a part of our duty as veterinary staff in taking away some of that grief at the time. People thank you because it is the assistance, the reassurance and the time to just allow them to be human and grieve their pet that makes them appreciate what we do. For some, it is wallowing in that moment of sadness with many tears. For others, sharing stories to take their mind away.
My request to you at the end of life for your pet, is to lean on your veterinary staff if that is where they pass. They are not your enemy but are there to assist you in these difficult times. Ladies, we will never judge you for crying before you enter the building or throughout the entire time you're with us. Gentleman, just know if you start crying, we probably will too. We are a little soft like that. But, just know, that the ears of the staff are always open in these moments. Share those silly stories, memories of your pet, the way that the plants outside reminds you of a trip you took with your family and pet a few years ago. I for one know that I will genuinely remember those stories for the rest of my time.
~ Jessie Kate
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