joeysangel
Member
(Full disclosure: I have obsessive-compulsive disorder and spend an unhealthy amount of time spinning my wheels over whether I did the "right" thing in any given situation, so I don't know how helpful it is to bring this topic up... but right now I am dying of grief, and convinced that I killed my pet... my poor baby...)
My first rabbit, Joey, died Sunday night. He turned six last month. We first got him when he was ten months old. It was love at first sight for me: not only was he a gorgeous lionhead mix, but he was the sweetest, gentlest bun you could ever meet (albeit the most skittish as well... he ran away from literally everyone, but was always sure to come get a treat from me and give me kisses on the nose :bunnyheart). He's always had problems with ileus, though -- would get a significant episode at least once a year, and had a few major "close calls" -- despite being fed a diet of primarily timothy hay. It got so that I had developed a routine for him: syringe feeding him Critical Care and water, rubbing his belly, and chasing him around the room to get his digestive system moving (sometimes, but not always, doing all these things in tandem would nip it in the bud).
When it happened Saturday night, it was business as usual. Actually, he seemed even better than he usually did when he got stasis -- he actually had a lot of energy, he had passed a few nearly-normal sized pellets, and his stomach was rumbling (seeming to indicate that things were at least moving, even if he wouldn't eat). I didn't worry that much, although I did do tummy massages and encouraged him to move, which the slight bloat in his stomach seemed to respond to. I went to bed, then got up in the middle of the night to check on him.
Here's where I messed up... I found him sitting in the corner of his cage, hunched in pain. I immediately did some more massages and chasing, but he seemed much less responsive this time, and the bloat in his stomach had actually gotten worse. So I added in syringe feeding Critical Care and water, which he ate willingly enough. He passed a few more pellets, which was encouraging, but his temperature had dropped, so I wrapped him in a towel from the dryer and dozed off on the couch with him in my arms, worried now but still convinced things would blow over.
When I woke up again (around 7am on Sunday), it had become an emergency. The bloat had spread to beneath the ribcage (he has NEVER had bloat there before), and his gut was hard as a rock. I called the emergency clinic but the vet who's seen him in the past wasn't coming in for another hour. In the meantime I kept up the massages (knowing FULL WELL that if this was bloat I was only making it worse, but stupidly thinking "it must be ileus, he was still pooping just a little while ago, and this always works in the end..."). I went back to Critical Care and water infused with pineapple juice (which he mostly resisted), ran out and got simethicone drops (which he also resisted), then took him to the vet as soon as she got in. We declined a radiography (as I could barely afford it and was still, stupidly, convinced it was just "really stubborn ileus"), and she gave him pain meds, sub-q fluids, and a gut motility shot (which he's had and responded well to in the past).
I took him home for the last time and gave him Metacam, watched him closely (I finally gave up massages and chases at this point, and later the Critical Care/water when he refused to swallow), and took a shower. When I checked on him again, hoping the Metacam had set in and maybe he would eat now, he was seriously distended and we took him back to the vet. We paid for the x-rays, only to learn that there was "some kind of blockage" (they were pretty sure it was fur) that could only be removed by a surgery that he had almost no chance of surviving. At this point I couldn't take it anymore. He was bloated beyond anything I'd ever seen. The vet was recommending euthanasia... I signed the papers. I told my baby goodbye. He was still out of it from the anesthesia they'd induced to do the x-ray and I'm not sure he was even aware of us. They brought him out to us after they did it (we were told we couldn't be present for the procedure. I wish I'd fought them -- just another of my many regrets) and I said goodbye again.
I haven't stopped crying. I'm still stunned by how quickly he deteriorated. I have been agonizing over how he could have ended up with a blockage in the first place (he eats a TON of hay and gets fresh water every day, and I was brushing him semi-regularly that week), whether I should have just gone ahead with the surgery anyway, or even taken him home and tried some more pineapple juice to break up the fur in his gut (at least I'm assuming it was fur... the necropsy hasn't come back yet). Not only am I destroyed by the fact that he died, but knowing that it might be my fault or that I caused him needless pain in his last hours has only made the loss that much more excruciating. I can't believe that I still have to get up, go to work, and move on with life when there is no one in his cage begging for breakfast pellets in the morning, no one to demand to be let out when I get home from work, and no one to jump on me and attempt to eat a page out of the newest book I'm reading. Who knew that your entire world could be shattered in a span of less than twenty-four hours... :cry1:
Has anyone ever felt this way? How do you deal?
