What is a Life Worth?

We've have reached the end of the point where we can continue to treat Khan's damaged, infection-battered left ear with systemic antibiotics or topicals any longer. A small polyp has grown in the ear canal, near the surface, which blocks any airflow and encourages bacterial growth.

Today, several soft tissue surgeons and Khan's feline specialist looked at the ear and agreed that the only possible next step for him is a Total Ear Canal Ablation to remove the entire left ear canal and attempt to remove all damaged and infected tissue. The cost of this procedure including all pre-operative tests and post-operative care will be, they estimate, $3000 to $4000.

Shadowcats spent at least $6000 on Khan at his initial rescue, removing his damaged eye, reconstructing his jaw, and giving him weeks of post-operative care after he was hit by an unknown motorist. They spent another $3000 or so after that for an additional operation (his lateral ear canal resections) and other care. I've spent approximately $1500-2000 more in the year and a half that I've owned him, and I knew from the start that this ear canal removal surgery was a future possibility. I was hoping that we could just treat infections as they came along, and that these would be infrequent and easy to treat. But things don't always work out the way you plan.

For me, a good feeling comes with adopting a rescued or special-needs animal. In fact, I may never adopt any other kind again. But older animals and injured/disabled animals like Khan come with a price. They need more care, and more expensive care than their more youthful and healthy counterparts. So that leads me to my topic question; what is a life worth? What value do we, can we, put on the wellbeing of our companions? At what point does an owner say, "Enough is enough,"?

My cat Julian lived to be 20-1/2. (The "1/2" is important to me--it was 6 more months that he waited until a time when I was ready to let him go. But the thing is, I didn't really have to "let him go" at all. He collapsed early one morning as we were getting ready for work/school, and he couldn't get back up, even though he was fully conscious. We spent an hour and a half sitting with him at home, and another four hours at the vet sitting with him in the "Quiet Room," as they call the room where animals are humanely euthanized when their owners choose to be with them. It was only when he was about 98% gone that we were ready to allow them to give him the final injection. (And that was at their insistence; they were afraid of "death throes" that might unease us.) Those four hours with him were peaceful, and beautiful. He was relaxed, without pain, and he let me, my husband, and my young daughter stroke him and fuss over him while we told stories to each other about his antics over the years, and about what made him special to each of us. "He had human eyes," my daughter kept saying. And he purred as he lay dying, and until the last hour, would occasionally reach out a paw to us. It's okay, I believe he was saying. This is right for me, now. I lost most of my life-long fear of death that day, watching him.

Julian (at left) was worth more than any amount of money t. $4000? I spent more than that during his last four years of life...not "keeping him alive" in some artificial way, but in making him more comfortable so that he could enjoy more years. At the very end, it became increasingly obvious that his quality of life had deteriorated, and I found myself once telling a friend that it would be "okay with me" if he "decided it was time." I was weary of cleaning his urine and feces off the floor several times a day because, in his dotage, he had forgotten how to use the litter box. I had begun to complain about having to giving him sub-cuteaneous fluids every night (for kidney disease), putting two different medicines in his food and having to serve soft food all the time, having to put on rubber gloves and rub medicine into his ear pinnae every 12 hours like clockwork (for thyroid disease), taking him to the vet every 6 weeks for injections (for arthritis). We hadn't had a vacation in four years. (My complaints went on and on.) Our human weakness makes us that way, subject to bouts of self-pity and weariness even over the care of someone we love. And even people who love their pets sometimes get to the point of deciding that enough money has been spent upon them, or that maybe they've already spent too much, or done enough.

I guess I've judged people for that; especially those I've heard say, "It's just a cat." I guess I can't say how much they love or don't love their pet, but they don't seem like "cat people" to me. But I recognize that, while I'm not wealthy, I am in the fortunate position that when a veterinarian surprise-punches me with a figure like $4000, I can bounce and reel around like a one of those clown-shaped punching bags, but eventually come up straight. I can say, "Wow, this hurts, but I'll be able to get through it." (Isn't that what credit cards are for??) But maybe some people couldn't. And to tell you the truth, I don't know what my limit would be. What would be my, "I can't handle this" amount? $10k? $20k? Would I take out loans or a second mortgage for a cat? God help me, I probably would.

"Putting down," an animal for financial reasons, doesn't seem to be a thought that's allowed in my reality. In spite of my previous paragraph, that isn't a judgment of those who would consider it. I'm only saying that as I sit here listening to Khan purr for no reason at all (I haven't pet him for, like, twenty minutes) I know that I could not listen to that purr while I held him for a fatal injection. Neither could Shadowcats, back in March '06. That's part of his unique story, that he was saved by his purr and his hearty spirit.

Now, because of generous and soft-hearted people, he's alive, and he is mine, and he is now my responsibility. I haven't developed the kind of relationship with him that I had with Julian. But he is a sweet boy with simple needs, who was standing under a lucky star when rescue workers found him. The only thing wrong with him now is a very naughty ear and, yes, that ear is going to be excised; since it cannot play nicely, it cannot play here anymore!

Shadowcats and Feralfriend are being kind enough to try to raise some funds to help offset the cost of the surgery, but he is going to have the surgery regardless. It is scheduled for this Thursday (I don't know what time yet, but I will post when I do). His pre-op tests were already done today, and nothing problematic showed up in them. The doctor says Khan will immediately feel better after that diseased tissue is gone, and that ear is healed. If you have a moment this Thursday, please think of him (and maybe once or twice more during the 24-48 hrs of his recovery). I will keep everyone informed of his progress.

Thanks for your patience during my melancholy and mostly self-serving essay. Did I answer the topic question? Only for myself, really; but that's enough for now.

Love, Purrs,
Jubercat