- Joined
- Jan 25, 2012
- Messages
- 100
- Purraise
- 157
I posted recently about my sweet kitty, Gunter, who seemed to initially have mild problems, but suspected lymphoma:
Cat suddenly sickly after two doses of prednisolone
From an acting normal cat on Friday morning, to letting him go yesterday morning. Two days. And I can't wrap my mind around it.
Saturday evening we took him into the emergency vet after slowly crashing having received prednisolone for just one day. Cerenia and fluids, we'd hoped, would perk him back up, get him to eat. I was convinced it was the pred alone. But 12 hours later, no change except he was now obviously in pain. Didn't want to move much, no interest in food, water, anything. Just laid there, could barely lift his head. So back to the emergency vet.
Blood work was terrible. I can't repeat the specifics but suffice it to say the white blood cell count and lymphocytes was hugely over normal, with various other problematic indicators. The kind vet on call did an ultrasound free of charge, showing the mass in his belly. Two ping-pong ball sized pockets of fluid next to a large solid mass, most likely outside of his intestines but not definitively. She told me this was likely a necrotic, infected mass at this point, and the pred was just enough to knock down his immune system to set it off. "A ticking time bomb," she said.
Options weren't great: 1) Admit him to keep him stable then in 4 days do a more thorough ultrasound with an internal specialist to confirm what the mass is, then start down a road of meds upon meds, or surgery, or euthanasia. 2) Do exploratory surgery right then to potentially take it out, though she estimated a positive outcome is less than 30% and he could die on the table or have a long recovery and still have cancer elsewhere. 3) Give some antibiotics and pain meds and take him home, but prolong his path of suffering just to have a few more days with him before he dies. 4) Let him go right then.
We opted for #4. I held his limp but agitated body and whispered to him how much I loved him and that I was so sorry, and it was over.
I'm devastated. I had no idea just three days go anything like this could happen. And even Friday, after finding out he probably had cancer, I wanted to prepare, to give him the best of foods and experiences before the inevitable occurred. But there was no time.
I'm guilt-ridden. "What if I hadn't given him the pred, would he have had more time?" Probably, though the outcome would likely have been the same. "Why didn't we notice anything sooner?" "Did we make the right decision?" "What if one of those other treatments had worked?" "Will he ever forgive me?" "Will I ever forgive myself?"
Through all of this we've had opinions from three different vets (his regular one and the two separate emergency vets), and none were particularly hopeful. The last and most helpful emergency vet said she would have made the same choice had he been hers, but the sadness, the doubt. It persists.
I have OCD tendencies and I cannot stop replaying things in my head — the normal morning we had on Friday with treats and cuddles, the actions taken since, the moment he left. Then I imagine all the things I didn't or won't see — the doctors treating him and putting him through needles and tests (we couldn't go in until the end because of covid, but he HATED the vet in general), what they did with his body later (we're having him cremated).
I think back to how wonderful he was. He gave literal hugs. Would extend his front legs to be picked up like a child, climb up my torso and rest his head on my shoulder. Would flop down on his belly and splay out his legs to relax. He was a goofy, a character. Loved to play with paper and fabric. Ate like a dog, loved any treats you could give him. Would come flop on top of me every morning in bed. He was my other cat's best friend. They would groom each other, play wrestle, had a real bond. And I can tell he's missed in the house today. We found him as a stray about 9 years go, fully declawed from whatever probably-not-great life he had before. While I'm thrilled to have given him a better home full of love and fun, I'm so unbelievably sad he's gone.
It's just hit me really hard. I know time helps some, but I still mourn every pet I've had to say goodbye to. We have three other babies right now, and that helps too. And they ARE my babies. My husband and I don't have children, or really any close family, so our cats are a huge portion of our lives. So today I mourn him, and doubt my decisions, and cry.
Cat suddenly sickly after two doses of prednisolone
From an acting normal cat on Friday morning, to letting him go yesterday morning. Two days. And I can't wrap my mind around it.
Saturday evening we took him into the emergency vet after slowly crashing having received prednisolone for just one day. Cerenia and fluids, we'd hoped, would perk him back up, get him to eat. I was convinced it was the pred alone. But 12 hours later, no change except he was now obviously in pain. Didn't want to move much, no interest in food, water, anything. Just laid there, could barely lift his head. So back to the emergency vet.
Blood work was terrible. I can't repeat the specifics but suffice it to say the white blood cell count and lymphocytes was hugely over normal, with various other problematic indicators. The kind vet on call did an ultrasound free of charge, showing the mass in his belly. Two ping-pong ball sized pockets of fluid next to a large solid mass, most likely outside of his intestines but not definitively. She told me this was likely a necrotic, infected mass at this point, and the pred was just enough to knock down his immune system to set it off. "A ticking time bomb," she said.
Options weren't great: 1) Admit him to keep him stable then in 4 days do a more thorough ultrasound with an internal specialist to confirm what the mass is, then start down a road of meds upon meds, or surgery, or euthanasia. 2) Do exploratory surgery right then to potentially take it out, though she estimated a positive outcome is less than 30% and he could die on the table or have a long recovery and still have cancer elsewhere. 3) Give some antibiotics and pain meds and take him home, but prolong his path of suffering just to have a few more days with him before he dies. 4) Let him go right then.
We opted for #4. I held his limp but agitated body and whispered to him how much I loved him and that I was so sorry, and it was over.
I'm devastated. I had no idea just three days go anything like this could happen. And even Friday, after finding out he probably had cancer, I wanted to prepare, to give him the best of foods and experiences before the inevitable occurred. But there was no time.
I'm guilt-ridden. "What if I hadn't given him the pred, would he have had more time?" Probably, though the outcome would likely have been the same. "Why didn't we notice anything sooner?" "Did we make the right decision?" "What if one of those other treatments had worked?" "Will he ever forgive me?" "Will I ever forgive myself?"
Through all of this we've had opinions from three different vets (his regular one and the two separate emergency vets), and none were particularly hopeful. The last and most helpful emergency vet said she would have made the same choice had he been hers, but the sadness, the doubt. It persists.
I have OCD tendencies and I cannot stop replaying things in my head — the normal morning we had on Friday with treats and cuddles, the actions taken since, the moment he left. Then I imagine all the things I didn't or won't see — the doctors treating him and putting him through needles and tests (we couldn't go in until the end because of covid, but he HATED the vet in general), what they did with his body later (we're having him cremated).
I think back to how wonderful he was. He gave literal hugs. Would extend his front legs to be picked up like a child, climb up my torso and rest his head on my shoulder. Would flop down on his belly and splay out his legs to relax. He was a goofy, a character. Loved to play with paper and fabric. Ate like a dog, loved any treats you could give him. Would come flop on top of me every morning in bed. He was my other cat's best friend. They would groom each other, play wrestle, had a real bond. And I can tell he's missed in the house today. We found him as a stray about 9 years go, fully declawed from whatever probably-not-great life he had before. While I'm thrilled to have given him a better home full of love and fun, I'm so unbelievably sad he's gone.
It's just hit me really hard. I know time helps some, but I still mourn every pet I've had to say goodbye to. We have three other babies right now, and that helps too. And they ARE my babies. My husband and I don't have children, or really any close family, so our cats are a huge portion of our lives. So today I mourn him, and doubt my decisions, and cry.