Blue-Eye Sphynx
In his first week of treatment, Al jumped back to being his happy self in a matter of days. I think it had everything to do with that Miracle B-12/antibiotic/steroid shot, and I wonder if he’ll need another one this Saturday. In this second week of treatment, he’s become a little more cranky, a little less social, seemed a little off. His second shot contained B-12 only, and I really don’t know if it just wasn’t powerful enough, or if Tuesday night’s round of Wrestlemania ‘I’m-not-letting-you-shove-these-pills-down-my-throat’ vs. ‘oh-YES-YOU-ARE’ vs. ‘hey-did-that-just-dissove-all-over-your-hands? HA-I-win’ had anything to do with it.
I Can Haz Medcin?
Many, many thanks to everyone who has emailed or called or commented to find out about Al and give us comfort. We feel very fortunate to have your kindness and a chance for him to recover. You don’t always get either of those things, and I’m very happy to report he’s making progress.
After publishing his update on Thursday, I whisked him over to our local vet where she weighed him (gained .4lbs!), prescribed him (stronger than recommended) and jabbed him with a B-12 combination shot. Which, huh, interesting – looks JUST LIKE Amoxicillin. The Devil-juice that turns Al into The Exorcist. She stabbed him with that big, fat, pink needle so fast, all I could see was the projectile-vomiting-to-come and scream, “WAIT! STOP! WHATISTHATOHMYGODDON’T!!!”
The vet stopped mid-injection, looked at me, turned and looked at the tech, who then looked up from cutting Al’s antibiotics into tiny little 1/4 bits, and said, “It’s ok. That’s what B-12 looks like. It’s not Amoxicillin.” and smiled kindly as I began to sob.
Al hasn’t thrown up in four days. He’s still cranky, sore, a little lethargic, but he’s eating. And we’re sleeping. Life is so much better.
(click to enlarge)
Access Denied
Wait, what?You shove me in a bag, you cart me all over Seattle, you shave my belly, stab me with needles, shove pills down my throat, take my blood, shoot fluids in my back (seriously. would you look at this? I’m a DAMN CAMEL!), starve me, leave me, make me barf…and NOW I can’t go outside?
I’m SO running away to join the circus.
Cat Prayers
Al went to Critical Care last Tuesday. Not two days ago ‘last Tuesday’, but over a week ago ‘last Tuesday’. He has been throwing up ever since.
The good news is, he hasn’t lost his desire to eat. The bad news is, he hasn’t lost his desire to eat. Trav and I are completely sleep deprived from constant requests to be fed – requests that begin five minutes after he pukes and do not stop until he’s scarfing down all of three bites.
Almost every moment of the last week has been devoted to feeding Al, medicating Al, missing work for Al, going to the vet with Al, being pestered for food by Al, praying and watching Al (‘keep it down, baby’), and cleaning puke out of the carpet for Al. Every. Two. Hours.
The longer it goes on, the worse it seems to get and the more we seem to mess up – I am now more convinced than ever of Trav’s theory that all this throwing up was caused by stopping his steriod medication abruptly. Something that wasn’t done intentionally, of course.
But from the very start of that first Critical Care visit, we had entire encyclopedias of information, possibilities and options thrown at our heads. This is how the large intestine works, this is how the small intestine works. These are the symptoms, these are the treatments. This is how much this costs, and that, and this. This is sort of how long it takes. Here are nine hundred techno-babble words. Maybe it’s his Pancreas. Maybe it’s IBD. Maybe it’s cancer. Maybe he’ll need B-12 shots and Myzoprene and Prednizone. Maybe he’ll need Chemo. Definetly needs an ultrasound we can do right now. Definetly needs a blood test we’ll send all the way to Texas A&M. Possibly needs an endoscopy. No more steriod shots, but wean him off the pills (even though they don’t work). We’ll give him a shot of this, fluids for that, and here, give him 1/2 a pill of this for vomiting for x days, then alternate, and keep adding the dusty yogurt stuff to his food.
Considering the 2-3 hours of sleep we’ve been working on per day, I don’t think it’s much of a surprise when I tell you I got confused and forgot to ask whether he should still have the steroid pills (also alternating), because hey, look at this, the vomiting meds say ‘don’t take anything with this’.
Al just wants to eat. He’s active and aware and drinking water and being himself in every other way – even his diarrhea (the original problem) resolved itself until just last night. But we know he’s slowly starving.
With every day that passes, with every episode of wretching, we lose it a little bit more. We wonder if it wouldn’t just be best to stop this madness. Then he prances up and looks at us with a bright, eager face that simply says ‘I’m hungry. Feed me and let’s go outside.’
Everything is still fine in his world. He just doesn’t understand why he can’t eat.
Before the blood test even came back, the vet pressed us very hard to choose whether or not we’d subject Al to an endoscopy. Something that could confirm whether he has IBD or cancer.
And we had a very, VERY hard time with that. We found it an impossible decision – especially with no results to go on and no advice from the vet. “These are the options and risks,” was all she was willing to say, “I can’t tell you what to do.”
True. But she IS the expert. She SEES the cases. She KNOWS the results. When people go to the doctor, they get evaluations AND recommendations. I don’t understand why vets can’t seem to do this, too.
So, we spent a lot of time going back and forth, crying and sighing, maybe-this-ing and what-if-ing. What is right? What is wrong? What will work? What is best?
In the midst of all this, we did get his blood work back. His pancreas is fine. But he does have a huge amounts of bacterial growth. Caused by either IBD or cancer.
In the end, we decided not to do the endoscopy. Because knowing whether he has cancer isn’t going to change the fact that he’s 12 and probably won’t survive it. What we DO know is that A) he can’t digest anything (including his anti-vomiting medicine) and B) we can treat him for IBD right the hell now. So we’re going to do that. Aggressively. And pray.
If only the vet would call to say when and how. Her day off was yesterday. And it’s been the longest day of Al’s life.
First Buds
This is our *humfrumsomething* tree in the back yard. On the one day it’s been sunny in a week. I realize telling you it’s been rainy and cold here in Seattle is a LOT like someone telling me Lucy’s going to pull that football on Charlie Brown.
DUH.
But it SNOWED here today. And the best reason I can think of why is not because Mother Nature decided to get in on April Fools, but rather, because she knew Dooce was leaving today and wanted to say goodbye.
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