Life, Death, and Everything in Between: Palliative Care

Fair warning to all, this is a post that will deal with saying goodbye to a beloved pet. If you're not prepared to grab the tissues, it's best to give this post a skip.

Cupcake came into my life on January 28, 2021. The previous year had been rough with COVID-19 and I was struggling with anxiety I never knew I had. This tiny creature was delivered to me naked, blind, deaf, and defenseless. Her mother had been accidentally killed and it was known that I had hand-reared baby rats in the past.

She was about 10 days old and the sweetest little thing. It was a joy watching her grow her fur, her ears opening, and finally, her little eyes shining with life. She was a joy and a terror, especially to the couch and cushions, which she eagerly tried to eat.

As with all young animals, we never think about what it will be like a few years into their lifespan. Rats are short-lived, reaching 2-2 1/2 years if you're lucky. I knew my time with her would be short, but I gave her as much love as she wanted, spoiling her, and ensuring she was well-socialized with people and other rats. We got her two friends, Eerie (passed October 23, 2022) and Ghost (passed September 25, 2023) and they grew up together.

Cupcake started showing signs of getting old on June 26, 2023 with hind leg degeneration (HLD), a common disease in elderly rats. I got in contact with a pet physiotherapist and she came to help me with exercises and therapies I could use to improve Cupcake's life. She also mentioned that I may want to see an exotic vet, as she felt something didn't feel right about Cupcake's chest.

Cupcake hadn't been ill in all the time I had had her, so there was no need for an exotic vet, but I listened and booked an appointment for July 6, 2023. I wasn't worried until they took her back for some X-rays. The news I received half an hour later shattered my world. Cupcake had two tumours in her chest, one on her heart and one on her lung. To say I was devastated was an understatement.

Immediately I felt like I had done something wrong, and that I was to blame. The vet explained that this happens with older rats and was amazed that Cupcake had even reached this age. There was no way to operate, as the only way to fix this was to replace her lungs and heart, and there was no surgery like this available for rats. I don't know who was more upset at the realisation, me or the vet.

In my mind, I was already thinking of what pot I would have to bury her in, and what plant I would choose because, to me, this was the end of my baby. The little rat I had raised since she was 10 days old, was my everything, had just been handed a death sentence. Then the vet told me that while this was a death sentence, she saw no sign that Cupcake was suffering and that with the right treatment, she could continue to live her best life until it was time.

Ever since then, I have been living in dread of "it was time." She had a follow-up in two weeks' time. The day came and I took peanut butter with, one of her favourite treats, in case she had to be put to sleep, so she could have it one more time. I was a mess, crying in the waiting room, convinced that I would have to say goodbye to her. Not only was the vet surprised by how well she was doing, her assistants were also surprised. That was three months ago.

Cupcake would have to live with her cancer until she was recalled to the rainbow bridge, and so started our journey into palliative care. Sure, it would have been far easier to tell the vet to give Cupcake her wings early, but I felt that she had given me so much of her life, I would do everything in my power to keep her comfortable until the time came that she was ready.

No one ever wants to think of palliative care when they get a cute, baby animal, and many people opt out of it. I decided I was going to do it. Cupcake and I started with weekly visits to the vet to manage the tumours and get meds to strengthen her heart and lungs. As the tumours progressed, her medication regimen changed. We went from weekly visits to twice a month, and now we are going every three weeks. Cupcake still sees her physio every two weeks, but her back legs aren't working too well. Yet, that doesn't stop her. She still scurries around for attention, food, and general playfulness.

It's been difficult trying to explain to people that I am broken over her reaching the end of her life. She isn't just a rat, she isn't just a pet, she is the tiny little thing I woke up for every 2-3 hours to feed and clean for the first part of her life. I taught her what food was good to eat, made nests for her, and looked after her. The term "furbaby" is sometimes frowned upon, but Cupcake is my baby, and it's tough seeing her like this.

Every morning and every evening, I wrap her in a blanket and her meds are given to her. Every day I sit with her on my chest, talking to her, petting her, and yes there are tears. Every time I start crying, not knowing when the end will come, but knowing that it will, she will get up and lick the tears away, and cuddle harder, trying to soothe me.

And I will get up every morning, and I will give her the meds, and take her to the vet, and do her physio exercises because she has earned it. She has given me so much joy during her life, this is the very least I could do for her.

Would I have taken in that little rat pup if I knew then what I know now? YES! A thousand times yes, because even if the last few months have been heartbreaking and difficult to deal with, Cupcake helped me through a difficult time, and a little discomfort and sadness is nothing compared to the love she gives me every day.

There will come a day that I will say goodbye, when the pain starts; when the vet says she is now suffering. Thankfully that is not today, and I am grateful I still have time with this darling creature. I will continue to sneak titbits off my plate for her, help groom her, and tuck her into bed until she is ready for her wings to fly to the rainbow bridge to be with Eerie and Ghost. Cupcake will know that she was loved right until her final breath.

Cupcake 2021/01/18 - when you're ready.

*This is not a post about enforcing palliative care, not everyone can afford that or is capable of doing it. This is me talking about my experience with it, and how it affects me. Everyone grieves the loss of a pet differently and should be respected for it.