Active - December 2007 ~ 14th April 2010
Active was euthanized 2 hours ago.
Together with Hyper, they were my first hamsters. She was a wonderful mother of 6. Easy temperament. Never bite. Children love her. I think she was more mature and wiser than my sister and I combined.
Her health took a downward spiral abruptly in the last 72 hours. A tumor had invaded her body, making her weak and barely conscious. No one noticed the bulge in her abdominal area as she was quite plump, so no one knew how long she had been sick. At best, she could probably live for another month.
But her condition was worsen by an injury sustain in her left leg. She had accidentally sprained it in January. This was really my fault… another long story.
She was promptly brought to the vet in January to treat the swollen leg. But like what happened to Dale, the swell did not recede even though proper medication was administered. By the end of January, it had inflamed to triple the original size.
However, Active was still going about her business as usual in spite of the extra weight and burden. No pain (at least from her behavior). Eat well. Sleep well. Occasional run on the wheel (by now it had become a slow limp). Her desire to run free was nonetheless demonstrated by her habitual biting of the fence. I didn’t think much of the leg anymore and let her be.
On Monday, my sister noticed an erratic behavior in Active – she was frenziedly licking her left leg and body. By the time I reached home, the leg had become a bloody mess and her whole body was wet. When I lifted her into the basin and cleaned her with wet cotton wool, I noticed how skinny she really was, and then the bulge in her stomach. I realized it could be too late.
On Tuesday, everyone kept a close watch on her. She would be lying in a corner of her cage most of the time, breathing heavily and licking herself. She also made several attempts to eat and drink. But I had to bring the water to her mouth as her body was simply too weak. And she kept drinking non-stop. Probably haven’t had a drink for a long time, but no one noticed. We also gave her soft food like bread and fruits, but she could only manage a few mouthfuls before giving up.
As I watched her struggle, I realized even the smallest being would fight for their lives, and what grown man had taken for granted was so desperately clanged to by the smallest rat (Someone had committed suicide at my bock on early Monday morning). Her heart was so strong, and the will to live even stronger. But the frail and sicken body could not support her will anymore.
My thoughts were of Active as I went to work this morning. I called home several times to check on her. Nothing was improving. Mum said she had climbed into her food bowl and stayed there since 1 in the afternoon. She was frail, skinny, wet and covered in her own waste and food debris.
I realized with a heavy heart that somehow, this had to end tonight. There is no reason why she had to live in such a degraded manner in her final moments as my beloved pet. I tried to give her water, but her only response was to look at me with heavy laden eyes. I took her to the vet and told them this is an emergency. We managed to skip a few patients.
They took Active into the ops room, gave her glucose and oxygen therapy for a while before seeing me. Active was cleaned up and lying on a towel above a heat pack. I was a picture of broken spirit and nerves, but the vet was perfectly calm and professional. After examining her, the only options were to send Active home with some medication that could sustain her for a while; or we can let her go peacefully.
For a long second, I wish God would do the job for me. Leave me with the chores of cleaning her cage, feeding her, bathing her, buying food for her, and changing her drinking water. And of course, playing with her.
But when you had to play God, what would you do?
As I tried to process the entire situation mentally, I explained what had happened to her leg, and how no one knew about the tumor. All the while my little rat was still desperately clinging to life on the ops table – her breathing and heart beat visible. The vet mentioned several times about her quality of life… and yes, I agreed that this is absolutely degrading. Moreover, at 2 years and 4 months, she could be considered a dinosaur among rodents.
I took a moment to call home and broke the news to my family, having already decided what to do. The vet kindly left the room to let me say a final goodbye to Active.
I took away the oxygen mask and stroke her. She managed to look up for a while, and staggered toward nowhere. A few clumsy steps later, she stopped moving and rest still - breathing and heart beat still visible. For a long time we were both silent.
No one should ever have to go through this. It was so painful for both. I hate to watch her any longer and left the room.
The vet had this crazy idea that I might want to watch the euthanasia procedure (she was too calm…), but like any heartbroken owner, I turned down the offer.
5 minutes later, it was all over.
I returned to the ops room to see Active. I made a mentioned that she looked like she was murdered and regretted immediately. The vet was absolutely apologetic that it had to end this way. I hope she won’t take my comment to heart.
I decided to bring Active home, and the vet found an empty box for her. All the way back in the cab, I couldn’t stop tearing. My sister was the same when she saw Active’s body.
I thank Active for all the joys she had brought into my family’s life. Mum was all angry and threatening to throw her out in the beginning. But tonight, she spoke only kind words of Active. Dad was his same stoic self, but I know he was heartbroken too.
My beloved rat, may you find lots of wheels and hidden food in heaven.
