Illness Strikes
One day, Winnie simply stopped eating, stopped grooming, stopped playing.
After two days of her not eating, offering her different foods without success, I called Dr. Judy. She came that evening, drew blood, examined her thoroughly and decided to give intravenous fluids. I made myself scarce as Dr. Judy and her assistant wrapped Win up in a cat wrap (which looked like a strait jacket with a zipper -- neat little piece of equipment. It broke my heart to hear the way this little cat meowed all the way through the intravenous routine. This little cat, whose meow I could scarcely hear, could sure yell loudly when warranted. She carried on the whole time and I eventually went back to the "examining room" to make sure they weren't damaging her. They shooed me away because of the way I was carrying on! Ok, IV drip done, unzip Win and let her go; she made a beeline right to the bedroom and didn't move from under the bed 'til those two had gone.
Until results of the blood work were in, not too much could be done. If Win wasn't eating or eliminating by the next day, Dr. Judy would be back to give her more fluids. She was back -- with prescription food; best on the market, canned and kibbles. We couldn't entice Winnie to eat any of it; Dr. Judy would be back again next day with a different prescription food and to talk about appetite enhancers (medicine) for her. She mentioned the name of the appetite enhancers and during the rest of the day and evening, I researched the medications. Didn't like what I found and determined not to go that route. Next morning off I go to the supermarket to buy the cheapest, smelliest canned food I could find, hoping the smell would stimulate Winnie's appetite. Got home, opened the can right under her nose; her ears perked up she stood up from her scrunched position and meowed impatiently, winding through my legs, waiting to be fed. Before I even got her dish on the floor, she stood up on her hind legs, reaching for the bowl, nearly knocking it out of my hand. Did she ever have a chow-down! I hadn't given her much, a heaping tablespoonful and before long she was back for more. She ate well throughout the day without vomiting. Dr. Judy came with more food and tried to feed it to her but she wasn't having any of that - not even a sniff. I put down the rest of the smelly stuff and she finished it off quickly.
Test results came back -- normal. Okay, where do we go from here? Dr. J recommended x-rays of Winnie's chest area -- seemed to be a "full" sound in the stethescope. Fluid in the lungs could indicate Feline Infectious Peritonitis (FIP) a deadly disease, fatal with a 2-4 week prognosis. Got on the internet and started researching FIP. Didn't like what I read there either and started praying in earnest at that point. God had given me another precious companion -- Lord will you take her from me so soon? Can she not grow old with me? Then faith-filled acceptance, building on the experience of my Neea-Kha, that God's timing was perfect timing; that He alone could -- and would -- effect the perfect circumstances for Winnie and me.
Dr. Judy, as a mobile vet, didn't have her own diagnostic equipment; she had privileges at a vet clinic a distance from where I lived. I opted to take Winnie to a close-by vet. I'd heard good things about him from friends who took their dogs there. He was very gentle with Winnie - let her walk around the room -- door blocked off -- while we talked, then off they went to a back room for the x-rays. Vet suggested we (a friend and I) go for a coffee and come back in an hour or so to get the results of the x-rays. Back at the vet - I was amused to see Win following the doctor around from room to room - the door to the reception room and entrance was shut, no chance of her escaping. She just strutted around behind him as he prepared the x-rays on the stand. My heart sank as he pointed out a large, cloudy white area outside the chest cavity. He was unsure of what it was - air, gas, water - he just didn't know. He would need to do a needle aspiration of the area. I held back the tears as he explained the procedure - I won't go into details. It would be better if I left her there overnight; he'd do the procedure first thing in the morning. Win would be lightly sedated and I could pick her up late afternoon the next day.
I've always hated being home without my companion of the time. Even with Winnie sleeping 16 or so hours a day, her presence -- her spirit -- is still there. It's that missing essence -- her spirit -- that makes our home seem so sterile, so dull and lifeless. I felt the same when Nee had to stay overnight at the vets. I oft-times think that when my last companion has left me and I'm deemed (by myself or others) "too old" to have another companion animal, my spirit will take leave of this earth - and gladly.
