Here we go again.
I went to have lunch down the street. I walked in the rain. I read my book. I ate my sandwich. And I thought about Lucy. She is a client whose geriatric cat I've been managing for a year. Lucy had a mobile vet come to the house to euthanize Squirrel on Tuesday. I called Lucy today just to check on her but she didn't pick up the phone. She emailed a couple hours later explaining that she is still quite devastated and can't talk without crying.
Oh my God. How I understand. I know, I know. Cat. Fetus. Yet when she wrote I knew that her anguish right now is totally consuming and devastating for her. I get it. Something you learn in veterinary medicine is that it isn't just the animal who dies. Usually a pet represents an entire period in a persons life: marriage, divorce, death, sickness, births, graduations, new careers...The owner often makes a choice to euthanize the animal and all that is tied to it comes rushing to the surface all over again.
And it all came to the surface again for me. I believe in the power of creating positive images. I have imagined, in detail, over and over going to the ultrasound on Wed and having the sonographer say "There it is! The baby is totally normal and healthy!" It's meditative like clikcing away at the beads of my rosary. However, today I could imagine that they still couldn't find it and I could see through the shades of gray that define structures on ultrasound that it just wasn't normal. I felt panicked and had to fight off tears in the elevator. Fuck. It's just so scary.