here we go again
Just got back from taking Fogg to the vet this afternoon. I kind of feel like I’m in shock, honestly.
I’ve had Fogg for about 7 years. In fact, tomorrow is the anniversary of the day she chose me to be her human. I instantly loved her, and she has been my sidekick–just as much as my beloved Cleo every single day. Fogg is my baby. But we’ve gotten especially close since this rollercoaster started, so to say I’m upset right now would be the understatement of a lifetime.
(You’ll recall we had to make the horrible choice to put Cleo down exactly two years ago this week. FB actually reminded me today that 2 years ago today, we brought her home from the vet. This fact has not been comforting today. Let’s just say that).
Fogg has always been insanely healthy. She never even had a cold up until June of last year. She had a freak UTI then and didn’t take well to the antibiotics. She recovered and was just fine until just before Christmas, when I found a lump that literally showed up overnight. It was later determined to be a mast cell tumor. Following aspiration of that mass, she developed a fibrosarcoma–which I found immediately and told the vet about when she underwent surgery in late January. We found out it was a fibrosarcoma when the lab results came back. The surgery would have cured the mast cell tumor, but fibrosarcoma is a big nasty. Luckily, our vet took extra wide margins given my comments about this second finger-like mass, so we felt okay with that. The recommendation was to be aggressive and take more–so a second surgery was planned to reduce the chances of recurrence. The surgery was pretty harsh because we also did her dental work at the same time, and she had a bad reaction to both the anesthesia and her pain meds. It was rough, but she got better. Only then, a few days later, she developed pancreatitis. She was hospitalized for two days, and I was pretty convinced my Fogg was going to die. But then, she bounced back. And she was fine–a bit too skinny for my taste–until about two weeks ago. Luckily, there wasn’t any signs at all of more cancer–something I was so relieved about.
It was confusing because Fogg would go a few days eating perfectly fine only to not eat very much or at all for a couple days and then get back on eating normally. She was a little quieter, but seemed totally normal. I made vet appointments and then canceled them because she was better. Several days elapsed. On Monday, she was great. Eating more than normal even. Then Tuesday, she just flat out refused to eat anything. For the last few days–she’s eaten a bite here or there and I’ve forced food into her by syringe. She ate some dental treats yesterday. She seemed to have lost weight, was sleeping more, drinking more water, and peeing more. But she wasn’t vomiting or dealing with gastro issues. She did seem to be in pain. I assumed the pancreatitis was back. I was worried, but not too worried because we had dealt with this before. I didn’t rush her to the vet because she had that pattern of coming back to normal. And she wasn’t out of it. She was eating bits and pieces. I was worried there might be a kidney infection or something going on there, but mostly I wasn’t freaking out like last time.
When I went in, we saw the vet that originally diagnosed the mast cell tumor. Our normal vet–her surgeon–was out today. But I trust this girl and was so grateful she had been proactive before. She thought it could be a few things, but I guess my questions made her want to do a quick lab right then and there instead of waiting for the rest of the bloodwork to come back in a day or two. Thank goodness she did that because the lab tested positive for the worst level there was for ketones. Which was an immediate indication that my baby had diabetes and not just that–she was in the shit–not good–category: diabetic ketoacidosis. So I took Fogg back to the animal hospital that helped us before. I walked in and they seemed to know who I was and literally took Fogg back to the ICU immediately. I didn’t get to say goodbye. Something that is kinda killing me right now.
I was told a whole lot of really upsetting stuff–given a crazy estimate–and basically rushed through options before being asked if I wanted heroic efforts to be taken if she didn’t do well. Yea–I was stoic until then…but pretty much lost it after that.
I’m still having a hard time thinking about it because it’s all so familiar with Cleo and just so surreal given how normal she seems. I can’t believe she’s that sick–what? How?
But when vet techs grab a cat from you and walk quickly to the back–that kind of gives you a reality check.
I figured out how to make the money crap work–which can I just say–WHY the HELL does this always happen when rent is due? Any other time would make it far less stressful. And don’t get me started about the way vet care is done in this country. It’s unconscionable that people put animals to sleep because they can’t afford treatment and most vets won’t do payment plans. I get that vets need money too. But come on.
I am going to do whatever it takes to save her, of course, but given all the other crap that just happened, it’s gonna hurt.
You can’t put a price on that love, though.
I was not doing so well after that. I cried really hard when I got home and didn’t really stop until a few minutes ago. I’ve already been so damn stressed out with everything, so this is making me question what the Hell I’m doing right now. I don’t know how it’s all going to work out. And even if Fogg gets better, she’s going to need a lot more care than our other littles…which was already a big responsibility. I just hope we don’t lose her, and I really hope I don’t have to make that call again. I could literally go forever and never make that damn decision again and be pretty fucking okay with that. If I end up having to put her down, I’ll totally be destroyed. I don’t even know how I’d be able to be in the room. I wasn’t with Cleo.
On the other hand, part of me just wonders if all of this is worth it. We won’t know the underlying cause until the tests tomorrow–so it all may be for nothing. It may be cancer–a bigger, crappier form of it. I just don’t want her to suffer. She’s suffered way too much already, and this cat is the one being on this Earth that deserves none of that crap. It makes me angry. I hate to see her in any kind of pain. And part of me wonders if doing all of this is more for me than for her.
On the other hand, I guess I’ve made peace with it. It fucking sucks. Beyond words. But I know that I’ve given her a great life. I know that she’s loved and that she loved me. And if I have to say goodbye this weekend, I will be destroyed–but I’ll be alright.
I keep learning that the things I think will rip me apart are survivable. They are the worst ever, but you get through them.
I don’t even know what to do with myself right now. I should eat–since I haven’t all day–but I have zero appetite and really just want to hug the kitty who’s not here right now.
And I can’t fix it. No matter how much I want to.