The remains of the day.
After a 1:30 am force feeding and hydration, during the wee hours of the morning, two of the kittens died. Robert got to them before I did and saved me from having to lay eyes on and handle two lifeless little furry bodies, and for that I am grateful. They were wrapped and put in a box for burial under a tree in my back yard, and I know this sounds horrible, but I don't want to bury them in case the other two don't make it, and then they will be buried together.
The two smallest kittens are the ones who are still alive, and yes, they are weak and of course showing symptoms but they just don't look like they're going to die. But it's deceiving, or maybe I'm deceiving myself. They could crash fast. I keep telling myself that the 48 hour danger zone is over by now, but maybe it's not. I don't know when that magical hour actually is.
I'm doing my best but I don't know if it's good enough. I worry that I'm not getting enough Pedialyte or immune system booster into them, I worry that they're not getting enough nourishment. I wish I was able to run IV fluids by myself but I'm just no good with needles and squirming kittens who are crying. I'm keeping them warm but sometimes they wander away from the heating bag, and I'll check on them and put them back on the hot spot.
You should never research medical stuff because when I did that for Panleukopenia, I read that the simple act of capturing feral kittens will hugely boost the chances of Panleukopenia ravaging them, so you know, at the end of the day - I caused this.
Anyway, it's getting so cold here now, and these little guys wouldn't have survived out there very long, and their final weeks and days would have been even more miserable spent out in the cold, damp dirt under a deck. I risked their lives by taking them in but their final days were spent in a warm, dry, clean environment, and they were held and pet and loved, and they knew human care and compassion, for what it's worth.
Anyway, off for another round of care in the ICU. I take a deep breath every time I walk by to check on them, or enter the room to push fluids and food. If these two die, I'd like it to be in my arms.
The two smallest kittens are the ones who are still alive, and yes, they are weak and of course showing symptoms but they just don't look like they're going to die. But it's deceiving, or maybe I'm deceiving myself. They could crash fast. I keep telling myself that the 48 hour danger zone is over by now, but maybe it's not. I don't know when that magical hour actually is.
I'm doing my best but I don't know if it's good enough. I worry that I'm not getting enough Pedialyte or immune system booster into them, I worry that they're not getting enough nourishment. I wish I was able to run IV fluids by myself but I'm just no good with needles and squirming kittens who are crying. I'm keeping them warm but sometimes they wander away from the heating bag, and I'll check on them and put them back on the hot spot.
You should never research medical stuff because when I did that for Panleukopenia, I read that the simple act of capturing feral kittens will hugely boost the chances of Panleukopenia ravaging them, so you know, at the end of the day - I caused this.
Anyway, it's getting so cold here now, and these little guys wouldn't have survived out there very long, and their final weeks and days would have been even more miserable spent out in the cold, damp dirt under a deck. I risked their lives by taking them in but their final days were spent in a warm, dry, clean environment, and they were held and pet and loved, and they knew human care and compassion, for what it's worth.
Anyway, off for another round of care in the ICU. I take a deep breath every time I walk by to check on them, or enter the room to push fluids and food. If these two die, I'd like it to be in my arms.