Pet loss grief; the pain explained | Sarah Hoggan DVM | TEDxTemecula

Transcriber: Mandy Vincent Reviewer: Miranda Almeida “Thank you, Dr. Hoggan. You have been wonderful. But I never want to see you again.” It is, interestingly, the most common compliment I receive. I am an emergency veterinarian. That means I see terrible things. Seizures in animals, pets that have been in house fires and many traumas. When I have to tell people the hard truth about their pet's condition and the poor prognosis that comes with it, they become visibly different. Her face contorts, her voice, which was previously firm, breaks, and her eyes are fine. Despite her stoicism, a tear escapes and rolls down her cheeks.

Invariably, when someone breaks down in front of me, she apologizes. You don't have to apologize to me. I have dedicated my life to this. I understand more than the internal feelings that lead to this external. The

pain

of losing a pet is real because the emotions you shared with your pet were real. The

pain

associated with losing a pet is valid because you didn't lose anything. You lost someone, someone close and someone special to you. In case you haven't noticed yet, I'm warning you now. This is a sad topic. You may cry and you may even cry ugly.

But I promise I will help you understand why this is so difficult. And understanding is the first step to feeling better. The first thing 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, tiredness, confusion and a feeling of deep sadness. That means that the pain you feel and the dysfunction you suffer after losing a pet is simply not valid. It is normal. Do you know what else is normal when you suddenly lose a pet 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 it because emotional pain hurts just like physical pain. And as a teacher, we are programmed to recognize pain. Our body has reflexes that will remove our hand from a hot stove. We have reached safety even before knowing that the burn has occurred. Unfortunately, there is no instant rescue mechanism for emotional pain. This means that we must study the events that caused the pain, to try to learn something from them and avoid them in the future. I'm sure this is a highly adaptive mechanism that helped my ancestors survive, but unfortunately now, reliving those decisions feels like a punishment.

When I talk to people about losing a pet and explain that it is different than losing a human being, 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

grief

over the

loss

of a pet. They act like it's almost histrionic. Histrionic is a word that means theatrical, as if you were simply mourning for attention. You know, it's funny. No one questions our pets' ability to make us happy. I would say that the 14 million cat videos on the Internet consolidate that data. (Laughter) If our pets can make us so happy that we laugh out loud, then losing them can have absolutely the opposite effect and break our hearts.

The second reason why grieving the

loss

of a pet is different is because the relationship is different. When our pets look at us, they don't judge us. They don't see our flaws. They look at us and say with their eyes: “You are perfect and I love you.” That is the warmest and most satisfying connection you can have. And that's what makes it so incredibly difficult when those eyes go. Many people have told me that what they were confessing was a terrible secret: "I cried more when my pet died than when my mother died." That's not a terrible secret.

If someone criticized you or told you that you were disappointed, of course you won't miss them as much. (Laughter) Like someone who tells you every day with his actions: “I love you. And I am very happy that you are mine.” Even if you had an amazing mom. Your ability to speak makes a difference. (Laughs) She could tell you that she was tired. That she wasn't feeling well. 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 will finally be at peace.

This way you will have some peace. Our pets don't have the ability to tell us that. That means that often when it's time for them to leave, that's our decision. It is a great responsibility to carry. The social decrease in grief over the loss of a pet, the unconditional love that unites the human animal, and our pet's inability to speak, make grief over the loss of a pet different from the loss of a human being. And if that's enough of an explanation for you and you feel better, then I'm so glad. But I suspect it's not because what makes grieving the loss of a pet more difficult are the factors that made your relationship so special.

These factors are real comorbidities of grief. Comorbidity is a medical term that means something that makes a bad situation even worse. I'm sure there are actually hundreds of comorbidities, but there are five that I see most frequently. The first comorbidity is if you lost your pet or had to make the decision to euthanasia due to a preventable accident, like the lady who left a tube of topical chemotherapy cream on her bedside table. It never occurred to him that the puppy would climb up there and chew on the tube. Chemotherapy is designed to kill fast-growing cells. 100% of a puppy is fast growing cells.

There was nothing I could do. In that situation, it is natural to turn the blame inward and punish yourself. But, you know, logically they cannot account for all scenarios. And pets have a free will that cannot be

explained

. My own dog demonstrated this when he defiantly peed on my favorite reading chair, right in front of me. (Laughs) Of course you feel responsible, but you need to know that animals forgive much better than humans. The only person who holds a grudge against you is you. I promise your pet won't. The second comorbidity is whether the pet you lost was a rescue, not the rampaging puppy but the adult you found at the shelter whose sad eyes seemed sunken.

A broken soul that learns to love and trust again because you opened your heart. And if you lost your pet because you had to make the decision to euthanasia and say a gentle goodbye, yes, that hurts. I'm sorry. You know you made that decision because you were saving them from the imminent pain, fear, and suffering that awaited them. Your first rescue brought them joy. Your final rescue gave them peace. The third comorbidity is not whether you rescued your pet, but whether you were rescued. If they helped you through a crisis with her calm presence, reminding you that you are loved and that you have someone to live for.

I can tell you in my own life that when I looked for a hand, I found a paw. During your life together, your pet was devoted to you and she showed it by her actions when she needed you most. But they left your side when they had no other choice, when they had to go to eat or had to go to the bathroom. When you let them go, you made that decision because you had no other choice. They don't understand other choice situations and they understand the choice 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 it again.

Yes, that hurts. But you have treasured your shared pet. So you loved twice as much and 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're going to cry because you did a good job loving both that person and your shared pet. But you must move on now because someone else needs your love. You need to love yourself like you loved both. The person who needs your love now is you. The fifth comorbidity is perhaps the hardest and is when you lose a pet that is more than just a pet.

I learned about this early in my career when I performed the toughest euthanasia I have ever performed. It was for a man who had a mild intellectual disability and had a very sick dog that he had named Girl. She was in end-stage liver failure. There was nothing she could do, no matter how much she wanted to save her. I couldn't and I told him so. And he answered me in a voice choked with desperate anger. He said, “You don't understand. I am special. The girl I love the most is this girl and she loves me too.

I need it." I did understand and I didn't know what else to say, and neither did he. Then he decided to test me. He stayed very quiet and said, almost in a whisper: "I'm not supposed to tell this to anyone, but I have "I'll give you a credit card and I'll give it to you and keep it a secret, if you just fix the situation Girl." That moment he hurt. That moment still hurts. When I said no to his credit card, he understood and said goodbye. But he took off her necklace and put it on her wrist as a bracelet.

And he worked for a few months. He returned to the hospital several times just to show me that he was still wearing it. Are you going to question his sense of loss? Are you going to tell her that all the love he gave her and she gave him wasn't real? Are you going to suggest that he just get over it or just replace her like she's a broken toy? Of course not. So don't say those things to anyone else, especially yourself. The pain of losing a pet is real and the pain of losing a pet is valid.

After Girl's father hugged her one last 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 didn't come from my head or my training. It came from my heart. I said, “Of course I do. Our pets share our homes not because they pay the mortgage but because they fill it with love and laughter from floor to ceiling. Their joy gives us something to look forward to every day. Why would the house of God be any different?” (Applause)