It now goes on for pages and pages

I began the "journal" on March 24. Nothing as formal as this photo would suggest – just little notes to self on scraps of paper about how my much loved cat Connie is doing. I knew she wasn't right, even though nothing was obviously wrong, and wanted to be able to share her symptoms with the vet. (Spoiler alert: What follows is a lot of drama, stress, expense and even some gore, but Connie is now on the mend. If you're not up for drama, stress, expense and gore, feel free to bail out now.)

On Tuesday, when I was vacuuming, I discovered the world's smallest cat turd next to the litter box. I (literally) made a note of it, hoping I was crazy. I figured this little sliver could mean one of two things: 1) one of the my cats tracked it out on their paws or 2) one of them found going in the box uncomfortable, so they went beside the box. Trust me, #2 is cat logic. 

By Wednesday I knew that Connie was not using the box regularly. Thursday she was sleeping more soundly and avoiding me and Roy Hobbs. Friday she only had one meal, not two, and didn't demand treats. Hello? Connie is a beggar. I knew at this point something was wrong.

Saturday was Vet Visit #1.  Our regular vet was happy with the color of Connie's gums and ears and liked how her eyes looked and heart sounded. But she did discover Connie was running a fever. Let's get to the bottom of this! Full bloodwork and a set of x-rays showed us ... little. My cat's organs were functioning properly, there were no masses to worry about. There was a little stool stuck in her bowel. Connie perked up after the vet gave her fluids and a shot of antibiotics. She sent me home with a bottle of kitty laxative and an appetite stimulant. She should feel better after a good night's sleep.

She did and she didn't. For a while on Sunday she was her affectionate self. Then by afternoon, she went back to avoiding me and Roy Hobbs. It's Sunday. The vet is closed.

Sunday was the Veterinary Emergency Room. I had Connie's bloodwork from the day before, so there was no reason to redo it. She had no fever. This vet took more x-rays, different angles. He found nothing but that same stuck poop. It was so small, he said, he didn't think an enema was warranted. He gave her fluids and a vitamin shot to perk her up and sent us home with a few cans of cat food especially for cats with gastrointestinal issues and advised me to continue dosing her with the laxative our regular vet prescribed.

Monday she was fine! Tuesday she was fine! Eating and drinking normally, interacting with Roy Hobbs as usual, demanding treats and tummy rubs from me. She even used the litter box, though her stool was loose. Still, there was much rejoicing.

Wednesday was Vet Visit #3. It was supposed to be a quick follow up at our regular vet clinic – though not with our regular vet. Our usual doctor had begun a vacation, but her back up was there. Vet #3 checked Connie's eyes, ears, gums and heart. All good. Then she lifted Connie's tail to take her temperature.

Oh. My. God. So much dried blood, so much fresh red blood, all around her anus. It was not there Wednesday morning. I know it wasn't because walked over this very computer keyboard, tail proudly in the air, trying to distract me from end-of-the-month bill paying. 

What the hell! She never goes outside, so it wasn't likely a cut. If one of her internal organs had gone flooey, why didn't it show up in her bloodwork or in any of her x-rays? And why was she so damn happy? 

Well, now we know. She had been suffering from an infected anal gland and it ruptured. The way Vet #3 explained it to me, Connie had a cyst just inside, where we couldn't see. Because it was in her soft tissue, it didn't show in the x-rays. Because it didn't affect her organs it wasn't reflected in her bloodwork. But as pimples will, it hurt. That's why she wasn't herself for the past week. That accounted for the fever. Now that it broke, it was gross and bloody and all, but she felt so much better.

Yay! So why doesn't my "journal" end here?

Because the rupture tore her skin and there was likely a ton of pus (though not visible to us) in the wound.

Thursday was surgery. Vet #3 said it really wasn't complex at all. After anesthesia, she shaved Connie back there, cleaned everything thoroughly, and stitched her up. Yes, she required quite a few stitches. Which means – THE CONE!

It's imperative Connie not, you'll pardon the phrase, lick her wound. Even though it is her nature to keep that area clean herself, she can't. Hence THE CONE. She hates THE CONE. 

It makes her bump into things. Or she intentionally bashes it into things to try to get away from it. Roy Hobbs doesn't quite recognize her in it, and there's been hissing. Oh, and there's this: THE CONE has revealed me to be the world's worst housekeeper. At one point, when Connie was manically scooting around under the sofa, the scooped up a discarded dryer sheet and a strip of used packing tape in THE CONE. 

So for now she's living in my bathroom. It's tiny. It's clean. It's quiet. Tomorrow is Saturday. I'll try letting her out again and we'll see if, after two full days in THE CONE, she has adjusted. Vet #3 said it often takes four or five days for cats to stop fighting it. Maybe Connie will be my Easter Miracle and just saunter around tomorrow or Sunday.

A week from today – April 10 – we return to Vet #3 for a check up. Here's hoping THE CONE can come off, though it's not likely. I should just buckle up and accept that THE CONE will probably be a two-week affair. (I just ordered a back-up, fabric cone from Amazon, in case she slips out of this one.)

Now for the money. How much has all this cost? I don't know. I'm not looking until this adventure is done. I mean, why? I know I'm going pay it anyway, no matter what, and I don't want to stress myself out. 

Fortunately, late last year, Discover sent me a "we miss you" promotional offer of 0% APR through August, and I'm taking mad advantage of that now. So I have four months to pay it down, and what I can't pay off, well, I have an "emergency CD" with funds for times like this.

Last fall. Joanna went to London. Over the holidays, Jamie went to Peru. Elaine just took a trip to Paris. Me? I've seen three different vets. But I feel fortunate that I'm able to give Connie the care she deserves without having to weigh the financial implications. I know pet parents have to do that all time, and it must be wrenching. 

 

Photo by Jakub Żerdzicki on Unsplash