We had a lovely Pup that lived with us once. She was a real ‘pavement special’ - the markings (and the mind) of a Jack Russel but with the coat of a maltese mongrel. I have loved all my dogs equally, but Pixie lives in a special memory box.
She could beg before she was house trained. If she didn’t want to sleep outside she would jump up and down outside the bedroom window until you let her in. She followed you around all day if you were at home...from room to room just keeping you company while you got on with your day.
She loved cheese. Loved it.
But Pixie developed a heart condition, which presented with the most awful epileptic-type seizures. She had a dilated cardiomyopathy and spent her last 2 years on blood pressure medication and a diuretic. She aged but never lost her character. And when her heart failure got so bad that she swelled up like a balloon and was struggling to breathe we asked the Vet to put her down and he obliged.
In my year of being a medical officer in Potch a baby was delivered in labour ward who had the misfortune of being knitted together wrong.
He was born with an oesophageal atresia and so basically his oesophagus dead-ends before it gets to his stomach. While it is surgically correctable, in the interim feeding such a tiny poppet is tricky.
It took about 3 days to get him transferred across to Baragwanath, the only paediatric surgery unit for about 3 provinces, by which time he had developed a bit of a cardiac murmer suggesting that more than one system had developed abnormally.
I can’t be sure, but I vaguely remember that the Baragwanath doctors confirmed him to have a Trisomy 18 - and largely because of this and his cardiac issues he was denied any surgical intervention - based on the fact that we are in a resource stressed environment, are dealing with a child who is unlikely to survive anaesthesia or post-operative care based on his abnormal heart and has a lethal genetic condition. Even if they could put him vaguely together again - he probably wouldn’t see his first birthday.
So Bara sent him back...
And here we sat with a not-even-2kg-baby and no way to feed him. Sent back to die...slowly.
We had a drip up because it just seemed cruel to let the kid die of dehydration. Instead we waited for him to die of starvation instead. Waited for 3 weeks.
He lived in a little incubator in room 4. He spent most of his days alone because I literally saw the mom once about 2 days before he passed away. The only time he was touched was when his nappy was changed or when he was examined or when he was dripped.
After 3 weeks he became undripable...the few veins left hidden under swollen soft tissues because he must have had no albumin left to keep the fluid in his veins.
I probably spent 6 hours of that day trying to get a drip up on him because I couldn’t bear the thought of him lying there and getting thirstier and thirstier and unable to drink anything. And I left completely defeated and prayed all night that God would take him before morning.
He didn’t.
He was still there.
And the next morning too....
We seriously considered euthanasia - despite the fact that it’s illegal we put it on the table. None of us could bear to watch this baby suffer any longer. We picked a drug and called the parents in to explain what our intentions were.
As if all he had been holding on for was a chance to say goodbye, when his mom arrived and cradled him in her arms he finally breathed his last.
So in the end we never needed to, but it’s always going to bug me...
We treat our animals better than our people.
No comments:
Post a Comment