dimanche, mai 31, 2009

Art Therapy

Good News!

Max is no longer diabetic. Yes, apparently cats can cure themselves of diabetes (with a little help from insulin and good nutrition). Who knew? Now if only he could cure himslef of chronic kidney disease, things would be just perfect. Ha! Seriously, though, he is back at home and back to his old self. We are so happy to have him back.

Two weeks ago, I had a little procedure done to correct a heart murmur. This was of course in the middle of Max's health crisis, so that was a fun few weeks, lemme tell ya. In a way, though, the fact that I spent every waking hour worrying about Max instead of freaking out about my heart procedure was a good thing. But I do tend to work myself into quite a state, so in order to stay zen in the hospital, I brought along a children's watercolor set I have had for years and never touched. The nurses thought it was an eyeshadow palette, and were quite amused when I explained it was for painting. I haven't drawn or painted a picture in well over five years, but man, was it the most perfect way to pass the time and keep calm.

But I apparently have a one-track mind.

First feeble attempt at portraiture

I kind of ruined a good thing with the whiskers there, but I only had one brush, and it was pretty thick.

But the first attempt encouraged me to try something a little more developed.

I took my time with this one. I think it shows.

I was very pleasantly surprised with the results. Incidentally, I think I will make this into a card to send to the vet clinic as a thank you note for everything they did.

One day when Handsome and I went to visit Max in the clinic, we took him out of his cage to hold him and pet him better. The poor boy was hooked up to an IV and in pretty bad shape, but as Handsome, his buddy, held him in his arms, he rested his head on his shoulder and put his paws around his neck.

I thought I would die.

Buddy Love

This is the best I could do to capture the image that will forever be sealed on my brain as the sweetest thing ever.

vendredi, mai 08, 2009

Poor Boy

I have tried to write about our trip to Egypt here. I hated every word I wrote, even the paragraphs I redid three times.

I tried to write about my trials and tribulations with a hurt knee and the physical therapist who later came on to me, leading me to drag him to a mediation with the professional order of physical therapists. It all sounded like crap.

I haven't wanted to freak out my friends and family members by writing about my scary exam.

But typical of me, it takes something happening to someone I love for me to get off my ass and write, and more than anything, not give a shit if it sounds good.

Today, we hospitalized my darling boy cat, Max. He had been uncharacteristically lethargic and apathetic, not to mention drinking copious amounts of water and peeing so much that we had to change his litter almost every two days. I had made an appointement for Monday with a different vet than the one we had been using, sensing he needed better care than he was getting.

I came home last night to find him weak, disoriented and unstable on his feet. I called the emergency veterinary service, which sent a vet to the apartment 40 minutes later. He diagnosed him with possible diabetes and constipation, giving him a dose of children's laxative and telling me to continue with it one to three times a day. He urged me to have him seen by another vet who could do bloodwork to confirm the diagnosis as soon as possible.

It's a holiday weekend here. Most everything is closed today. I had very little hope of finding a vet clinic open, thinking the earliest I could have him seen would be Saturday.

This morning, he had still not eaten or relieved himself, even after two extra doses of laxative, except for the tiny amount he expelled right after the vet had given him the first dose twelve hours earlier.

In utter panic, I called the clinic where I had made an appointment for Monday. Miraculously, they answered, and agreed to see him at 12:30.

We rushed him there, where after x-rays, a urine sample and bloodwork, they diagnosed him with stage II diabetes, dehydration, constipation, and possible bladder infection and kidney failure.

My sweet, clever Max is fighting for his life right now in a swank veterinary clinic in the Eiffel Tower neighborhood.

I feel so awful that I didn't take better care of him. I feel so guilty that I didn't realize how sick he was.

Please send your thoughts, positive vibes or prayers his way.

My poor, poor boy. He'd better get well soon, because I don't know what we will do without him.

photo byDavid Monjou