The last three weeks have been mind-blowingly awful. In addition to the three days of jury duty selection, the not-so-endearing “California $1,000 car tune-up”, and horrible insomnia, Pumpkin ate some of the recalled cat food and went into kidney failure again. Lest you think this a relapse from the last time a money-hungry-corporation-trying-to-increase-profits-through-shady-shortcuts-or-business-maneuvers caused her to go into kidney failure, I will say that not only did she recover completely the last time, but she didn’t start to get sick until 2 cans into the recalled food. I took her to the vet two weeks ago, when the news first broke, and after she hadn’t eaten for a day.
Dropping her off at the clinic initially was difficult (due to pumpkin’s disregard for the animal medical profession), yet strangely comforting (because all of the same employees were still working in their same capacities, and it sort of felt like I was returning her to the warm bosom of health and care). Most people remembered pumpkin from her last visit. And, much like the last time, she had to be sedated in order for them to insert the IV catheter. Sweet as southern tea she may be, but not to strangers trying to stick stuff in her veins. When I went to visit her that first night, a little part of my soul died. The vet told me that the IV was difficult to insert because there was some scarring from her last hospital stint. The thought of my beloved companion developing scar tissue and possibly dying as a result of humanity was infuriating and difficult to deal with. It was at this moment that I realized I AM like my father, ex-pat tendencies and all, as I wanted nothing more than to live on the top of a mountain, breathing clean air, eating vegetables grown with my own two hands and tending to various flocks of animals, most of whom would presumably die of natural causes.
This time has certainly been less excruciating than a year and a half ago simply because I’ve been ever vigilant about petting and cooing at her and generally not taking her presence for granted over the past year (I think cat near-death experiences do that). As I sat in the waiting room of the emergency clinic, I was able to keep my cool by reminding myself that I’d gotten a wonderful extra year with my sweet kitty. This enabled me to play a different role in the animal emergency clinic community from the one I played last time. I spoke openly and with encouragement to many of the other cat owners who had the same problem as I’m now officially a pro at dealing with acute renal failure (ARF) in cats. I offered my story of prior complete recovery as a beacon of hope to those who’d never dealt with serious sickness in their animal friend. I told them the latest news from the www and passed along the details of my conversation with IAMS wherein they assured me that all medical expenses would be paid by Proctor and Gamble.
After two days in the 24-hour hospital and three more days on IV fluids at the regular vet, pumpkin had not improved. She wasn’t eating and her blood toxins weren’t decreasing, which indicates that the kidneys can’t clean the blood as they are made to do. This was very different from last time, and so, distraught, I firmly told my vet that I wanted to take her home rather than let her die in an uncomfortable hospital with an annoying IV in her arm. So I brought her home to administer sub Q fluids into her back twice a day and help ease the transition into the animal afterlife affectionately known as the “rainbow bridge”. When we got home, she didn’t purr and could barely walk. I laid on the floor with her and cried really, really hard for most of the night. I didn’t go into work the next day, instead choosing to sit at home all day with her and offset my depressed mind with the entire second season of Laguna Beach (not a good idea when your anger is directed and capitalism and the coldness of corporate America). By the end of the day, she was surprisingly better (though I was feeling worse, completely out-of-sorts and hopeless from my LB marathon). She was walking a bit faster and showing more spark/energy. She still wasn’t eating that much, but she purred again and seemed happier. Her improvement continued every day and after four days of being home, I took her back to the vet for more bloodwork. Her toxin levels had dropped in half, indicating that her kidneys were working, albeit slowly. It seemed completely unlikely to me that the intense flushing of her system wouldn’t work, but sub Q fluids would. Natan then put forth the idea that I cured her with my love, which is probably the nicest thought to come out of this whole ordeal. It’s in line with something that I totally believe in—the whole mind-body connection. I watched a show on PBS where they did all these really cool studies on stress and recovery from wounds and proved that the mental state of a patient really does affect the kind of recovery they have. Some insurance companies even send out meditation tapes before their clients go into surgery because the more relaxed the patient, the quicker the recovery and the quicker the recovery, the less money the company has to pay. Pumpkin’s still not fully recovered and we don’t know if she will and what her long-term life will be like. For now, I have to insert an 18 gauge needle into her back twice a day and play the role of animal nurse. But, as long as she’s home and the recipient of intense people love, I have no doubt she’s getting the best care available.
