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