But that's for the future. Up early next morning, I'm out and about - killing time until I can call and make sure my Win's ok. Called at noon, procedure over, Winnie's recovering from the sedation well. Called again mid-afternoon...another hour or so and she'll be good to go; she's up and moving about and even ate a bit of food. And finally, time to pick her up! She was happy to see me and didn't leave my side as the vet prepared to give me the results of the test. I was stunned when he told me the aspiration had been in vain - he wasn't able to get to the area where the cloudy mass was; perhaps it was under a bony area and the needle just kept coming out dry! I swallowed the nausea that threatened to overwhelm me as I thought of my Winnie enduring all this FOR NOTHING! I inquired as to whether he might have been getting through but that the mass was just air - gas - but he said, no, the cloudiness was fluid. He then proceeded to tell me she had FIP and that she was going to die. He was prepared to help her along humanely and it should be done right away. My head was reeling. How did we get from an unproductive needle aspiration to a diagnosis of FIP to an assertion of euthanasia being the only thing left? I told him that my own vet and any reputable veterinary site I had researched agreed that the only way to make a diagnosis of FIP was through exploratory surgery. He shook his head sadly (he really believed this!), and said he had seen many cases of FIP and was convinced of his accuracy. I could certainly take her to the Guelph Veterinary College, but I'd have to leave her for a week or so and, if she survived that long, the cost would be exorbitant. I put Winnie in her carrier, thanked him for his time and made my way up front to settle the bill. The vet followed me up and again, shaking his head and looking at me with pity in his eyes (and I wasn't even crying), he said -- okay, take her home for the weekend, but you'll be back Monday begging me to euthanize her...you won't be able to stand seeing her suffer. Left me with some Valium (for Winnie, not me), sometimes given to cats to enhance appetite. Well, that wasn't happenin' either!
We got home and settled and as I prayed for inspiration, as I prayed for help in finding the right thing to do for Winnie, a plan was formulated. I went on the internet and looked up "cat wrap". I knew I'd never be able to hold her still for "Operation Winnie". I found a very informative, step-by-step video of how to wrap a cat up for safe handling. I had to make a few trial runs before I got it right...coming up behind Win with a thick baby blanket and wrapping it around her was a bit tricky at first. She'd have a front paw and a back paw sticking out, leaving her enough wiggle room to ... well, wiggle out. Poor little thing, didn't know what the heck I was doing. I had to keep reassuring her that I wasn't going to hurt her, I had to be cruel to be kind...you know the kind of stuff we say in these situations! Finally, I got to the point where I could get that wrap around her from tail to neck...just her little head sticking out; flip her over and...at this point, release her. Then it was off to the drug store to get eye droppers and various sizes of medicine syringes; to the grocery store to get more of that cheap, smelly food along with some better-quality canned food; over to the pet store to get cat milk and a cat water fountain (hoping the moving water would inspire her to drink). I called Dr. J to let her know what had transpired at the vet's and she was astounded that he would make such a diagnosis. She'd be over tomorrow so she could check Winnie's weight and see if she'd need hydrating.
In the meantime, I could not get Winnie to eat anything. The water fountain didn't inspire her to do anything but sniff at it disdainfully and walk away. Sooooo - everything prepared in advance -- syringe on the table beside me, cat milk poured into a bowl, sneak up behind Win with the blanket, quickly wrap her up and turn her over; uh-oh, should have filled the syringe beforehand. That was a scene to behold - holding a struggling Winnie with one hand, filling the syringe with the other hand; took all my creativity and ingenuity to perform that. I managed to get the tip of the syringe into the corner of her mouth only to have her turn her head away. Okay, cradle her head in the crook of my arm, get that syringe right into her mouth and slowly press the plunger. Worked like a charm. Winnie was an unwilling captive but she had stopped trying to get free. I had no idea of how much to give her and when she started her soft, plaintive meowing, I decided that three full syringes would suffice for now.
Over the next few days, Dr. Judy and I decided on a course of action. I made an appointment at The Cat Clinic, a veterinary clinic dedicated solely to the health of cats. I picked up the x-rays the previous vet had taken and he was surprised when I told him Winnie was doing quite well. I hoped for even better results by the time I got the x-rays back to him.
