I don't have the words

[eirenical]

Lilly Markowicz
11(?)/25(?)/1993 -- 9/30/2008


((I've put off writing this entry for almost a week because I didn't have the courage to write it. I still don't, but I think I need to do it regardless. The pain is eating me alive and I have to put it somewhere. So, please, bear with me if I'm not my most eloquent.))

We met at Bide-a-Wee, an animal shelter in Wantagh where I was working for the summer in between years of veterinary school. She and her "sister", Violet, had been brought to the shelter 7 months earlier (11/25/2001) when their owner, an elderly woman, passed away. Lilly was the elder of the two, at 8-9 years of age, by 4 years. And she was by far the shier. I never met Violet, she was adopted before I came to the shelter. This was a very unusual decision for Bide-a-Wee that normally adopts out pairs of adult cats that come in together out together. But after 5 months of person after person inquiring after Violet and turning away when they found out that Lilly came with her, they finally decided to let at least her go to a new home.

After the separation of the sisters, Lilly got a little more bold, bold enough for someone to express an interest. And so, away she went. And after two weeks... back she came. Apparently, she didn't acclimatize to the new home as quickly as her new family wanted. But perhaps that was meant to be. Because from the first day that I set foot in the shelter, terrified to have been placed on the "cat side"... I was hers. She walked right up to the front of the cage and let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she was coming home with me. It took me another two months to get the message.

I'm a little slow, sometimes.

Anyway, in early August of 2002, this sweet little girl came home with me and settled in -- into my room, into my life and into my heart. Over the years she spent with me she went from being a shy little shrinking violet who would cuddle next to me but not on top of me and who barely had a meow to call her own, to being a brazen little hussy that would scold me at the top of her lungs from the second I opened the door until the second I sat down on the couch to provide an appropriate lap for her to sleep in. She had a purr that was so loud that I often had to turn up the TV to hear it over her. And it was absolutely unbelievable the sheer amount of room her tiny little 8 lb. body could take up on a full sized bed.

Over the 6 years that we lived together we grew accustomed to each other's quirks -- by which I mean that she finally got me trained exactly the way she wanted me -- and we had a comfortable and happy life together. She enriched my life in so many more ways than I ever thought possible and it got to the point where I couldn't imagine what my life would be like if it weren't intertwined with hers.

And that's the sad part. You see, she was already 8 years old when I took her home. So going into this whole venture I knew that our time together would be all too brief. But at the time that the adventure is starting, you don't spend any time at all thinking of how it will end.

Those of you who know us know that Lilly has always had a sensitive stomach.

((Those of you with a sensitive stomach of your own may want to skip this next paragraph.))

She had frequent bouts of diarrhea and often vomited when stressed. I often thought of taking her to a surgeon and getting biopsies done of her intestines to determine if what she had was inflammatory bowel disease (IBD) or something more sinister. But here's the kicker: I didn't. I didn't want to put her through that and so I put off doing the necessary diagnostics. Looking back now, I want to throttle myself. About a year ago, her diarrhea took a turn for the worse. It became constant and it became liquid. This wasn't good. So, finally, at nearly 14 years of age, I took Lilly to the Vet Referral Center in Malvern, PA to see Dr. Sadanaga. She had surgical biopsies done of her intestines, her mesenteric lymph nodes, her liver and her pancreas. Two weeks later I got the worst news of my life.

Lilly had lymphoma.

She was with me at work that day. I walked out of the room where I had taken Dr. Sadanaga's phone call, pulled her out of her cage, sat down on the floor and cried. You see... the thing about IBD is that there is evidence that over time, when untreated, it can become lymphoma.

Yeah. Exactly.

There is no feeling worse than that of feeling like you have failed someone you love. And believe me, I've been over this from every angle, more than once over the last year. I'll never know if things would have been different if I had diagnosed her sooner. I'll never know if I had confirmed and treated her when it was just IBD if it might never have become cancerous. I'll never know if I diagnosed and went for heftier chemo sooner if she might have gone into full remission. I'll never know any of that. What I do know is that in November of 2007, Lilly was diagnosed with small cell lymphoma. I started treating her with the standard chemotherapy and she went almost into full remission. Then ~4 months ago, she came out of it and started declining again. After unsuccessfully trying another moderate chemotherapy and watching her continue to decline, we moved on to the heavy duty chemo. She lasted another 2 1/2 weeks.

