I adopted my first cat, Oscar, right before starting internship. He was a tiny kitten, just learning the world, a stray cat picked up from a local park by a friend. We both were in new surroundings, exploring with excitement and trepidation, learning how far we could leap without falling.
I’d had him a few weeks when he had a bout of diarrhea on a weekend. I was doing my pediatrics rotation and looked at this tiny cat and panicked: my thoughts of dehydration clouded my ability to notice him purring and leaping happily about. As the on-call vet calmly reviewed with me what I needed to watch out for, a lightbulb clicked over my head. I now understood why new parents called in the middle of the night with trivial things.
Oscar knew when I’d had a bad day and would sit with me as if to remind me that if I concentrated really hard on patting his shoulders, at least one of us, and usually both, would feel better. From him I learned the healing value of mindfulness.
Oscar lived to be over nineteen years old. We went through several moves and heartbreaks together. As he aged, I fretted about end-of-life decision-making. I was caught between wanting to spend every moment with him and not wanting to see my buddy being old, skinny, tired and crippled.
One summer day, Oscar’s needs were declared with pure clarity. He’d stopped purring, and the look in his eyes was unambiguous. We scheduled the appointment with his family doctor–the same family doctor he’d had for his whole life–and he was given the softest blanket the office had to lie on, and was surrounded by love as he received his final injection. From him I learned the beauty of a good, peaceful death; and it taught me, again, the precious value of a family doctor who knows her patients well.
Deborah Pierce
Rochester, New York
6 thoughts on “My Cats Made Me a Better Doctor”
My cat was 18 years old when he died. He came to me as a kitten and truly was a most special cat. When I scheduled for his euthanasia (he was dying from a tumor in his jaw/mouth), I cancelled his first appointment. I made another for a few days later. The very kind vet was most understanding and told me this occured frequently. It was a very long drive home without him.
Deborah, what fantastic parallels you’ve drawn. Excellent writing. Lucky cats, to have such an insightful human. Lucky patients.
I so understand. My adopted stray was with me for 25 years. He survived my med school and most of my residency. But one morning I came home after a crueling night of no sleep and found him lethargic. He laid on my chest nearly catatonic. Sleepless, I managed to put him in the cat carrier and we headed to the vet. Then there was screeching and thrashing and then dead silence. Cardiac arrest. Dead. I knew this. But I pulled into the vet and rushed him in, demanded CPR and meds to jump start his heart. The vet looked at me like I was crazy, which I was. I have always had cats, before King Charger, named by my then 6-year-old daughter, and after, but he was the best one of all. He took walks with us and our Golden Retriever and would hide behind bushes and bounce out at her and scare her. When I studied, he laid on my books. Do something! Save him! Do CPR!
They were kind but said, “Doctor, your cat is dead.” They let me stay in that room holding him. I was hysterically crying. Sleep deprived.I had watched humans die before me the night before. I remember each of those humans and that dear cat.
This was a very enjoyable essay to read, Dr. Pierce, with several bonus “teaching points” embedded throughout. Nicely done. Best wishes on the new year to you.
I agree with Barbara Young’s comment. I would also hope that we have a family doctor who cares as much as both you and Oscar’s.
Thank you.
Lovely writing, Ms. Pierce! May we all be lucky enough one day to be given “the softest blanket” while we’re surrounded by love and approaching the end of our life. Lovely to learn about your Oscar and the “unambiguous look” of his eyes.
Do write more!