My first rabbit, Joey, died Sunday night. He turned six last month. We first got him when he was ten months old. It was love at first sight for me: not only was he a gorgeous lionhead mix, but he was the sweetest, gentlest bun you could ever meet (albeit the most skittish as well... he ran away from literally everyone, but was always sure to come get a treat from me and give me kisses on the nose :bunnyheart). He's always had problems with ileus, though -- would get a significant episode at least once a year, and had a few major "close calls" -- despite being fed a diet of primarily timothy hay. It got so that I had developed a routine for him: syringe feeding him Critical Care and water, rubbing his belly, and chasing him around the room to get his digestive system moving (sometimes, but not always, doing all these things in tandem would nip it in the bud).
When it happened Saturday night, it was business as usual. Actually, he seemed even better than he usually did when he got stasis -- he actually had a lot of energy, he had passed a few nearly-normal sized pellets, and his stomach was rumbling (seeming to indicate that things were at least moving, even if he wouldn't eat). I didn't worry that much, although I did do tummy massages and encouraged him to move, which the slight bloat in his stomach seemed to respond to. I went to bed, then got up in the middle of the night to check on him.
Here's where I messed up... I found him sitting in the corner of his cage, hunched in pain. I immediately did some more massages and chasing, but he seemed much less responsive this time, and the bloat in his stomach had actually gotten worse. So I added in syringe feeding Critical Care and water, which he ate willingly enough. He passed a few more pellets, which was encouraging, but his temperature had dropped, so I wrapped him in a towel from the dryer and dozed off on the couch with him in my arms, worried now but still convinced things would blow over.
When I woke up again (around 7am on Sunday), it had become an emergency. The bloat had spread to beneath the ribcage (he has NEVER had bloat there before), and his gut was hard as a rock. I called the emergency clinic but the vet who's seen him in the past wasn't coming in for another hour. In the meantime I kept up the massages (knowing FULL WELL that if this was bloat I was only making it worse, but stupidly thinking "it must be ileus, he was still pooping just a little while ago, and this always works in the end..."). I went back to Critical Care and water infused with pineapple juice (which he mostly resisted), ran out and got simethicone drops (which he also resisted), then took him to the vet as soon as she got in. We declined a radiography (as I could barely afford it and was still, stupidly, convinced it was just "really stubborn ileus"), and she gave him pain meds, sub-q fluids, and a gut motility shot (which he's had and responded well to in the past).
I took him home for the last time and gave him Metacam, watched him closely (I finally gave up massages and chases at this point, and later the Critical Care/water when he refused to swallow), and took a shower. When I checked on him again, hoping the Metacam had set in and maybe he would eat now, he was seriously distended and we took him back to the vet. We paid for the x-rays, only to learn that there was "some kind of blockage" (they were pretty sure it was fur) that could only be removed by a surgery that he had almost no chance of surviving. At this point I couldn't take it anymore. He was bloated beyond anything I'd ever seen. The vet was recommending euthanasia... I signed the papers. I told my baby goodbye. He was still out of it from the anesthesia they'd induced to do the x-ray and I'm not sure he was even aware of us. They brought him out to us after they did it (we were told we couldn't be present for the procedure. I wish I'd fought them -- just another of my many regrets) and I said goodbye again.
I haven't stopped crying. I'm still stunned by how quickly he deteriorated. I have been agonizing over how he could have ended up with a blockage in the first place (he eats a TON of hay and gets fresh water every day, and I was brushing him semi-regularly that week), whether I should have just gone ahead with the surgery anyway, or even taken him home and tried some more pineapple juice to break up the fur in his gut (at least I'm assuming it was fur... the necropsy hasn't come back yet). Not only am I destroyed by the fact that he died, but knowing that it might be my fault or that I caused him needless pain in his last hours has only made the loss that much more excruciating. I can't believe that I still have to get up, go to work, and move on with life when there is no one in his cage begging for breakfast pellets in the morning, no one to demand to be let out when I get home from work, and no one to jump on me and attempt to eat a page out of the newest book I'm reading. Who knew that your entire world could be shattered in a span of less than twenty-four hours... :cry1:
Has anyone ever felt this way? How do you deal?
