All is not well on the kitty front. All isn’t bad exactly, just decidedly not good. We went back for more tests to see if any of the new drugs were working. The answer? In a word, no.
Turns out her teeny tiny heart is now kicking out a BP of over 300. They also called Saturday morning to tell me a whole mess of other scary sounding things were at scary sounding levels. My gato needed fluids – stat.
“But she had such a monumentally shitty day yesterday,” I whined into the phone. “Can’t I just pick up the pills?”
“There aren’t any pills. She needs fluids. Have you ever given anyone shots before?
“I’ve got mad skills with Lovenox loaded syringes…”
“Perfect, do you feel well enough to pick up the fluids?”
Note to self: stop telling random strangers that they need to write down instructions because I’m sick and the “chemo brain is a real bitch today.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Be there in thirty-ish.”
I grabbed yesterday’s denim, threw on a fleece, and shoved some spare kleenex into the pockets since my sinus cavity seems to be spontaneously exploding every twenty minutes or so. I stopped on the landing to talk to my neighbor about laundry…and completely forgot whether I was coming or going. I patted down my pockets for clues. Realizing I didn’t have my wallet, I decided it was best to head upstairs, regardless. Huge blank discs surrounded by a mass of black fur turned my direction when I opened the door.
I was only two blocks away from the vet when I noticed a strange sensation behind my left knee. Each time my left sneaker hit the concrete sidewalk, the strange feeling moved a little farther down my leg. Suddenly the weirdness twisted around to the middle of my shin – then I absentmindedly watched my gray stripey sock from the previous day bound out from the cuff of my jeans and onto the street. I made it at least another seven steps before I grasped what had actually happened. I muttering a quick thanks to the bartender in the sky that I’d lost yesterday’s sock rather than yesterday’s underwear and darted back up the street. Sneaking furtive glances around for potential witnesses, I bent to retrieve my wayward knit and shoved it deep into my pocket.
Safely inside the Animal Hospital, the warm air sent my sinuses a-flowing. Of course I reached into my pocket to retrieve the tissues I brought along for this very moment. Of course they were beneath the stinky used sock that I grabbed and brought to my face as the receptionist watched in horror. Of course I looked (yet again) like a total douche.
“The vet told me to stop by,” I mumbled as I tried to pretend the dirty sock covered in day old foot funk and Hoboken sidewalk scuzz was THE latest accessory craze. I moved it around my face, trying to think of a place where such a monstrosity would make sense. I ended up tucking it into my newsboy cap and smiling awkwardly.
“Have a seat,” the receptionist said. Resigned that I was just a whackadoodle and not likely to cause any physical damage to myself or others with the sock of doom, she waved to the bank of chairs.
My vet poked her head into the hall almost instantaneously. “You ready to play with needles?”
“Great! Step into Room 1.” She leaned back into the creepy area (You know, the place behind the swinging double doors where the civilians aren’t allowed to visit? The one filled with giant machines and colored vials and embalmed organs?) and shouted, “pick a cat, any cat,” to her henchman in the wings.
The four of us met in Room 1 – the vet, the tech, the Elly, and the striped tabby named Persephone.
“Aw, she’s a sweetie,” I cooed as I noogied her forehead. The tech got a good grip on Persephone as the vet wheeled the IV pole closer.
“Ok, I’m going to walk you through it, and then we’ll practice on the cat.”
“Really? I’m going to stab Persephone?”
“Yup, and then you’re going to go home and do it to Simone.”
Additional Note to Self: Do not board my cat here.
Oh Interwebz, it’s a good thing I didn’t follow my parents’ footsteps and seek a career in the medical profession. I don’t know how much vomit I swallowed down over the course of the next ten minutes. Between looking at the ginormous needle, then looking at poor sweet innocent Persephone, I thought for sure the morning’s Zuchana bread was going to join the sweet kitty on the cold, hard metal table.
The vet walked me through the steps. I pinched the scruff. I made a tiny skin tent and stuck the bazooka sized needle in quickly, being sure to keep the bevel up. While I held the needle in place with my left hand, I moved the wheel on the tubing to start the flow of fluids. I looked back down at Persephone who was getting pretty damn pissy – but not because she had a needle in her back. No, she was pissed because a pool of cold fluid was forming beside her relatively relaxed form. Apparently I stabbed a little too swiftly and poked the needle right back out! I’d administered 100ml of fluid to a dehydrated table. Who wants help with their flu shot?! Anyone? Bueller?
Anyway, long story slightly less long and yet still happening, I managed to dose Simone first try – despite her impressive efforts to thwart me. (I won’t even begin to tell you about the disaster of Day 2.) I was feeling mad triumphant until she jumped off the chair and toppled a bit to the right. A huge mound of ‘Mone bubbled up over her right shoulder blade. Fortunately I’ve got Dad on speed dial.
“Why hello! I was just about to slide under the pool table put myself down for a nap. Let’s see if your mom picks up.”
“I can ask you…did I kill my cat?”
I told him my saga. He yawned supportively. “Your cat will be fine. Well no, not really. She’s going to die eventually, but you did fine with the fluids. It will take a while for her to absorb them.”
Well how was I to know? Persephone didn’t get all poofy on me! I guess it’s because I test drove a newer model.