Dropping her off at the clinic initially was difficult (due to pumpkin’s disregard for the animal medical profession), yet strangely comforting (because all of the same employees were still working in their same capacities, and it sort of felt like I was returning her to the warm bosom of health and care). Most people remembered pumpkin from her last visit. And, much like the last time, she had to be sedated in order for them to insert the IV catheter. Sweet as southern tea she may be, but not to strangers trying to stick stuff in her veins. When I went to visit her that first night, a little part of my soul died. The vet told me that the IV was difficult to insert because there was some scarring from her last hospital stint. The thought of my beloved companion developing scar tissue and possibly dying as a result of humanity was infuriating and difficult to deal with. It was at this moment that I realized I AM like my father, ex-pat tendencies and all, as I wanted nothing more than to live on the top of a mountain, breathing clean air, eating vegetables grown with my own two hands and tending to various flocks of animals, most of whom would presumably die of natural causes.
This time has certainly been less excruciating than a year and a half ago simply because I’ve been ever vigilant about petting and cooing at her and generally not taking her presence for granted over the past year (I think cat near-death experiences do that). As I sat in the waiting room of the emergency clinic, I was able to keep my cool by reminding myself that I’d gotten a wonderful extra year with my sweet kitty. This enabled me to play a different role in the animal emergency clinic community from the one I played last time. I spoke openly and with encouragement to many of the other cat owners who had the same problem as I’m now officially a pro at dealing with acute renal failure (ARF) in cats. I offered my story of prior complete recovery as a beacon of hope to those who’d never dealt with serious sickness in their animal friend. I told them the latest news from the www and passed along the details of my conversation with IAMS wherein they assured me that all medical expenses would be paid by Proctor and Gamble.
After two days in the 24-hour hospital and three more days on IV fluids at the regular vet, pumpkin had not improved. She wasn’t eating and her blood toxins weren’t decreasing, which indicates that the kidneys can’t clean the blood as they are made to do. This was very different from last time, and so, distraught, I firmly told my vet that I wanted to take her home rather than let her die in an uncomfortable hospital with an annoying IV in her arm. So I brought her home to administer sub Q fluids into her back twice a day and help ease the transition into the animal afterlife affectionately known as the “rainbow bridge”. When we got home, she didn’t purr and could barely walk. I laid on the floor with her and cried really, really hard for most of the night. I didn’t go into work the next day, instead choosing to sit at home all day with her and offset my depressed mind with the entire second season of Laguna Beach (not a good idea when your anger is directed and capitalism and the coldness of corporate America). By the end of the day, she was surprisingly better (though I was feeling worse, completely out-of-sorts and hopeless from my LB marathon). She was walking a bit faster and showing more spark/energy. She still wasn’t eating that much, but she purred again and seemed happier. Her improvement continued every day and after four days of being home, I took her back to the vet for more bloodwork. Her toxin levels had dropped in half, indicating that her kidneys were working, albeit slowly. It seemed completely unlikely to me that the intense flushing of her system wouldn’t work, but sub Q fluids would. Natan then put forth the idea that I cured her with my love, which is probably the nicest thought to come out of this whole ordeal. It’s in line with something that I totally believe in—the whole mind-body connection. I watched a show on PBS where they did all these really cool studies on stress and recovery from wounds and proved that the mental state of a patient really does affect the kind of recovery they have. Some insurance companies even send out meditation tapes before their clients go into surgery because the more relaxed the patient, the quicker the recovery and the quicker the recovery, the less money the company has to pay. Pumpkin’s still not fully recovered and we don’t know if she will and what her long-term life will be like. For now, I have to insert an 18 gauge needle into her back twice a day and play the role of animal nurse. But, as long as she’s home and the recipient of intense people love, I have no doubt she’s getting the best care available.
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