The PDD Memorial Quilt

When the founding members of AHN began the StopPDD website, Meggie was the cornerstone and inspiration of hope for "Living with PDD".

"We wish Meggie's family peace. May Meggie fly free in our hearts forever." - Avian Health Network, Inc.

Please take a moment visit Meggie - Living with PDD. You can also sign Meggie's Memory Book or read the Memory Book Archives.

Meggie's Story

My Meggie was a beautiful Congo African Grey born in June of 1999. She died on Wednesday, August 13, 2003 from PDD (Proventricular Dilatation Disease).  Tentatively diagnosed with PDD in April 2002, Meggie lived another 13 months with us in good health, thanks to the veterinarians at the Michael J. Ryan Veterinary Hospital at the University of Pennsylvania and a drug called Metacam (Meloxicam). More about her initial struggles with PDD symptoms can be read in the article Meggie - Living with PDD.

Meggie was a very special bird. She was a rescue parrot. From the first day I saw her up until her last illness, she never bit me. This is fairly uncommon for a Grey. But after her last hospitalization, she did start lashing out to bite me when I'd ask her to step up. I know in my heart this was caused by her frustration that her body was not responding for her. Due to what we now suspect was neurological damage, Meggie could not step up readily during her last two days, had strange head twitches, and when she tried to walk, it looked like she was tripping. Immediately after she tried to bite me, she would rub her beak all over my hands, cooing, as if to say, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean it." Meggie, I know you didn't, sweety.

Meggie was very intelligent, quickly learning and whistling tunes, talking all day, playing, hanging upside-down, beating her toys (they had to have bells), demanding that we "C'mere!" and give her scritches or kisses. Initially very distrusting of men (the pet shop employee we saw abuse her was male), she eventually learned to trust the men in our household, as long as they never tried to pick her up. That privilege was mine, alone. I didn't want it to be that way, but Meggie set those rules based upon her life experience as a young baby. Therefore, my husband was thrilled when she finally created a game to play just with him, and then eventually with everyone. My husband would put his head down for scritches, and Meggie would preen his hair. She would then put her head down and it was his turn to give her scritches. This game would go on, back and forth, for several minutes.

Meggie's favorite things to say were "Look!" as she held up her favorite toy, "uh oh!" as she dropped it and watched us pick it up. Other favorite words and phrases were: Wanna go bye-byes? Gimme kiss! Good morning! How are you? I love you! Birdie Bread? Birdie, birdie, birdie?! Step up! Baxter! (our puppy). She could whistle the Mayberry RFD theme, and was almost finished learning The Star Spangled Banner when she died, which she started learning after 9/11. One time when we went away for a week, we set the TV channel to PBS for the birds. Our birdsitter, however, had other plans, and changed it to a country-western channel. When we returned home, Meggie was crowing like a rooster. :-)

The end came very quickly. What I noticed first was her lack of vocalizing. Then, she started to gorge herself on water to the point that I had to remove it from her cage sometimes. I thought it was just a slump, which she would occasionally have for a day or so, before rebounding. She did not rebound this time, however, and the day after my birthday, she was sitting on her perch, dejected, with her head slumped all the way down, her eyes mostly closed. I weighed her and she was only 310 grams, when she had been eating all day. I rushed her to UPenn's ER clinic, where they monitored her during the night.

The next day I received a phone call at work telling me that Meggie's weight was only 240 grams. I abandoned my desk at work and rushed to the hospital, as Dr. Matt Johnston was not certain she could make it through the tests. I sobbed the entire way to the hospital, thinking that she might die without me there. But, Meggie perked up a lot when she saw me arrive. That made Dr. Matt feel a bit more confident, and he allowed me to take her home so that I could syringe feed her and get her to eat her beloved birdie bread. I drove home armed with Meloxicam and some Baytril for a suspected gastric infection, as Meggie's WBC was high.

When we entered the house from the hospital, Meggie made the Nextel beeping sound and my heart soared. She also said "shhh" to me when I took her upstairs that night, and did her imitation of me clearing my throat. This was her routine. I was so happy. She also weighed 338 grams! Her head was still down most of the time, but I was encouraged. The next morning, she said, "Good morning," as I raised the sheet over her cage! I was happy and went to work. My daughter handfed her during the day, and I also saw that Meggie had made some birdie soup while I was gone. I was hopeful.

