Transcriber: Mandy Vincent Reviewer: Miranda Almeida
“Thank you, Dr. Hoggan. You have been wonderful.
But I never want to see you again.”
Is, oddly, the most common compliment that I receive.
I am an emergency veterinarian.
That means I see terrible things.
Seizure in animals, pets that have been in house fires
and lots and lots of trauma.
When I have to tell people the hard truths about their pet’s condition
and the poor prognosis that accompanies it,
they become visibly different.
Their face contorts, their previously steady voice cracks
and their eyes well.
Despite their stoicism,
a tear escapes to roll down their cheek.
Invariably, when someone breaks down in front of me,
they apologize.
You don’t have to apologize to me.
This is what I have dedicated my life to.
I more than understand the feelings inside
that lead to this outside.
The pain of pet loss is real
because the emotions you shared with your pet were real.
The grief associated with pet loss is valid
because you didn’t lose a thing.
You lost a someone, someone close
and someone special to you.
In case you hadn't realized it yet, I am going to warn you now.
This is a sad subject.
You may cry and you may even ugly cry.
But I promise I will help you understand why this is so hard.
And understanding is the first step to feeling better.
The first thing that you need to know
is that grief is a bona fide medical condition
with documented symptoms.
The American Psychological Association lists them.
They are crying, insomnia, fatigue, confusion
and a feeling of profound sadness.
That means that the pain you feel
and the dysfunction you suffer after you’ve lost a pet isn’t just valid.
It is normal.
Do you know what else is normal when you lose a pet suddenly
or when you have to make a euthanasia decision?
Reliving every minute and every decision that led to that point.
Do you know why you do that?
You do that because emotional pain hurts just like physical pain.
And we are hard wired to recognize pain as a teacher.
Our body has reflexes that will pull our hand off a hot stove.
We have pulled ourselves to safety even before we know the burn has occurred.
Unfortunately, no such instant rescue mechanism exists for emotional pain.
That means we need to study the events that led to the pain,
to try to learn something from it and avoid it in the future.
I am sure this is a highly adaptive mechanism
that helped my ancestors survive
but unfortunately now, reliving those decisions
just feels like punishment.
When I talk to people about pet loss
and I explain to them it is different than losing a human,
they believe me because they feel it but they don’t know why it is different.
It is different for multiple reasons.
The first reason is that our society tends to diminish
the validity of the pain of pet loss.
They act like it is almost histrionic.
Histrionic is a word that means theatrical,
like you’re just grieving for attention.
You know, it’s funny.
Nobody questions our pets ability to make us happy.
I would say the 14 million cat videos on the Internet cement that data.
(Laughter)
If our pets can make us so happy that we laugh out loud,
then losing them can absolutely have the opposite effect and break our heart.
The second reason that pet loss grief is different
is because the relationship is different.
When our pets look at us, they do not judge.
They don’t see our flaws.
They look at us and they say with their eyes,
“You are perfect, and I love you.”
That is the warmest and most fulfilling connection to have.
And that is what makes it so incredibly hard
when those eyes go away.
I have had many people tell me like it was a terrible secret
that they were confessing,
“I cried more when my pet died than when my mom died.”
That isn’t a terrible secret.
If somebody criticized you or told you what a disappointment you were,
of course you’re not going to miss them as much.
(Laughter)
As someone who tells you every day with their actions,
“I love you. And I’m so glad that you are mine.”
Even if you had an incredible mom.
Her ability to speak makes all the difference.
(Laughter)
She could tell you that she was tired.
That she didn’t feel good.
That she had lived her life and she was ready to go.
While it’s hard to hear at the time,
it means that when you lose her, she’s finally at peace.
So you get some peace.
Our pets don’t have the ability to tell us that.
So that means often when it’s their time to go,
that’s our decision.
That is a heavy responsibility to carry.
The societal diminishment of pet loss grief,
the unconditional love that makes the human animal bond
and our pet’s inability to speak,
all make pet loss grief different from losing a human.
And if that is enough explanation for you and you feel better,
then I am so glad.
But I suspect it isn’t
because what makes pet loss grief hardest
are the factors that made your relationship so special.
Those factors are actual comorbidities to the grief.