I was impressed that the vet specialized in cats and kept up to date on cat-related issues. The vet herself was very gentle and caring with Winnie; took more blood tests, felt Win's issues could be bowel related and suggested an ultrasound. We set up the appointment for the following week and I took Win home, determined that we were going to get these issues under control. I had always felt that kibbles were causing her constipation so I decided -- no more kibbles, except for her few treats. If you've ever seen how kibble expands in an animal's stomach, you'd understand my concern when, ten hours later, she throws up the (hugely expanded) undigested kibbles. Neither Dr. Judy or the vet at the Cat Clinic were crazy about the idea and Dr. J convinced me to try giving her just 20 kibbles a day to start. Well, I decided to just put down 10 a day. With an occasional laxative and the wet food, Winnie had managed to eat enough over the past few days to maintain her weight -- now at 8 pounds. Now, two days after starting her back on 10 kibbles a day, she was constipated and scrunched up again. I didn't discuss the kibble issue with Dr. Judy again; just stopped giving her the darned things. She did quite well throughout the week and by the time her ultrasound appointment came around, she had gained another pound.
She would have a light sedative for the procedure and I could pick her up in a few hours; I would get the results at that time because the visiting ultrasound technician was in that day. The results were inconclusive as to what the problem was. However, it did eliminate several concerns we had prior to the test. No sign of tumours, no twisted bowel or bulky intestines - all organs where they were supposed to be. We then discussed exploratory surgery. Well, seems there are three types of IBD -- the surgery would show definitely whether it was one type of IBD; the other two mimicked each other and we'd have to try to guess which one was causing the issues. The treatment for all three types was different. Seemed somewhat like playing Russian roulette to me and I said I'd take a week or so to think it over and do some research.
When Win had another bout of constipation/not eating mid-week, I decided to have the exploratory done. That little girl never complained, still played a bit but I knew from the scrunched-up position that she was uncomfortable. We set the day of the surgery and I started preparing myself for it. I prayed constantly about it, asking God for a successful outcome. Three days before the surgery, I woke up knowing that this wasn't, in fact, the right thing to do. Wasn't very articulate in telling the vet why I was cancelling surgery; vets - like human doctors - are not particularly impressed when patients or caregivers decide against a course of treatment based on "gut feeling" (it's ok if it's their gut feeling). I brought Dr. Judy up to speed on the situation and informed her that I was going to just keep doin' what I was doin' for now - laxatives when necessary, no kibbles, whatever canned food Winnie would eat, syringe cat milk and water into her if she stopped eating. I asked her if she would remain Winnie's primary vet and was mighty relieved when she agreed that she would.
After two days of her not eating, offering her different foods without success, I called Dr. Judy. She came that evening, drew blood, examined her thoroughly and decided to give intravenous fluids. I made myself scarce as Dr. Judy and her assistant wrapped Win up in a cat wrap (which looked like a strait jacket with a zipper -- neat little piece of equipment. It broke my heart to hear the way this little cat meowed all the way through the intravenous routine. This little cat, whose meow I could scarcely hear, could sure yell loudly when warranted. She carried on the whole time and I eventually went back to the "examining room" to make sure they weren't damaging her. They shooed me away because of the way I was carrying on! Ok, IV drip done, unzip Win and let her go; she made a beeline right to the bedroom and didn't move from under the bed 'til those two had gone.
Until results of the blood work were in, not too much could be done. If Win wasn't eating or eliminating by the next day, Dr. Judy would be back to give her more fluids. She was back -- with prescription food; best on the market, canned and kibbles. We couldn't entice Winnie to eat any of it; Dr. Judy would be back again next day with a different prescription food and to talk about appetite enhancers (medicine) for her. She mentioned the name of the appetite enhancers and during the rest of the day and evening, I researched the medications. Didn't like what I found and determined not to go that route. Next morning off I go to the supermarket to buy the cheapest, smelliest canned food I could find, hoping the smell would stimulate Winnie's appetite. Got home, opened the can right under her nose; her ears perked up she stood up from her scrunched position and meowed impatiently, winding through my legs, waiting to be fed. Before I even got her dish on the floor, she stood up on her hind legs, reaching for the bowl, nearly knocking it out of my hand. Did she ever have a chow-down! I hadn't given her much, a heaping tablespoonful and before long she was back for more. She ate well throughout the day without vomiting. Dr. Judy came with more food and tried to feed it to her but she wasn't having any of that - not even a sniff. I put down the rest of the smelly stuff and she finished it off quickly.
