<i> In Extremis, </i> Pets Fare Better Than People : Euthanasia: Even when it’s what our loved ones want, we can’t honor this last request.

My mother died last month. My friend’s cat died the same day as my mother. My friend had an unhappy week grappling with the fact that her pet was in pain. She held her in her arms while the doctor injected her. When the cat died, my friend knew that she had done the best for her loved one.

I had no such humane option. Mother did not have the right to die. If she had, she could have chosen the death she wanted. Her life would have ended a month earlier when spasms of vomiting began to dominate each day.

Mother’s wishes were never in doubt. Since she was diagnosed with stomach cancer almost three years ago, she knew she was facing an unpleasant death. Yet she was adamant about not having surgery. At the age of 90, having suffered a stroke and then breaking her hip in the hospital, she complained of constant pain in her legs. A year later she broke her other hip, without the hospital’s help. She did not want to face the removal of her stomach, an extraordinarily miserable operation, and prolong what had become a painful life.

Mother had made sure that I had a durable power of attorney for health care, specifying that she did not want to be kept alive. She often said that she was ready to die, or to “join Dad.”

Those yearnings became more frequent during her last month, when she couldn’t hold food down and there was nothing left to throw up except bile. During the last week or two she became zombie-like; she had flashes of recognition, but most of the time she did not speak and tried to make her wishes known through ambiguous gestures.

The decisions about her care fell upon me. My request was simple: that she be comfortable and that her life would end as soon as possible. No one would tell me how to accomplish that.

During that last week, the oncologist said that she should be hospitalized, the gastroenterologist that she should remain at home. One hospice nurse warned of the discomfort of dehydration and said that Mother needed an IV; another nurse said that she would not be uncomfortable if she became dehydrated. It was up to me to decide. All I wanted was to take away the pain and end the remnant of her life.

Of course, there is only one way to accomplish that.

Euthanasia-- it means “good death.” If only I could have given my mother what she wanted most--a good death, without pain, in the arms of those who loved her. But it is not an option for us.

Veterinarians are the only doctors in this country who are allowed to give our loved ones injections to end their lives without fear of prosecution. Why are we so much kinder to our pets than we are to people?