Comorbidity is a medical term
that means something that makes a bad situation even worse.
I’m sure that there are actually hundreds of comorbidities
but there are five that I see most commonly.
The first comorbidity is if you lost your pet
or had to make a euthanasia decision due to a preventable accident,
like the lady that left a tube of topical chemotherapy cream down on her nightstand.
It never occurred to her the puppy would get up there and chew up the tube.
Chemotherapy is designed to kill fast growing cells.
100% of a puppy is fast growing cells.
There was nothing that I could do.
In that situation, it is natural to turn blame inward and beat yourself up.
But, you know, logically you can’t account for every single scenario.
And pets have a free will that can’t be accounted for.
My own dog proved it when he defiantly urinated
on my favorite reading chair right in front of me.
(Laughter)
Of course you feel responsible,
but you need to know that animals are so much better at forgiveness
than humans.
The only person holding a grudge against you is you.
I promise your pet is not.
The second comorbidity is if the pet you lost was a rescue,
not the riotous puppy but the adult you found at the shelter
whose sad eyes looked hollow.
A broken soul that learns to love and trust again
because you opened up your heart.
And if you lost your pet because you had to make a euthanasia decision
and give them a soft goodbye,
yes, that hurts.
Sorry.
You know that you made that decision because you were saving them
from the imminent pain, fear and suffering that lay ahead.
Your first rescue brought them joy.
Your final rescue gave them peace.
The third comorbidity is not if you rescued your pet,
but if they rescued you.
If they got you through a crisis with their calm presence,
reminding you that you are loved and you have someone to live for.
I can tell you in my own life, when I reached out for a hand,
I found a paw.
In your lifetime together, your pet was devoted to you
and they proved it with their actions when you needed it the most.
But they left your side when they had no other choice,
when they had to go eat or they had to go to the bathroom.
When you let them go,
you made that decision because you had no other choice.
They understand no other choice situations
and they understand the choice that you made.
The fourth comorbidity is if you lost a pet that was a living link
to someone you loved and lost before
and now losing that pet feels like losing them all over again.
Yes, that hurts.
But you have treasured your shared pet.
So you did twice the loving
and you can feel proud that you honored that person’s memory
with regular offerings of food, water and affection to a furry temple of love.
Of course, you are going to grieve because you did a good job
loving both that person and your shared pet.
But you need to keep going now because someone else needs your love.
You need to love yourself like you loved both of them.
The person who needs your love now is you.
The fifth comorbidity is perhaps the hardest
and that is when you lose a pet that is more than a pet.
I learned about this early in my career when I did the hardest euthanasia
that I have ever done.
It was for a man who was mildly intellectually disabled
and he had a very sick little dog that he had named Girl.
She was in end stage liver failure.
There was nothing I could do, no matter how much I wanted to save her.
I could not and I told him that.
And he answered me in a voice choked with desperate anger.
He said, “You don’t understand. I’m special.
The girl that I love the most is this girl and she loves me, too.
I need her.”
I did understand
and I didn’t know what else to say,
and he didn’t either.
So he decided to test me.
He became very quiet and he said, almost in a whisper,
“I’m not supposed to tell anybody this,
but I have a credit card and I will give it to you
and I will keep it a secret, if you will just fix Girl.”
That moment hurt.
That moment still hurts.
When I said no to his credit card,
he understood and he told her goodbye.
But he took off her collar and he put it on his wrist as a bracelet.
And he worked for some months.
He came back to the hospital a few times just to show me
he was still wearing it.
Are you going to question his sense of loss?
Are you going to tell him that all the love he gave her
and she gave him wasn't real?
Are you going to suggest that he should just get over it
or he should just replace her like she was some broken toy?
Of course not.
So don’t say those things to anybody else,
but especially not to yourself.
The pain of pet loss is real
and the grief from pet loss is valid.
After Girl’s dad held her a final time,
he asked me if our pets go to heaven.
I will tell you that theology was not a course taught in veterinary school.
But my answer to him didn't come from my head or my training.
It came from my heart.
I told him, “Of course they do.
Our pets share our homes not because they pay the mortgage
but because they fill it floor to ceiling with love and laughter.
Their joy gives us something to look forward to every single day.
Why would God’s house be any different?”
(Applause)