Test results came back -- normal. Okay, where do we go from here? Dr. J recommended x-rays of Winnie's chest area -- seemed to be a "full" sound in the stethescope. Fluid in the lungs could indicate Feline Infectious Peritonitis (FIP) a deadly disease, fatal with a 2-4 week prognosis. Got on the internet and started researching FIP. Didn't like what I read there either and started praying in earnest at that point. God had given me another precious companion -- Lord will you take her from me so soon? Can she not grow old with me? Then faith-filled acceptance, building on the experience of my Neea-Kha, that God's timing was perfect timing; that He alone could -- and would -- effect the perfect circumstances for Winnie and me.
Dr. Judy, as a mobile vet, didn't have her own diagnostic equipment; she had privileges at a vet clinic a distance from where I lived. I opted to take Winnie to a close-by vet. I'd heard good things about him from friends who took their dogs there. He was very gentle with Winnie - let her walk around the room -- door blocked off -- while we talked, then off they went to a back room for the x-rays. Vet suggested we (a friend and I) go for a coffee and come back in an hour or so to get the results of the x-rays. Back at the vet - I was amused to see Win following the doctor around from room to room - the door to the reception room and entrance was shut, no chance of her escaping. She just strutted around behind him as he prepared the x-rays on the stand. My heart sank as he pointed out a large, cloudy white area outside the chest cavity. He was unsure of what it was - air, gas, water - he just didn't know. He would need to do a needle aspiration of the area. I held back the tears as he explained the procedure - I won't go into details. It would be better if I left her there overnight; he'd do the procedure first thing in the morning. Win would be lightly sedated and I could pick her up late afternoon the next day.
I've always hated being home without my companion of the time. Even with Winnie sleeping 16 or so hours a day, her presence -- her spirit -- is still there. It's that missing essence -- her spirit -- that makes our home seem so sterile, so dull and lifeless. I felt the same when Nee had to stay overnight at the vets. I oft-times think that when my last companion has left me and I'm deemed (by myself or others) "too old" to have another companion animal, my spirit will take leave of this earth - and gladly.
But that's for the future. Up early next morning, I'm out and about - killing time until I can call and make sure my Win's ok. Called at noon, procedure over, Winnie's recovering from the sedation well. Called again mid-afternoon...another hour or so and she'll be good to go; she's up and moving about and even ate a bit of food. And finally, time to pick her up! She was happy to see me and didn't leave my side as the vet prepared to give me the results of the test. I was stunned when he told me the aspiration had been in vain - he wasn't able to get to the area where the cloudy mass was; perhaps it was under a bony area and the needle just kept coming out dry! I swallowed the nausea that threatened to overwhelm me as I thought of my Winnie enduring all this FOR NOTHING! I inquired as to whether he might have been getting through but that the mass was just air - gas - but he said, no, the cloudiness was fluid. He then proceeded to tell me she had FIP and that she was going to die. He was prepared to help her along humanely and it should be done right away. My head was reeling. How did we get from an unproductive needle aspiration to a diagnosis of FIP to an assertion of euthanasia being the only thing left? I told him that my own vet and any reputable veterinary site I had researched agreed that the only way to make a diagnosis of FIP was through exploratory surgery. He shook his head sadly (he really believed this!), and said he had seen many cases of FIP and was convinced of his accuracy. I could certainly take her to the Guelph Veterinary College, but I'd have to leave her for a week or so and, if she survived that long, the cost would be exorbitant. I put Winnie in her carrier, thanked him for his time and made my way up front to settle the bill. The vet followed me up and again, shaking his head and looking at me with pity in his eyes (and I wasn't even crying), he said -- okay, take her home for the weekend, but you'll be back Monday begging me to euthanize her...you won't be able to stand seeing her suffer. Left me with some Valium (for Winnie, not me), sometimes given to cats to enhance appetite. Well, that wasn't happenin' either!
We got home and settled and as I prayed for inspiration, as I prayed for help in finding the right thing to do for Winnie, a plan was formulated. I went on the internet and looked up "cat wrap". I knew I'd never be able to hold her still for "Operation Winnie". I found a very informative, step-by-step video of how to wrap a cat up for safe handling. I had to make a few trial runs before I got it right...coming up behind Win with a thick baby blanket and wrapping it around her was a bit tricky at first. She'd have a front paw and a back paw sticking out, leaving her enough wiggle room to ... well, wiggle out. Poor little thing, didn't know what the heck I was doing. I had to keep reassuring her that I wasn't going to hurt her, I had to be cruel to be kind...you know the kind of stuff we say in these situations! Finally, I got to the point where I could get that wrap around her from tail to neck...just her little head sticking out; flip her over and...at this point, release her. Then it was off to the drug store to get eye droppers and various sizes of medicine syringes; to the grocery store to get more of that cheap, smelly food along with some better-quality canned food; over to the pet store to get cat milk and a cat water fountain (hoping the moving water would inspire her to drink). I called Dr. J to let her know what had transpired at the vet's and she was astounded that he would make such a diagnosis. She'd be over tomorrow so she could check Winnie's weight and see if she'd need hydrating.
