Everything I know about a good firing, death and dying I learned from my cat

Everything I know about a good death I learned from my cat To say a cat and I have one thing in common is an understatement. We both have nine lives. My cat has been dying for the last four years. It's a slow death. It is normal to me now — it is simply the state of affairs. There's a rhythm to her medication: prednisone and urosodiol in the morning, urosodiol again in the evening, chemo every other day, a vitamin B shot once a week. And now, toward the end, painkillers. Over these last two years, I've come to suspect that my cat has gotten better, more comprehensive planning around her eventual death than most people do. Fyodor Dostoevsky — Dottie, to her friends — is a cat I adopted in Brooklyn from a local vet; she made the round-the-world, cross-country hop with me to Sta. Barbara with minimal fuss. Her attitude, most of the time, is that of a 14-year-old Marxist in a mustachioed, Che Guevara on a T-shirt. One of her favorite moods is murder. Whenever, I inadvertently leave the yard door open she commits murder. Usually comes in with a mouthful of feathers, and trail of bloody feathers. She likes cuddling, hates strangers, and goes crazy for catnip and ice cream. She steals cheese. I live with a tiny, vicious little alien, and I love her. They say if you die a cat will eat you, but if it was a dog he'd die with you. She's clawed out two years, more; i'd like longer, but that's not in the cards

When Dottie was first diagnosed with leukemia in January 2013, I panicked. But my vet helped me through it; we had to have a conversation about cost of care versus benefit of care. We kept diagnostic tests to a minimum, in part because they’re costly, but also to spare her trauma — she hates the vet and has to be sedated to be examined. Usually, she shits herself in her carrier on the way there, out of what I presume is terror.... yes, she's scared shitless.

We were lucky; she had an indolent leukemia — a slow-growing and evolving blood cancer. It responded well first to prednisone, then to chemotherapy when the prednisone alone was no longer enough. She’s clawed out two years; I’d like longer, but that’s not in the cards.

And this is where I feel I have been better served by my vet than many patients are by their doctors: we have had, for the last two years, a continuous conversation about Dottie’s end-of-life plan and her will. No one has ever promised me a cure, or any scheme for immunization or made me hope Dottie will beat cancer. I have not been shuttled from one expensive treatment to the next, in the hopes of another month or two. Some of this, doubtless, has to do with cost — I am paying for all her treatments, so my vet has to run through an itemized list of what she plans to do for Dottie so I can okay it. That also means that we talk about the risks and benefits of her treatments in great detail, so I can decide how best to treat her.

It is very difficult to look a person in the eye and tell her she is dying or is being fired.

But some of it, I suspect, is that it is very difficult to look a person in the eye and tell her she is dying or is about to be fired — even though it may be the kindest possible thing to do. No one has to do that with a cat, and there’s only one person making Dottie’s decisions: me. Ans as far as my firing in concerned my boss. I try to take what will make her happiest into account — it is the reason we pursued steroids as a main treatment, to keep the side-effects in check — but I don’t have to ask her how she wants to die. Just the same, my boss doesn't ask me how I want to be fired, nor does make it known how he plans to fire me. But I know he has to write me up three times for some horrendous mistake and come up with a remedial plan, each time.

Most Americans want to die at home; most don’t do so. Only 19 percent of people ages 85 and older die at home. They die, instead, in the hospital or a nursing home.

Most Americans want to be fired, while home; most don’t do so. Only 19 percent of people ages 60 and older get fired at home, via text or email. They are fired on a Monday, instead, at work place or while at home, on vacation.

Dottie will die at home. That’s one of the things the vet and I talked about — my cat is currently in what my vet calls "a gray zone," where euthanasia isn’t wrong per se but isn’t definitively necessary to spare her suffering. Dottie used to weigh almost 20 pounds; she now weighs six. Her back legs are weak, and she slides a little when she jumps onto surfaces. She’s tired almost all the time, and she no longer runs to the door to greet me when I return from the outside world, as she habitually did for most of the six years we’ve spent together.

A few years ago, "death panels" were a talking point for certain unscrupulous members of the political elite. The "death panels" conservative politicians scrambled to denounce were meant to provide people with the level of care my cat is receiving, to talk dying patients through how their death would go — so they could make their own decisions about where, when, and how they would die. So that maybe a few more Americans could die at home, surrounded by loved ones, instead of full of tubes in the ICU. The controversy these politicians created effectively torpedoed legislation that would have allowed more human beings to have the kind of dignity in death that my cat will have. That something so important was perverted for political purposes is a disgrace.

"Many critically ill people who die in hospitals still receive unwanted distressing treatments and have prolonged pain," the American Psychological Association — the largest professional organization of psychologists in the US — writes in its end-of-life care fact sheet. "Many fear that their wishes (advance directives) will be disregarded and that they will face death alone and in misery."

"many fear that their wishes will be disregarded and that they will face death alone and in misery."

