The Day I Helped A Dying Man's Wish Come True

Cases I'll Never Forget

There are some cases you see as a veterinarian that you’ll never forget.

For me, one of those cases occurred on a standard rainy afternoon in Amsterdam last June.

It was my last consultation of the day — a house call in the center of the city.

When I walked into the apartment, Pearl Jam was blasting through the speakers.

I called out for my client and followed his voice to the back bedroom, where he laid in bed, weak and recumbent.

He used a pulley hanging above his head to lift himself up partway and shake my hand. I knelt down by his bedside to meet him at eye level and confirm what needed to be done.

• Health checks

• Vaccines

• Parasite prevention

• Routine administration

He explained: On Monday, he would be admitted to hospice care and his cats would be transported to a cat hotel. In order for them to check into the hotel, they all needed vaccines and their passports updated.

His laptop was open beside him on his bed, and on the background display was an image of his furry companions.

All four of them together, asleep in one basket.

Before my client lived in this tiny apartment, he had a cottage on the coast. But he sold the cottage and would use the money to support his cats and ensure they could all stay together after he was gone. “Look at these cats,” he said. “You can’t separate them.”

My client grew up living on the North Sea, and it was to there he would return, he explained, his loving cats just down the street.

I commented on what a pity it was that the facility wouldn’t allow the cats to stay with him until he passed. Surely they could accommodate, if only for a short time. He told me not to worry — they would be taking up permanent residence at a fancy cat hotel, having their fur combed and their nails trimmed, staring out the window at the same ocean as he.

His daughter would visit them, and the hotel staff would send him pictures.

As I sat there envisioning this scene, it wasn’t lost on me that a dying man was the one consoling me on the fate and future of his cats.

They were a feral, rebel bunch, those four. A comedic reflection of my client in his younger years. I was down an assistant but eventually managed to wrangle them all solo.

After the whole lot was treated and paperwork completed, my work there was officially done. But it was my last appointment of the day, and I knew deep down that my work there had really only just begun.

I returned to my client’s bedside and we split a bag of licorice.

We talked about how the world had evolved over the course of his lifetime. We talked about what it meant to be free, our favorite Rolling Stones tracks, and the timeless relevance of Pink Floyd.

I asked him how he felt to be leaving his home on Monday, and he said, “bittersweet.”

The sweet side being that his hospice facility was on the ocean, and he was looking forward to spending his last days with a sea view and the breeze on his face, in contrast to the cluttered inner-city bedroom he was presently confined to.

When I asked him what the hardest part of it all was, he said it was leaving his cats behind.

What was meant to be a 30 minute appointment quickly turned into 120. He talked and I listened, until the sun began to set and his health aid finally arrived.

Then, we bid farewell for the very last time.

I left his home that day feeling a strange combination of things. Mournful, fulfilled, exhausted, but also proud.

Proud to be a veterinarian and proud of my work that day.

On the surface, all I did was administer a few shots and fill in some passports.

But in truth, there were five patients in the room that day.

Only 4 were assigned to me, but the 5th needed care, too. And I was the only one in the room.

I couldn’t take away his pain. I couldn’t take away the cancer.

This man was going to pass away soon. And there was nothing I could do about that.

But I could listen.

And when I listened he told me that his last wish was that his loving cats would stay together.

That was something I could help him do.

And on that dreary summers day, I helped a dying man’s wish come true.

In my own small way, I made a difference.

I’ll catch you at the Rolling Stones 100th anniversary tour in the sky. Until then, I won’t forget you.

Dr. Sami

---