I admit it. When I first knew she was sick, I thought, “Man, what is this going to cost me?” Every time I walk into the vets I get a $200 bill. But one look at her shaking body and I knew I would mortgage my house if it would save her. I didn’t even think about it. But would you do it if you knew she would die at the end, anyway? Would you still spend money? How much money would you spend? How much is her comfort and possible life worth to you? You love her. She cost $10. An interesting question to ask yourself. An interesting question that I asked myself, and I must say I was surprised at my vehemence to save her, no matter what.
As I held her cage last night, wrapped in a towel to keep the oxygen tube feeding her valuable air, I could feel my hands warm against the sides of the glass, and every time I moved a finger she looked up. I know she knew I was there. I whispered into the plastic grates at the top. When I left her for the night I had no idea whether or not she would be alive in the morning. I sent out a prayer request on Facebook and mighty spiritual warriors stepped up to the challenge. “Let’s manifest another miracle!” I boldly said. “Yes, let’s!” was the resounding reply. I love my friends.
I didn’t sleep at all last night. Every time I opened my eyes, I cupped my hands together and imagined sweet Tossie there between them, receiving all of my love. The vet tech was calling at 7, as soon as she got in to the clinic. She promised she would let me know if Tossie made it through the night. I finally got up at 5:30. No use just laying around. The phone rang at 7:04.
“Hi Susie. It’s Jen. Your little girl made it through the night.”
I can’t talk I’m crying so hard. I really didn’t think she’d make it. They gave her a 1 in 100 chance of making it through the night. I didn’t tell anyone that. I tried to forget that they had ever said how nearly impossible it would be for her to get better. Permanent lung damage, lifelong antibiotics, compromised immunity, blah blah blah. I don’t remember it all, just snippets as my higher mind overrode it all saying, “NO! Tossie, if you choose to live, you will be perfectly healthy from this moment on, and we will spend two hours every night playing with you, grateful that you are alive. We want you, we love you, and we know we can make this happen for you. Do you believe?”
This afternoon they brought her to me, trying to see how she did without any extra oxygen. She sniffed the chicken I’d brought, and ate all of it, along with her beloved Activia and a baby carrot. Then she sniffed at the top of the open cage and crawled into my hands when I held them out for her. As we sat quietly on the chair for a few minutes, her eyes clear and wide open again, not pinched shut in pain, I sent her all of my healing energy, telling her, yet again, that she is priceless to us, and we will do everything that we can for her, if she wants to stay. I don’t know what will happen tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day or the next, but I know I made a decision today. I weighed the cost of love, and its weight is infinite. I will give everything I have for those I love. I know that now.