![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
2010 just keeps going and going . . .
Feb. 22nd, 2011 09:15 pmSo, the back-end of 2010 was pretty awful, what with the ankle and all, and the beginning of 2011 isn't much better. Ben's death was hard, and since that obviously wasn't enough, the First Ninja has hydronephrosis in both kidneys. She was diagnosed a month and a half ago (By then the blockages were gone, which is a blessing--we have no idea when exactly this happened. Was it related to her seizures? No freaking clue.), and she's still losing weight despite the new renal diet (which, blessedly, she likes--and she likes having special food that the other cats don't get).
Her case, unlike Ben's, involves some hard decisions. We could try for a kidney transplant--she's only six--but there are two reasons not to, and I can't even tell you which one is the more important deal-breaker:
1. we can't afford it.
2. prolonging her life is not worth the misery it would cause her.
If it were a different cat, I might be doing the cost-benefit analysis differently. But of the two ninjas, she is the stubbornly feral one. And, as the vet tech said today, she's a worrier. She's highly anxious. She's difficult to catch, nearly impossible to hold; I've never had to pill her, and doing so would be a major daily trauma (for both of us). Even routine trips to the vet terrify her, and I can't imagine what it would be like for her to undergo major surgery and then have to spend up to a month in the hospital--and then, like any human transplant recipient, be on a regimen of drugs for the rest of her life. She is a lovely affectionate girl (in her own particular way), and I can't stand the thought of making her undergo incomprehensible long-term suffering like that.
We're not in end game yet. The vet loaded her up with fluids and anti-nausea medication at her check-up today, and we have a prescription of kitty Valium to try, to see if perhaps she will eat more if she doesn't feel she has to flee from every unexpected sound. And I'm willing to keep trying things as long as they're (relatively) inexpensive and non-invasive, and as long as she still seems to be enjoying her life.
But it's still just really hard.
Her case, unlike Ben's, involves some hard decisions. We could try for a kidney transplant--she's only six--but there are two reasons not to, and I can't even tell you which one is the more important deal-breaker:
1. we can't afford it.
2. prolonging her life is not worth the misery it would cause her.
If it were a different cat, I might be doing the cost-benefit analysis differently. But of the two ninjas, she is the stubbornly feral one. And, as the vet tech said today, she's a worrier. She's highly anxious. She's difficult to catch, nearly impossible to hold; I've never had to pill her, and doing so would be a major daily trauma (for both of us). Even routine trips to the vet terrify her, and I can't imagine what it would be like for her to undergo major surgery and then have to spend up to a month in the hospital--and then, like any human transplant recipient, be on a regimen of drugs for the rest of her life. She is a lovely affectionate girl (in her own particular way), and I can't stand the thought of making her undergo incomprehensible long-term suffering like that.
We're not in end game yet. The vet loaded her up with fluids and anti-nausea medication at her check-up today, and we have a prescription of kitty Valium to try, to see if perhaps she will eat more if she doesn't feel she has to flee from every unexpected sound. And I'm willing to keep trying things as long as they're (relatively) inexpensive and non-invasive, and as long as she still seems to be enjoying her life.
But it's still just really hard.
