(no subject)
Yeah, I know I'm going on about all of this, but Trink was, basically, the only pet I've ever had, and I had to have her put down this morning. I've never had to go through this, and I need to vent.
We hoped that all the stuff wrong with Trinket was due to the seizure playing hell with her body. The vet said we could expect gradual improvement, and for a while yesterday that seemed to be the case. But, as she calmed down and stopped growling and pulling away from us, we were able to observe her better. She had been drooling a lot (and I mean a LOT. It was basically pouring out of her mouth), and that didn't ease up at all. I noticed her left eyelid was barely moving when she tried to blink, and the eye itself was pointing to the left a bit. She was holding her left front paw strangely, and when she stood or walked, it dragged some. She couldn't eat; It was obvious that she wanted to, but something was wrong. The only sound she would make was low growling. No hissing or meowing, which I found unusual for her, given how she must have been feeling.
Mom got me up just after seven this morning (I've had maybe six or seven hours of sleep since Saturday morning). Trinket couldn't even get up anymore, and seemed to barely be able to move at all. None of her other symptoms had improved at all. She had also developed a persistent, rapid twitch in her right eye. Mom had put two and two together and concluded that Trinket must be unable to swallow, which would explain the drooling and problems with eating, and probably the lack of vocalizing. It was obvious we were going to have to euthanize her. Something, a stroke or tumor or some sort of encephalitis had mostly fried her, and the common aftermath of the seizure was similar enough that it wasn't obvious. What were the last few days like for her? I can't imagine having something like that happen, and then the additional trauma of being confined at the vet's overnight, and being completely unable to comprehend what was going on. I hope to God she was able to take comfort from mom and I when we got her home. I sat with her a long time yesterday and this morning before we took her to be put down. I had, yesterday, conned myself into ignoring what should have been obvious, and that denial made it all the worse.
We wrapped her up, took her down to our regular clinic, and the vet tranked her, and after some trouble getting a vein (thank God for the tranquilizer), injected her. Without any drama or sign, she just shut off.
So it's over now, and she's gone. I wish I could've spared her the ordeal of the last two days, but I guess I should be glad we didn't let it drag out more.
Craig, I was wondering if you company does any pet memorial stuff. I want to get something, mostly for Mom's sake, but honestly it bothers me, too, to not do something.
We hoped that all the stuff wrong with Trinket was due to the seizure playing hell with her body. The vet said we could expect gradual improvement, and for a while yesterday that seemed to be the case. But, as she calmed down and stopped growling and pulling away from us, we were able to observe her better. She had been drooling a lot (and I mean a LOT. It was basically pouring out of her mouth), and that didn't ease up at all. I noticed her left eyelid was barely moving when she tried to blink, and the eye itself was pointing to the left a bit. She was holding her left front paw strangely, and when she stood or walked, it dragged some. She couldn't eat; It was obvious that she wanted to, but something was wrong. The only sound she would make was low growling. No hissing or meowing, which I found unusual for her, given how she must have been feeling.
Mom got me up just after seven this morning (I've had maybe six or seven hours of sleep since Saturday morning). Trinket couldn't even get up anymore, and seemed to barely be able to move at all. None of her other symptoms had improved at all. She had also developed a persistent, rapid twitch in her right eye. Mom had put two and two together and concluded that Trinket must be unable to swallow, which would explain the drooling and problems with eating, and probably the lack of vocalizing. It was obvious we were going to have to euthanize her. Something, a stroke or tumor or some sort of encephalitis had mostly fried her, and the common aftermath of the seizure was similar enough that it wasn't obvious. What were the last few days like for her? I can't imagine having something like that happen, and then the additional trauma of being confined at the vet's overnight, and being completely unable to comprehend what was going on. I hope to God she was able to take comfort from mom and I when we got her home. I sat with her a long time yesterday and this morning before we took her to be put down. I had, yesterday, conned myself into ignoring what should have been obvious, and that denial made it all the worse.
We wrapped her up, took her down to our regular clinic, and the vet tranked her, and after some trouble getting a vein (thank God for the tranquilizer), injected her. Without any drama or sign, she just shut off.
So it's over now, and she's gone. I wish I could've spared her the ordeal of the last two days, but I guess I should be glad we didn't let it drag out more.
Craig, I was wondering if you company does any pet memorial stuff. I want to get something, mostly for Mom's sake, but honestly it bothers me, too, to not do something.