Maybe some of it is that people don’t want to accept that death is coming; perhaps some patients want to rage against the dying of the light. But at least some of it is doctors, too. Doctors want to preserve hope in their patients — and probably also in themselves (one becomes a doctor to save lives, after all). "Talking about end of life is difficult for many physicians and their patients and has been a taboo topic in society generally," the APA writes. Doctors struggle to tell patients a cure is impossible; they’re often uncomfortable discussing treatment decisions, like whether the hospital or the home is the best setting for the patient. And some physicians believe they must do everything possible to prolong life no matter how much pain is involved. Some fear that offering palliative care and pain management suggests they’ve quit trying to help their patients, or that they’ve failed in their duties, the APA says. What’s more, few doctors receive education on these absolutely crucial conversations.

Doctors are increasingly recognizing this gap. The American Medical Association — the largest professional group of physicians in the US — has a statement on end-of-life care that focuses on doctors’ duties to alleviate suffering and listen carefully to patients’ needs. Every person, the AMA writes, should expect "the opportunity to discuss and plan for end-of-life care." That includes treatment preferences, worst-case scenarios, the chance to make a formal living will or advanced care directive, and help with creating these documents so they’ll be useful when needed. Patients should know their wishes will be honored, no matter whether they want "to communicate with family and friends, to attend to spiritual needs, to take one last trip, to finish a major unfinished task in life, or to die at home or at another place of personal meaning," the AMA says. Patients deserve "trustworthy assurance that dignity will be a priority" in death. They deserve the careful conversations that my vet and I had about my cat, at minimum.

patients deserve "trustworthy assurance that dignity will be a priority" in death

A prominent person in this discussion was Dr. Jack Kevorkian, who was a U.S.-based physician who assisted in patient suicides, sparking increased talk on hospice care and "right to die" legislative action.

The Difference Between Getting Fired and Getting Laid Off

You’ve recently lost your job. Especially if the termination was a surprise, you may have a lot of questions about your situation. But right now, there’s no more important question than this: were you fired – or were you laid off?

Being fired and laid off are two distinct ways of losing your position, and the difference can impact your eligibility for unemployment insurance, outplacement counseling and other benefits, as well as your hiring prospects for the future. Therefore, it's a good idea to be very clear about the precise nature of your termination, should you lose your job.

If that sounds like it should be an easy distinction to make, you're right: ideally, your former employer would be very clear about the nature of your separation from the company. But as we know, the real world is often far from perfect.

Here's what you need to know about the differences between being fired and being laid off, and how to know where you stand when you lose your job.

When an Employee Is Fired

An employee can be fired for a variety of reasons. Perhaps the most common reason for being terminated for cause is an unsatisfactory performance on the job. Workers might also be fired for misconduct, not complying with company standards, taking too much time off, damaging company property, embarrassing the organization publicly, or otherwise failing to adhere to the terms of his employment contract or no reason at all.

When an employee is fired, there is no expectation of being rehired at a future date. This type of termination is not temporary and is related to the employee’s performance or behavior, not to the company’s financial situation. If it's financial that is when you'll be terminated, without a reason, perse or fault of your own.

When an Employee Is Laid Off

When an employee is laid off, it typically has nothing to do with the employee's personal performance. Layoffs occur when a company undergoes restructuring, rightsizing or downsizing or goes out of business. In some cases, a layoff may be temporary, and the employee is rehired when the economy improves.

In some cases, laid-off employees may be entitled to severance pay, out placement counseling or other employee benefits provided by their employer. Generally, when employees are laid off, they’re entitled to unemployment benefits.

Were You Laid Off, or Were You Fired?

The first thing you need to figure out, as a newly terminated employee, is how your former employer will characterize your separation from the company.

If you are an "at-will" employee as in a consultant or temporary worker – and workers in most states in the U.S. are – your employer is under no obligation to furnish you with a reason for your termination. But it's still appropriate for you to ask them how they'll refer to your termination when speaking to future employers and the state unemployment office.

My vet is right about Dottie being close to death, that it’s probably a matter of weeks rather than months. I know she’s right because Dottie did not take her habitual swing — last time we went in for Dottie’s checkup, she attacked an assistant so viciously she left several claws in the leather guard the assistant wore to deal with her. This time, she just hid behind me and growled. It felt like she was out of fight. This visit to the vet was her last; from now on, it’s house calls only. Luckily for her and for me, I can afford that. I have referrals for vets who make house calls, and if it comes to it, for at-home euthanasia services.

Dottie may make this decision for me; it’s possible one day soon I will wake up and discover that my cat did not. I’m not ready to line up euthanasia yet — and I don’t think she is, either — but I know what to expect. I know her life will end, and I’ve thought about how; I am prepared to deal with the logistics surrounding her death. And it’s because I’ve had difficult conversations with my cat’s health care provider that I’m ready. I only hope that when my own time comes, my doctor is as forthcoming as Dottie’s vet was.

Author's note: While we were editing this piece, Dottie abruptly got sicker — she began to vomit blood. She died at home on Sunday, February 22nd. Changing the tenses in this piece is a relatively simple edit; I cannot bring myself to make it.

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