Iniki Update
The good news: Iniki still appears to be voluntarily eating and drinking. She was a bit lethargic over the weekend, especially yesterday, but I'm willing to attribute some of that to the weather (grey, drippy, eventually snowy -- yes she's an indoor cat, but then, so'm I, and I dislike that kind of weather intensely, in part because it makes me feel physically uncomfortable, or at least non-energetic...), and some of it to the fact that the prednisone is not guaranteed to actually stop fluid build up, just slow it down. So as much as I'm not thrilled with the idea, I'm taking Iniki to get 'tapped' again tomorrow night.
The bad news: Either the cytology lab never ran the tests, or else the emergency clinic never sent the sample for testing, because when our regular vet finally pestered the emergency clinic for answers, they said, in essence, 'Um...right...that. Wednesday. Honest. Really. We mean it this time.'
I should be angry about this, I suppose, but I'm really just mildly irritated. The cytology report is unlikely to come back with news that's worse than what we already surmise, and confirmation will merely lock us onto a course of palliative treatment -- likely much the same as what we've been doing -- designed to ensure some degree of quality-of-life.
I suppose at this point I'm going through every pet-owner's dilemma -- hell, every care-giving relative's dilemma. And thus, what comes next will undoubtedly seem like a, 'well, duh' moment to many of you who have already been there.
On the one hand, I selfishly want Iniki around in my life for a while longer.
On the other hand, not being able to talk to her and ask her how she really feels, I'm afraid that all I'm really doing is prolonging misery. I comfort myself that, as long as she's voluntarily eating and drinking, she's not too miserable, but that doesn't really relieve me entirely of the dilemma.
This is, however, why I've drawn the line at thinks like chemo. I'm willing to have her 'tapped' because as traumatic as the process of draining the fluid off can be, I have clear and direct evidence (the whole of last week) that she'll feel significantly better being able to actually breathe without restriction. I'm willing to force a pill on her once a day for similar reasons. But chemo and radiotherapy are crap-shoots for people, let alone animals, and guaranteed pain and discomfort during the actual course of treatment.
The bad news: Either the cytology lab never ran the tests, or else the emergency clinic never sent the sample for testing, because when our regular vet finally pestered the emergency clinic for answers, they said, in essence, 'Um...right...that. Wednesday. Honest. Really. We mean it this time.'
I should be angry about this, I suppose, but I'm really just mildly irritated. The cytology report is unlikely to come back with news that's worse than what we already surmise, and confirmation will merely lock us onto a course of palliative treatment -- likely much the same as what we've been doing -- designed to ensure some degree of quality-of-life.
I suppose at this point I'm going through every pet-owner's dilemma -- hell, every care-giving relative's dilemma. And thus, what comes next will undoubtedly seem like a, 'well, duh' moment to many of you who have already been there.
On the one hand, I selfishly want Iniki around in my life for a while longer.
On the other hand, not being able to talk to her and ask her how she really feels, I'm afraid that all I'm really doing is prolonging misery. I comfort myself that, as long as she's voluntarily eating and drinking, she's not too miserable, but that doesn't really relieve me entirely of the dilemma.
This is, however, why I've drawn the line at thinks like chemo. I'm willing to have her 'tapped' because as traumatic as the process of draining the fluid off can be, I have clear and direct evidence (the whole of last week) that she'll feel significantly better being able to actually breathe without restriction. I'm willing to force a pill on her once a day for similar reasons. But chemo and radiotherapy are crap-shoots for people, let alone animals, and guaranteed pain and discomfort during the actual course of treatment.