In the meantime, I could not get Winnie to eat anything. The water fountain didn't inspire her to do anything but sniff at it disdainfully and walk away. Sooooo - everything prepared in advance -- syringe on the table beside me, cat milk poured into a bowl, sneak up behind Win with the blanket, quickly wrap her up and turn her over; uh-oh, should have filled the syringe beforehand. That was a scene to behold - holding a struggling Winnie with one hand, filling the syringe with the other hand; took all my creativity and ingenuity to perform that. I managed to get the tip of the syringe into the corner of her mouth only to have her turn her head away. Okay, cradle her head in the crook of my arm, get that syringe right into her mouth and slowly press the plunger. Worked like a charm. Winnie was an unwilling captive but she had stopped trying to get free. I had no idea of how much to give her and when she started her soft, plaintive meowing, I decided that three full syringes would suffice for now.
Over the next few days, Dr. Judy and I decided on a course of action. I made an appointment at The Cat Clinic, a veterinary clinic dedicated solely to the health of cats. I picked up the x-rays the previous vet had taken and he was surprised when I told him Winnie was doing quite well. I hoped for even better results by the time I got the x-rays back to him.
I was impressed that the vet specialized in cats and kept up to date on cat-related issues. The vet herself was very gentle and caring with Winnie; took more blood tests, felt Win's issues could be bowel related and suggested an ultrasound. We set up the appointment for the following week and I took Win home, determined that we were going to get these issues under control. I had always felt that kibbles were causing her constipation so I decided -- no more kibbles, except for her few treats. If you've ever seen how kibble expands in an animal's stomach, you'd understand my concern when, ten hours later, she throws up the (hugely expanded) undigested kibbles. Neither Dr. Judy or the vet at the Cat Clinic were crazy about the idea and Dr. J convinced me to try giving her just 20 kibbles a day to start. Well, I decided to just put down 10 a day. With an occasional laxative and the wet food, Winnie had managed to eat enough over the past few days to maintain her weight -- now at 8 pounds. Now, two days after starting her back on 10 kibbles a day, she was constipated and scrunched up again. I didn't discuss the kibble issue with Dr. Judy again; just stopped giving her the darned things. She did quite well throughout the week and by the time her ultrasound appointment came around, she had gained another pound.
She would have a light sedative for the procedure and I could pick her up in a few hours; I would get the results at that time because the visiting ultrasound technician was in that day. The results were inconclusive as to what the problem was. However, it did eliminate several concerns we had prior to the test. No sign of tumours, no twisted bowel or bulky intestines - all organs where they were supposed to be. We then discussed exploratory surgery. Well, seems there are three types of IBD -- the surgery would show definitely whether it was one type of IBD; the other two mimicked each other and we'd have to try to guess which one was causing the issues. The treatment for all three types was different. Seemed somewhat like playing Russian roulette to me and I said I'd take a week or so to think it over and do some research.
When Win had another bout of constipation/not eating mid-week, I decided to have the exploratory done. That little girl never complained, still played a bit but I knew from the scrunched-up position that she was uncomfortable. We set the day of the surgery and I started preparing myself for it. I prayed constantly about it, asking God for a successful outcome. Three days before the surgery, I woke up knowing that this wasn't, in fact, the right thing to do. Wasn't very articulate in telling the vet why I was cancelling surgery; vets - like human doctors - are not particularly impressed when patients or caregivers decide against a course of treatment based on "gut feeling" (it's ok if it's their gut feeling). I brought Dr. Judy up to speed on the situation and informed her that I was going to just keep doin' what I was doin' for now - laxatives when necessary, no kibbles, whatever canned food Winnie would eat, syringe cat milk and water into her if she stopped eating. I asked her if she would remain Winnie's primary vet and was mighty relieved when she agreed that she would.