On Sunday, September 28, 2008, I brought Lilly home to NY for the last time. The day before she had eaten but hardly drank. That night she almost wasn't strong enough to climb up onto my bed without help. And that morning, I had to have a friend help me give her SQ fluids to compensate for the fact that she had become severely dehydrated. That car trip was one of the worst 3 1/2 hours of my life -- I thought I'd lost her several times along the way. By the time I got to my parents' house, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had brought her home to die. I ensconced myself in my room with her tucked up on my bed and laid down with my head right up against her so I could feel her breathe. She was almost herself for part of that day. But on Sunday night and through all of Monday, my little girl was trying to tell me that she was ready. She spent that entire time underneath my bed, hiding from the world and miserable. She only came out to use the litterbox -- and was so weak that half the time she couldn't get back out of it afterwords -- and while she would eat her packets of food, she would only drink if it was Mom's chicken soup. And my sweet kitty, known infamously everywhere as a living outboard motor... wouldn't purr.

Monday night, she was getting around a little better and drank a bit. I was awake with her every time she moved. At around 3 AM that night, she was lying in the center of the room eating some of her food and drinking some chicken soup. I started petting her and scratching her under the chin just like she always loved. She looked up at me and started to purr -- the first time she had in almost three days and the last time she would in this life. The next day, she was even more lethargic than the day before. I put off the decision that I knew I needed to make, half-hoping and half-dreading that she would make it for me, but knowing that it would destroy some part of me to have to put her to sleep on Rosh Hashanah. But by that afternoon, I knew that I couldn't wait any longer. My baby was in pain and I couldn't allow my selfishness to make her stay that way any longer.

I put her in her carrier for the last time and my mom drove me over to the vet hospital where I had worked as a teenager. The doctor there had been a true mentor to me all along and it was poetic, in some way, that it was he that I asked this last favor of. I can't describe to you what that was like, except to say that it was painful and in my mind I kept screaming that I wasn't ready. And then I realized that I would never be ready and that Lilly needed me to be strong for her one last time. And so I was. And afterward, I just held her and talked to her and cried into her fur for almost 30 minutes. And it's taken me this long to be able to write about any of it with any kind of coherency, though it's taken me half a box of tissues, some very leaky eyes and a not insignificant amount of sobbing to get this far.

I know I did the right thing for her. I know that where she is now she's happy. I know that her uncle Rusty is watching out for her... or her for him, if the truth were known. I know my Grandma is cooking up pot after pot of chicken soup for her and there is more shrimp and crab than she could possibly ever eat.

But that doesn't make it better, not now, not yet. And it doesn't make the pain stop, not now, not yet. And that doesn't mean that I don't still expect to find her waiting for me at the door to my room demanding another pouch of food and a four hour petting session. I know these things get better with time... now I just have to wait and find out exactly how much.

Thanks for listening...

Yisgadal veyiskadash shemei raba bealma divera chireusei, veyamlich malchusei bechayeichon uveyomeichon uvechaei dechol beis Yisraeil, baagala uvizeman kariv, veimeru: amein.

Yehei shemei raba mevarach lealam ulealmei almaya.

Yisbarach, veyishtabach, veyispaar veyisromam veyisnasei, veyishadar veyisaleh veyishalal shemei dekudesha, berish hu, leeila min kol birechata veshirata, tushbechata venechemata, daamiran bealma, veimeru: amein.

Yehei shelama raba min shemaya vechayim aleinu veal kol Yisraeil, veimeru: amein.

Oseh shalom bimeromav, hu yaaseh shalom aleinu veal kol Yisraeil, veimeru: amein.

Let the glory of G-d be extolled, let His great name be hallowed, in the world whose creation He willed. May His kingdom soon prevail, in our own day, our own lives, and the life of all Israel, and let us say: Amen.

Let his great name be blessed for ever and ever.

Let the name of the Holy One, blessed is He, be glorified, exalted, and honored, though He is beyond all the praises, songs, and adorations that we can utter, and let us say: Amen.

For us and for all Israel, may the blessing of peace and the promise of life come true, and let us say: Amen.

May He who causes peace to reign in the high heavens, let peace descend on us, on all Israel, and all the world, and let us say: Amen.

*quietly* Amen.

Comments

[only-seimei.livejournal.com]

Amen.

*big hugs*

It's heartbreaking how short their lives with us are. It never seems long enough, but she had such a wonderful life with you. It was meant to be. Even to the end she knew she was loved and wanted. May G-d comfort you heart in your loss. *more hugs*

[rchan.livejournal.com]

*snugs* Thank you.

[nightsea.livejournal.com]

Amen.

I know it won't help to ease the pain, but you left an imprint on her soul as surely as she left her little pawprints upon yours. You brought her in during a dark time of her life and made it bright for her again, and I'm sure that she understood what you did for her. This separation is only temporary.. you'll see her again, and she'll be waiting for you.

*tight hugs*

[rchan.livejournal.com]

*cuddles* I know, and thank you, too. *small smile*

BTW... thought I'd let you know that I'll be moving back to NY in another month or so. I'm going to keep my DE cell phone number for a while and the e-mail address won't be changing, but I'll get you the rest of the contact info once I have it. *snugs*