RIP Muma Ade

My sweet little bird died today.  She was almost 10 years old.  Not a bad run, considering her immune system was never very strong.  Yesterday it seemed as though her foot was hurting her.  I couldn't see anything obviously wrong with it, it wasn't really swollen or really red, she was eating and drinking fine, so I decided to watch her for a day and see what happened.  

Well, this morning I came downstairs and she was laying on the floor of the cage, having trouble breathing!  I grabbed a dish towel, wrapped her in it, grabbed my purse, keys and phone and raced out the door, calling the vet as I went.  

I sped 70mph down the freeway and 10 minutes later I burst through the door of the vet's office, in my pajamas and bedhead with Muma in my hands.  The lady behind the counter took one look at us, grabbed Muma and vanished into the back.  A few minutes later, someone came and brought me back into a room where Muma was.  Unfortunately, Muma would not be leaving that room with me.

The vet came in, Dr. R, and examined Muma.  He put his giant stethoscope on her back.  It was the saddest, sweetest thing I've seen in a long time.  He was being so gentle with her, and she barely raised her head in acknowledgement of him.  He used a paperclip to open her beak and peer down her throat.  I wrapped her in the towel and flipped her over so he could feel her tummy and chest.  She didn't like that,  but she didn't make a sound.

Dr. R told me that he couldn't see anything obvious in the exam except that Muma was underweight.  "Has she been eating?" he asked.  I recoiled.  Was he suggesting that I starved my bird?  He must have sensed my indignation because he said, "It is possible that she has a metabolic or endocrine issue that is causing her weight loss, and I can see from her chart that she has never been underweight before."  In fact, she was classified as overweight at an exam once, which I thought was BS.

I felt better though, after he clarified.  "Yeah, she has been eating and drinking fine."  

He looked over her chart again.  "I would like to do an X-Ray on her, if that's okay with you.  I can't tell from this exam what is wrong with her, and I can't suggest any treatment until I have an idea of what I'm looking at.  It is spendy though..."

"It's fine," I said.  "I don't care what it costs.  Do the X-Ray, please."

He left, and I petted Muma's head while she slept for several minutes until a tech came in to get her and take her for her X-Rays.  The tech told me that X-Rays can be very stressful on little birds and sometimes they work themselves up to the point of having a heart attack.  I looked at Muma.  "I don't think she'll resist much."  The tech nodded sadly, and took Muma out.

After the X-Rays, Dr. R came back in and told me that her liver area looked enlarged and her kidneys looked small.  He said he wasn't sure based on the X-Ray but his likely differentials would have been a tumor in the liver or kidney failure.  "We could run some more diagnostics," he said, "but it would take a day or two to get the results."

We both looked at Muma, struggling to breathe on the table.

"I don't think she has a day or two," I said.

"No, neither do I," agreed Dr. R.

This was the suckiest part of the whole experience.  I had to decide this.  The fate of this little yellow bird was in my hands and only mine.  As Dr. R and I looked down at her, she peeped in her sleep, and scared herself awake.  She tried to take a step and lost her balance.  In a second she was tumbling all around on the table, doing somersaults, as though she was drunk.  I scooped her up in my hands and placed her back in the middle of the towel and petted her head and back until she went to sleep again.

I nailed Dr. R with the question, "What would YOU do?"

"Well," he said, "as a vet, I know there are options we could try.  I could always give you an antibiotic and see if it helps, but from the X-Ray it doesn't look like a respiratory infection.  We could run blood work.. but it would take a while, like I said.  As a person, I would tell you.... she looks pretty miserable.  She does not look comfortable.  If you decided on euthanasia, I would fully support you in that decision."

I took that to mean that if Muma were his bird, he'd want to end her suffering, as a tumor or kidney failure was most likely.  As a vet, though, he might not have been able to say that, or maybe he didn't feel comfortable saying that.

"Well, it sucks," I said.  "Because I don't want to try nothing.... but I can't let her go on this way.  I can't let her suffer like this for several hours more before she dies naturally.  That isn't fair."

"No it isn't," agreed the vet.  "Her prognosis looks very poor to me."

"Yes, me too.." 

We both looked mournfully at Muma for a few seconds. 

"Well then," I said.  "I guess I'd better let her go."

Dr. R asked me a few questions.  The last one was, "do you want her body for burial?"

"Can't it be donated to science or something?  To help train new vets?"

He raised his eyebrows.  "Nobody has ever asked me that before!  Unfortunately, all that would go through the school program, not here.  Although I should look into that."

"Yeah," I said.  Affectionately, I petted Muma.  "She endorses science, you know."  

He chuckled and left the room.  After a minute, he sent in a receptionist with some forms.  I checked off the appropriate boxes, signed my name on the line and tried not to throw up.  I was signing Muma's death warrant right in front of her!  I was signing the papers to have them kill my bird.  My baby bird.  My sweet bird.  What was I doing?  Part of me wanted to grab her and run.  But what good would that have done?  That would have been a very selfish thing to do.  Muma deserved an easy end, a painless end.  So instead I finished my signature, handed the receptionist my card, and focused on spending every last minute with Muma that I could.

A vet tech, dressed appropriately in black scrubs, came in after a few minutes with Dr. R.  Dr. R said, "do you have any questions?"  

I shook my head.

"Do you need any more time?"

"No," I said.  "We're good."  I was terrified I would cry in front of them.  Not sure why that would have been so bad, but I couldn't deal with the idea.

The vet tech picked up the towel with Muma.  She didn't even open her eyes.  

"Bye Muma.  I love you," I said, waving as though she could see me.  As though I'd see her again in a few days, as I always said whenever I left for vacation.  Dr. R shook my hand and told me someone would call me tomorrow to have me pick up a clay mold of her foot.  I thanked them and ran for the door.

I came home without Muma.  Took a few hours to compose myself, and in true "Me" fashion, went about my day.  Now I am sitting here, looking at the cockatiel's cage and it looks all wrong to only see 2 in there.

This was the last photo taken of Muma. I took it

right before the vet tech in black came to

take her away.  I love her so much.

RIP Muma Ade

January 11, 2004 - April 12, 2014