What you shouldn't say
Sammy is in the hospital. We took him back to the emergency vet last night since the medication hasn't been working. The vet did a procedure today, and then called me to tell me that Sammy might have rectal cancer, and if so, then that could be causing the problems. However he could also just have IBD, which the other vet previously diagnosed him with, and in that case things will just suck and my world won't fucking implode.
I spent last night crying my eyes out at the vet and afterwards, because I simply can't imagine Sammy dying. He's only 6. I've bonded to him very strongly and I don't want to think about the worst-case scenario. (BTW, Mr. Vet? If you're calling someone to authorize a biopsy, please don't be a callous douche and suggest that you could skip the biopsy and just put him down. Thanks.)
So that exchange, along with another one with a well-meaning but insensitive, distracted person, has really put my teeth on edge. So here's the list of What You Shouldn't Say.
You can always get another cat. Er, fucking duh. But I want this cat, the cat that I love very much, to get better and survive.
You should think about the money. Again, fucking der. We can't go broke trying to treat Sammy's illness, but we are not broke for now and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Trust me, shelling out $1000 last night wasn't easy.
That money could do better for other pets. True, but we make choices all of the time about money, and the opportunity cost for this is comparable to other good things in my opinion. I also like when people say this and I know they don't donate a fucking penny to animal welfare groups.
You should put him down. We'll put him down if he's suffering, if he's in pain, or if what he have isn't treatable. Otherwise, take a goddamned hike.
I am now waiting to hear back from the vet. Hopefully Sammy will pull through the procedure, will be okay, and will have a chronic illness that we can treat in an affordable manner. If he does have cancer, then dear readers, you will not be hearing from me much, because I will be curled up in a little ball in a corner somewhere. Please send us all the good energy you can muster, because we really need it.
I spent last night crying my eyes out at the vet and afterwards, because I simply can't imagine Sammy dying. He's only 6. I've bonded to him very strongly and I don't want to think about the worst-case scenario. (BTW, Mr. Vet? If you're calling someone to authorize a biopsy, please don't be a callous douche and suggest that you could skip the biopsy and just put him down. Thanks.)
So that exchange, along with another one with a well-meaning but insensitive, distracted person, has really put my teeth on edge. So here's the list of What You Shouldn't Say.
You can always get another cat. Er, fucking duh. But I want this cat, the cat that I love very much, to get better and survive.
You should think about the money. Again, fucking der. We can't go broke trying to treat Sammy's illness, but we are not broke for now and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Trust me, shelling out $1000 last night wasn't easy.
That money could do better for other pets. True, but we make choices all of the time about money, and the opportunity cost for this is comparable to other good things in my opinion. I also like when people say this and I know they don't donate a fucking penny to animal welfare groups.
You should put him down. We'll put him down if he's suffering, if he's in pain, or if what he have isn't treatable. Otherwise, take a goddamned hike.
I am now waiting to hear back from the vet. Hopefully Sammy will pull through the procedure, will be okay, and will have a chronic illness that we can treat in an affordable manner. If he does have cancer, then dear readers, you will not be hearing from me much, because I will be curled up in a little ball in a corner somewhere. Please send us all the good energy you can muster, because we really need it.
2 Comments:
Oh that suuucks, I'm so sorry. And the in-between not-knowing phase where you're waiting for a diagnosis is the worst part. Of course, that's assuming that you're anything like me, imagining worst-case scenarios and not being able to shut them off.
This is seriously one of my worst nightmares. I've had Teenie for the past 10 years, and I have a feeling that whenever she dies (because let's face it, she most likely won't out-live me), I'll probably need to be severely medicated.
Also? You are fully entitled to bitchslap anyone who tells you to just "get another cat". That's disgusting.
Thank you for understanding. I barely slept last night and woke up with migraine this morning. Like you, I'm imagining the worst and I can't shut off the lymphoma scenario. He's back in the hospital tonight for round two. Our vet said, "he doesn't look like a lymphoma cat" but I don't want to grasp any hope yet. I keep looking around and thinking, "Oh God, this is what it will be like without him." Seeing his bowl sent me into hysterics last night. I am really hoping for IBD. Or I have to get some sedatives fast.
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