On Wednesday morning, I was greeted by a "Good morning" again when I lifted the sheet from her cage. I smiled, but something deep within me did not allow me to get my hopes up. I was still not seeing the remarkable recovery that Meggie had always displayed every time she was sick. I was worried, and wondered if this was the last time I would hear her morning greeting. It was.

When I got home from work that day, Meggie was virtually the same. She was down to 280 grams. My daughter told me that Meggie had responded enthusiastically when my son, Lance, came home earlier, begging for attention and yelling, "C'mere!" Looking at her perched so dejectedly, that was so hard to believe. But, we were all beginning to realize that Meggie was getting quite good at putting up a brave front for us, almost as though she wanted to assuage our fears. But, she couldn't keep up the charade forever, and her head would drift back down and her eyes would close.

At 4:00 p.m. on that same day, Wednesday, August 12, 2003, I was sitting at my computer. Meggie was suddenly startled out of her sleep and vomited all the water she had gulped, plus the formula I had fed her. This was accompanied by a barely perceptible, tiny cry. My heart sank, as I knew it was time.

I phoned Dr. Matt at VHUP. He answered the page immediately, his voice laced with concern. I said, "I think it's time." He told me what to do. I said, "Do you think I'm doing the right thing for her?" He said, "I do." Dr. Johnston explained that he suspected Meggie was suffering from encephalitis from PDD lesions in her brian. He then gently asked me for her body afterwards. He felt that she could help alot of other parrots.

I then phoned my beloved dog vet (I knew I could not drive myself over to the University of Pennsylvania in the condition I was in), and he agreed to put her to sleep for me. I had discussed Meggie with him back in 2002 when she was first diagnosed, as I was afraid that the vets at the University of Pennsylvania might be reluctant to let her go, if and when her time came (I was so wrong). His staff had promised me that I could call him if and when the time came. It had come. Our appointment was scheduled for 5:00.

I felt like we were waiting for an execution. It was utterly agonizing. Meggie and I were alone together for almost an hour. I took her outside and walked around our beautiful yard with her on my shoulder. I placed her in the cherry tree where I had taken her portrait 13 months earlier, right after her tentative PDD diagnosis. She rubbed my cheek with her face, whispering to me in her sweet, high voice. My heart was breaking, and I began doubting my decision. Then, I would remind myself that Dr. Matt strongly felt that she was in pain. I could not live with that.

I can't write about her final moments. They're private. But, I was holding her, and she went peacefully. My husband did make it home in time to be with us during this most difficult time, and he and I immediately drove her body over to Philadelphia. We are moving from our home soon, so I did arrange for Meggie to be cremated. Michael and I will bury her remains when we are settled again. We are still waiting for her necropsy results, but I can't imagine what else could have taken her but PDD. She had so many tests in 2002 that ruled out other possible diagnoses.

I know some people... perhaps many people... think that Jon Edward is a charlatan. But, if he is for real, he has given us proof that we are reunited with our pets when we leave this world. It gives me great comfort to think that Meggie might be waiting for me, or sitting on my grandmother's arm, or playing with my beloved cockatiel, Mistletoe, whom I lost to egg binding three years ago. I would love to be reunited with a whole, happy Meggie someday.

So rarely in our lives are we touched to the core by another creature. Meggie touched my soul. Not everyone understands this, but if you're here reading about her, chances are that you do. Meggie was my friend, my companion, my confidante and my teacher. I am a better person for having known and cared for her. I will always remember her and cherish our four years together.

I want to thank my husband, my daughter and my mom for all their support during Meggie's life. I love you. I want to thank the Avian Health Network... east coast Valerie and west coast Val, and the rest of the board for all their support, caring and love during the past 13 months, and especially for their phone calls and support now. Violet and Kathy, you're the best. Len, thank you, and you know why... hope is a wonderful thing. And, lastly, I want to thank Dr. Karen Rosenthal and Dr. Matthew Johnston... Karen, for giving me the past year with Meggie, during which time she was virtually symptom-free and carefree, and Matt for being compassionate and caring in the end.  The Internet community has embraced us during this difficult time in our lives, as well, and I want to thank everyone who has called, written, and who has donated funds to PDD research in Meggie name. With all of us working together, we can help the doctors beat this thing! 

I want to close with these lovely words, which were sent to me by a lovely lady named Carly: