Nadine gets a reprieve: I’m pretty sure that this is the end. My poor dumpling is a pile of emaciated skin and bones. She won’t eat or drink and doesn’t even seem able to sleep. I tearfully make the final shlepp to the vet’s (accompanied by Nadine’s abba, who is as tearful as I am). But Dr. Ofer thinks that she is in a more stable condition. He gives her IV fluids and a shot and sends us home. During the IV tipul, the needle slips out and saline starts spurting all over. Dr. Ofer gets the needle back in, but now the fluid is seeping out through the first hole. For all intents and purposes, it looks as though my cat has sprung a leak.
The fluids seem to perk her up, though, and she complains all the way home, and then even manages to eat a mouthful of tuna. Obviously, I hope that she can pull through and have a few more good years with us. If not, we’ll have to make that gut-wrenching decision.
I’m a pusher: How have I come to this? I’m not only supplying drugs, I’m actually injecting them. Miss Thing now gets three shots twice a day. And I’m the one who cringes when they show a needle on CSI…
One of her meds is a diuretic to help flush the fluid from her lungs. Makes the poor dear pee like a race horse. Unfortunately, clumping litter cannot cope with the volume of liquid. Her litter box turns into a muddy swamp of slimy sludge (which she then tracks all over the apartment). Sigh! The things we do for our four-legged kids!
Foaming at the mouth: Miss Thing has another collapse at 2:30 this morning. I haven’t been able to administer her pills, nor has she had anything to eat or drink for two days. It looks grim. We rush off to Dr. Ofer (clearly, we’ll be eating rice and beans for three months). The good news: no temperature and, while her lungs are clearly congested, they haven’t get returned to the pre-drainage state. He tries using one of those pill injectors to force a pill down her throat, and she spits it out. Three times. Then she moans, drools, and starts frothing at the mouth. The frothing is quite impressive and continues for about five minutes. I regret that I don’t have my camera with me. D. Ofer wants to run a fixed IV feed, but I refuse, knowing that Nadine would rip it out in no time. Ultimately, he sends us on our way with my purse bulging with loaded hypodermics. Only in Israel.
At home, the near-death cat bounds from her carrier, complains bitterly, stomps around, snacks, drinks water, snacks some more, and renews her grumbling. After seeing the listless, suffering, gasping wreck of the middle of the night, this is another of those miraculous come-backs.
So here we are. She’s looking thread-bare and moth-eaten. Her bones are sticking out like the back spines on a stegosaurus. Her belly, still saggy and now sporting a bizarre purple hyperpigmentation, flaps like laundry on the clothes line. So sad. But crankiness will tell—unlike sweet-tempered Rudy, who died at seven, Nadine’s nasty persona has helped her cling on and do battle with pesky bacteria. Ya gotta like her style.
A sudden collapse: Nadine is pretty quiet yesterday, but this morning she is clearly in major distress. She can barely get up, is again gasping for breath, and ends up lying awkwardly on the kitchen floor. I rush her back to the vet, who sedates her and then manages to draw off over 200 cc of fluid from her lungs and chest cavity. More x-rays, more stuff to be sent to the lab, more antibiotics. Poor baby is home now and breathing better. I’ve now spent over NIS 1300 in one week on tipulim for Miss Thing. We’ll be living off of beans and rice for a month, but it will be worth it if we can save my dumpling. Keep those good thoughts headed her way…
If this doesn’t make you smile, you’re in a coma: More excellent doggy freestyle, Broadway style, with some great tricks.
She lives! Nadine has rallied a bit and seems to be getting back some of her usual attitude. She greets me at the door with a long list of complaints, and demands snacks. Just seeing her up and around is heartening. She is still woefully thin, but it seems as though the antibiotics are working. She is not gasping for breath and is much perkier. Let’s hope it continues this way.
No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I am always amazed at how quickly animals can sicken and waste away, and also how quickly they can bounce back. Let’s hope that Nadine continues to improve. There is some mileage left in the old girl, after all.
Quiet doggy: I pick Terri up from doggy daycare. As usual, she is one happy dog. She has spent the day playing with her friend Pinchie, snacking, and playing some more. When we get home, she just wants to nap! She understands that Nadine is not feeling well, and shows even more deference than usual to Miss Thing, who (despite her weakened state) has no trouble shouldering Terri aside to get at some choice treats.
Where’s my damn tuna? The Girl makes it through another night. This morning, she walks around a bit, drinks, eats, and complains. I manage to get another dose of antibiotic syrup down her. She complains, but then washes her face (another sign of improvement). Very happy to see some of these signs of life! A few days ago, I thought she was about to die.
Terri is home and tiptoeing around Nadine. Nadine is basically ignoring her, pretended that there Is No Dog. She knows that I will drop whatever I am doing and cater to her every whim, including warming a teaspoon of tuna, or giving her a dollop of white cheese. She still isn’t eating much, so Terri usually ends up scarfing down whatever is left when Nadine walks off. Still, it is a huge step forward. Keep your collective fingers crossed!