I've been away from the FML for awhile now, and have rejoined on a sad
note.  Our baby, Tassie, left us on Sunday, June 10.  She was a little
over 4 years old.
 
Tassie (short for Tasselhoff Burrfoot) joined our family with her brother
Sturm 4 years ago.  When picking them out from the happy, wiggling mass
at the pet store, I did the diplomatic thing.  I stuck my hand into the
aquarium they were in.  Tassy climbed over her fellow litter mates and
clung to my arm.  Such tactics were typical of her.  We called Tassie our
cinnamon girl because her coat had an almost auburn red tint to it.  She
had the most perfect "zipper" I've ever seen.
 
Tassie was the craftiest little female I've ever met.  Especially if it
involved getting to a Coke can.  When she appeared with dirt on her nose
and feet one day, we were stunned to realize she'd been in a plant that
was on a little stand of its own.  She walked between the bookcase and the
stand, pushed her back against the bookcase and walked up the side of it,
like a scene from Mission Impossible!  You never knew when you were going
to walk by a kitchen drawer and watch it pen with Tassie's face poking out
at you.
 
Tassie loved to play with dog squeaky toys.  The Evil Spider was her
favorite, and the squeaking of one could wake her from a dead sleep.
When she and her sister Maya did the Great Ferret Escape two years ago,
Phil hunted down Maya.  As he deposited Maya back over the fence, I
frantically asked if he'd seen Tassie.  He smiled and pointed to my feet.
She was sitting somewhat impatiently on her hind feet with her little
arms stretched up, wanting the toy.
 
Tassie had successful Adrenal surgery in October, and was always pretty
happy and healthy, if not spoiled beyond all common sense.
 
In January of this year, the babies and I had a painful parting.  I moved
150 miles south to my family, and left the care of them with Phil.  It was
the hardest thing I'd ever had to do.  Phil and I began to worry about
Sturmie when it looked like the Prednisone he was taking for his Insulinoma
was becoming ineffective early this month.  He called and told me that
Sturmie's second surgery was scheduled for this Tuesday.  He also noticed
that Tassie wasn't feeling well.
 
She went to critical quickly.  On Friday she was taken to our vet's, and an
X-ray showed she had fluid around her heart and her lungs.  Her respiritory
rate was in the high 80's.  She was in heart failure.  Phil called me with
the heart breaking news, and told me that he was warned she may not survive
the chest tap to withdraw the fluid.
 
She had the fluid withdrawn as I drove back to the place I never thought
I'd be again.  I hoped against hope she wouldn't leave until I got there.
Phil was able to see her again Friday night, to see if he could get some
recognition from her.  She didn't respond well.  9:30 Saturday morning, we
went in to discuss our options.  Her breathing per minute was now in the
40's, and she had been in the oxygen tank all night.  She was listless,
utterly without muscle tone and could not open her eyes.
 
I got to hold my baby for the first time in 4 months.  I thanked her for
waiting for me, told her how proud we were of her, how brave she was being.
I also told her that if this was too much for her, she didn't have to fight
so hard for us, that her daddy and I would be okay.  I reminded her that
our Bailey was waiting for her.
 
She had an chest eco at noon, and it showed a thick walled heart.  We
filled a presciption for Lasix and brought it in with a new can of freshly
made chicken gravy.  Her eyes were open, she paddled around on the blanket,
and ate a spoon of the gravy.  She sniffed the breeze coming in and looked
out the window.  We knew she was still critical, and would be in the oxygen
tent for at least 2 more days while Dr. Poling watched and adjusted the
Lasix dosage.  We knew she needed kidney function by Monday.
 
I drove home Sunday morning.  At 8:45 pm, Phil called me.  She was gone.
It had happened quickly, and he had no time to get to her.  Dr. Poling
was with her, and had stayed with her as she left us.
 
She is our second loss, and the grief of her getting so sick so fast while
we were utterly helpless is immense.  Pain at it being so fast, guilt that
we were not with her, anger that there were no warnings until it was too
late.  That Phil and I are apart during this is hideous.  Nothing that took
place between us those final days matters.  NOTHING about that is as bad as
having lost her.  I went back to a place I swore I'd never go back to.  But
she was my baby, and I had to.  There was no other option.  And she waited
for me.
 
As humans, we have this huge power to hurt the people we love the most.  We
say things we don't mean just to inflict as much pain upon someone as we
think they've inflicted upon us.  Phil and I were no different.  Somehow
since then, we've managed to become civil, if not friendly again.  He still
likes me enough that he calls me with everything ferret related.  I was
supposed to go out of town that weekend to a concert my best friend had
spent a lot of money on.  Instead, I went to where I needed to be.  I can't
describe the thrill of seeing my other 7 babies while knowing in my heart
I was going to lose the 8th.  Tassie didn't know and didn't care about
hurtful words from the past.  All she knew was that one day, the mommy
smell was gone.  And then, when she needed it, it was back.
 
Kiss your babies, and kiss your partners.  You never quite know when you
won't have that option.
 
Julie - [log in to unmask] Phil - [log in to unmask]
[Posted in FML issue 3446]