Lubbock Mayor's Annual Beans and Cornbread Lunch in support of Hospice of Lubbock.

March 4, 2022 is the 33rd annual Lubbock Mayor's Beans and Cornbread Lunch (with all the fixins)  in support of Hospice of Lubbock.  Hospice of Lubbock provides care for patients with insurance, Medicare and Medicaid, but also provides care for unfunded patients, not just in Lubbock, but in the surrounding counties. As you know, the Hospice mission is to provide end of life dignity, palliative care, and respect for the patient's wishes in the final days 

Typically, this lunch is a major fundraiser for Hospice of Lubbock.  It has included speeches of support, not just from the Mayor of Lubbock, but also from Mayors from surrounding communities and other people who support the Hospice mission.  It has also included opportunity to network with like minded citizens of Lubbock.  In the past, it has also included local music groups providing entertainment. 

Well, because of COVID 19, in 2021, Hospice of Lubbock joined with the YWCA to do a drive through luncheon, and it was very successful, and will be repeated this year. Tickets can be purchased at https://covenanthealth.ejoinme.org/beansandcornbread. Even if you do not want to do a bean and cornbread lunch, you can donate at Hospice of Lubbock | Covenant Health.  

Sake to the Last

On July 15, 2015, I made a promise to Sake that I was taking her to the veterinarian for the last time.  She ate very little that day, and let me hold her for about 40 minutes before it was time to leave for the vet's office.  She went willingly into the crate.

She was crying and growling as we made the trip.  I am not sure she understood my message that this was the last trip she would have to make to the vet.  She was not happy. 

When we got into the exam room, and took the top off the cat carrier, she was bright eyed and alert.  But she had dropped 2 pound from Friday the 10th, to Wednesday the 15th.  She could no longer sustain her weight, or life for very long. 

When the vet and the tech came into the exam room, and the vet was getting ready to give Sake a sedative, the tech misjudged her, and Sake balked.  The tech and I both held her down for the vet.  They left while the sedative was allowed to work.  When the vet returned to the room, just a few minutes later, she asked "Did I hear her growl at me?"  "Yes," I said.  ("Sake to the last," I thought.  And as I told this story to others, they all agreed.)  The tech and vet both pet on her, remarking how they could not do so during her life.  They then gave her the final anesthesia.

The vet's office called the crematorium and cemetery for me.  The next afternoon, I had a chance to go out to pick out a box.  I told them I did not expect them to have her ready, but I wanted to take care of the box selection.  When I arrived at the crematorium and cemetery, they told me Sake was ready.  So, I chose a wooden box: Sake liked boxes, and so do I.  And, I brought her home.

I was able to fulfill the promise to Sake that she would not need to return to the vet's office again!  I was satisfied. 

Am I sad? Yes.  Do I miss her?  Yes.  Did I do the right thing, and the best thing for her?  I have no doubt in my mind.  

When I went into the hospital on the 17th, worrying about Sake was one less item on my mind.  But less selfishly, worrying about if I was continuing her needless suffering was not an issue.  

Do Haiku and Taki miss her?  Yes.  But they were less upset on the 15th, when I arrived home from the vet without her, than they had been on the 10th, when I arrived home without her, because she had been left a the vet's for sedation and lab work.   

The last few days of Sake's life, Haiku and Taki sat in the living room with her, just watching and waiting, while she laid under the futon.  Without being disrespectful, I hope, to the Hebrew religion, it kind of reminded me of "sitting shivas" https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shiva_(Judaism).