Mack's Long and Winding Road

This has been such an emotional roller coaster for us ... I can only imagine the physical and emotional roller coaster Mack is on!

We brought him home Monday thinking there was no hope, and wanting to curtail his suffering. When he seemed NOT to be suffering, we canceled the Tuesday appointment for euthanasia, and spent the day with him, instead. He seemed happier at home, more relaxed after his ordeal at the emergency hospital. He really wasn't even retching on a regular basis ... just when he smelled food on Monday, and shortly after getting up in the morning on Tuesday. We thought, perhaps, without the stress, he might just turn around and eat. But would he have enough time to do a turnaround, if he didn't get anything into his system to sustain him? No.

So we decided to take him back to The Cat Doctor for fluids and, if they agreed, something to quell the nausea and vomiting reflex, so maybe, eventually, he could eat.

The Cat Doctor wants to treat it as fatty liver syndrome, even without the biopsy. If it's not ... if it is cancer, then it won't help, but it won't hurt, either. So he got anti-nausea drugs yesterday, in addition to subcutaneous fluids. And he's back at the Cat Doctor today. They will probably be inserting a tube (not through nose or mouth, but into his stomach), so we can use a syringe to put food into his stomach and bypass his mouth altogether. He'll get anti-nausea meds, too. And maybe some antibiotics.

But I have questions, first.

I'm waiting for the doctor to call me so I can understand how he will keep food in his stomach (I know ... the anti-nausea meds), and what will happen to it if his body won't process it. This seemed to be a concern for the emergency doctors, as well as our former vet. I just want to understand.

I'm also more than a bit concerned that the drugs he got yesterday threw him into an altered state of mind. Prior doses of anti-nausea meds had the effect of actually perking him up; he acted as if he was feeling better. Last night, in contrast, he was a tense little ball of anxiety and grumpiness that actually froze from time to time, mid-motion. I was afraid he would fall down the basement stairs, but he seemed oblivious. I was afraid he'd fall off the bed, but he seemed unable to let his muscles relax. He hid under the bed until John insisted we pull him out to sleep with us. I'm glad he did ... eventually, Mack came around to being himself again, and by morning he was curled up and (very slightly) purring again.

He let me pick him up and cuddle him this morning. He trusted me again. I felt bad taking him in to have more procedures. But they might save his life. And that is the point of all of this. As long as he has the quality of life he deserves. If he will be the paranoid schizophrenic freezing cat he was last night ... that doesn't seem like a life he'd want to be living.

He'll be home again tonight. We'll pump him with food. We're on our way, slowly climbing -- again -- the incline of hope on this roller coaster. I hope, on the other side of the hill, there is just a gentle glide to the end of the ride.