my lap warming friend
Still in pursuit of answers, I went for an upper endoscopy this past Monday. That went off as planned. I fasted from midnight the night before, and the test was at 11:30. My dear hubby took me. I was groggier this time; I even had to hitch a wheelchair ride out to the car. The upper endoscopy showed mild gastritis. No results yet on the biopsies he took.
I went yesterday for the last test my doctor wanted me to have, a CAT scan. That was more of a hassle than anything else. I had to go to Highland Hospital, a place I’d never been. I didn’t even know where it was! I had to fast from 10:00 a.m. The test was scheduled for 2:00. They didn’t do the scan until 4:10. I sat in the waiting room for over an hour! Once called in, I had to drink six 8-ounce cups of a sorbitol solution over an hour, and then wait 30 minutes. The scan and contrast dye injection were the easy part. Drinking all that liquid is nauseating.
The doctor called today with my CAT scan results already. I have acute diverticulitis. Ouch. I’m relieved I now know why I’ve been so sick. I’m on two antibiotics, a difficult task since I’m allergic to penicillin and sulfa, and many other medications bother me.
August has truly been the month from hell for me. In three weeks I’ve had an ER visit, a colonoscopy, an upper endoscopy, and a CAT scan. I’ve lost ten pounds, and I’ve missed five days of work. I’m eager to feel well again. I’m hopeful it’ll happen soon.
On a happier note, here’s some cute bird feeder photos of my chubby woodchuck and his friends, the blue jay, the squirrel, and assorted sparrows.
I am not having fun. My kitty is sick. Chase got sick nine days ago and stopped eating. He was congested and wheezing and gurgling but not sneezing. He first went to the vet a week ago today.
He saw a different Doctor than the one we usually see. He diagnosed an upper respiratory infection and put him on doxycycline and said he’d probably be eating by that evening. When cats can’t breathe or smell, they won’t eat. He told us to call on Monday and he mentioned a magic number to worry about – 5-7 days without food and the cat’s body starts to shut down and they could die.
By Monday he still wasn’t eating so I called back. The vet told us to give it another day (like he would magically begin eating) and suggested I stop to pick up some special food and a probiotic he called “kitty crack”. He was sure he’d be eating by that evening.
I called on Tuesday, angry because he still wasn’t eating. I was asked by the receptionist, “do you want an appointment or something?” I might’ve gotten snarky with her and said, “well, I don’t want my cat to die” in a less than friendly tone. I was then asked if I had a doctor preference. I asked for our regular doctor and took the cat back in.
Our regular vet did blood work and tested his blood sugar because he’s a diabetic. She gave him an antibiotic injection, an anti-nausea medicine and an appetite stimulant. She was sure he’d eat.
We got home and he pawed at the cupboard, begging for food. I tried to feed him and he walked away. I offered him three different kinds of canned food and seven different kinds of dry food. Nothing.
I called the vet crying on the way to work on Wednesday. She said we could give it another day because the blood work showed his liver levels were still good. Then she called me Wednesday evening at home, wanting to talk about possibly inserting a feeding tube. Since the cat is only seven, my family wanted to proceed with the surgery.
I dropped him off Thursday morning and picked him up Friday afternoon. He now has a esophagotomy tube inserted in his throat, and we feed him liquefied cat food by tube. What a nightmare. It took me 40 minutes to mix up and make the food this morning. I think I will have to throw my blender out when we are finished with making cat milkshakes in it. The parts and pieces all have a greasy, fish-scented film on them. Once it’s mixed, it has to be strained through a gauze cloth to get any lumps out. That’s a joke, too, and not as easy to do as it sounds. Feeding him isn’t much fun either. You can’t just inject the 30 ml that they’ve started him out on. You have to do it slowly, and they told us to take 30 minutes to feed him the 30 ml. He doesn’t care much for the process, and frankly, we’re not excited about it either. It took two to help hold him during the first feeding. The second feeding went a bit better until he threw up on my bed. I have that liquefied cat food smell stuck in my nose.
He has to go back to the vet daily to have his bandaging changed. I took him back for the first time this morning. By the time we got there, the bandage was shredded because he’d been scratching at it, trying to get it off. He’s been trying to eat regular food – dry food, wet food and treats. When he bends and tries to eat, the bandage is tight enough that it made him gag and throw up. Today at the vet they took out the suture holding the tube in place, thinking that maybe that was pulling and making him scratch. They also loosened the bandage some. It appears that his gag reflex is pretty high, and he’s feeling the tube in his throat. I brought him back home again, and when he came out of the carrier, the tube (supposed to be sitting on his back) was hanging down in front of him, banging into his leg when he walked. I called the vet, and they said it should be okay, just try to keep putting it towards the back. While I was talking to them, the Telfa pad came loose and was hanging down on his chest. The Telfa pad was supposed to be underneath the outer bandage and supposed to be wrapped around the base of the feeding tube where it goes into his neck. So he went right back into the carrier and right back to the vet where they put the suture back in to hold the tube in place.
So we are hoping that this feeding tube experience is over with sooner rather than later. It is definitely not a fun process. I want my healthy kitty boy back.
Sammy would have been 23 today (if he were still with us). Sam was a wonderful cat. We lost him to old age 6 years ago.
Sam was the “child” of divorce. He had been raised by a family with children, other cats, and dogs. He found himself up for adoption when the family split up and couldn’t keep the pets. He was tolerant of everything. He introduced us to the world of cat ownership gently. He was our first cat, and because of him there have been five others.
He wasn’t much to look at. When we went to look at cats waiting for adoption, we had gone to see an elderly but beautiful long-haired cat. The adoption folks discouraged us because the cat we had admired had kidney issues. They didn’t recommend we take a sick cat for our first experience. They turned to motion towards a cage on the floor and said, “how about Sam?”
How about Sam? I remember looking at him and thinking, “THAT is a cat?!” My oldest son was almost 6 at the time, and he was with me. He looked at Sam and said, “OK!” He wanted him, and Sam (who was also 5 at the time) would become “his” cat for the next 12 years.
Sam’s favorite “toy” was a plastic drinking straw. He had several, and he “buried” them all over the house. I was still finding them years after he’d gone. There are probably still some buried under the bedroom rugs. He’d wait until we’d all gone to bed for the night. The house would be dark, and we’d be just settling in when he’d come walking up the hallway, straw in mouth, yowling at the straw. It cracked us up every time. He’d draw the syllables out. Sometimes it would sound like he was saying, “wohhhhhhhhhh, noooooooooooo.” I miss hearing him. He was so funny.
Sweet-tempered, patient, loving Sam. He was a big cat (22 pounds at one time), and he always wanted to lie on your chest. He didn’t realize that he made breathing difficult. Happy, friendly Sam who loved to lie on his back in the window sills so that the sun could reach his tummy.