A few days ago, I posted about my elderly cat, who recently fell ill. After a round of lab work, he was newly diagnosed with diabetes and admitted to the animal hospital.
It wasn’t easy to do, driving away, leaving him behind. Just like any time that I have to get him seen, I always feel bad that I can’t explain to him what’s going on. It was even worse this last time as I couldn’t go in with him, due to covid-19 precautions. Both drop-off and pickup were done curbside.
This also meant there would be no visiting him.
I wondered how he would do. I worried not only about the state of his health and recovery but also about how stressful the experience would be. Would he think he was being abandoned? Would he be scared in a strange place undergoing medical procedures?
Thankfully, he did really well in the hospital. The vet had set expectations with me, making sure I understood that we didn’t know for sure going on how long he’d have to be in the hospital. It all would depend on how he responded to treatment.
We were both pleasantly surprised when he responded extremely well to treatment and turned around quickly. He was discharged home, and I was given prescriptions for feline insulin, a glucometer, and testing supplies.
It can be tricky getting things quickly during a pandemic, but I ordered everything, and once they arrive (which should happen fairly soon, as I’m writing this essay), I’m supposed to call the vet’s office and schedule a consult where my husband and I will be trained by a vet tech, all of us masked, on how to test his blood sugar and administer insulin.
I Struggle to Not Worry More than My Fair Share
Hilariously, in spite of my worries, my cat didn’t seem to be suffering at all while admitted. The doctor told me he seemed to enjoy the fluids and all the attention. He was allegedly stretched out like it was spa day.
Here, I was imagining kitty torture chamber, and nope… my cat thought he was at the spa. Amazing. I love it.
Indeed, since his admission, I’ve found him sleeping in his cat carrier, the one we use to transport him to appointments. This confirms what I was told: That it was not a traumatizing experience at all. That he enjoyed himself.
It’s weird… because I felt very guilty because he didn’t understand what was going on. But maybe he did, after all. Maybe he absolutely got that he was being helped. That all the strange things that were happening were part of his getting better and feeling better.
I’ve had a lot of great cats over the years, but he’s arguably the smartest. He cracks me up sometimes, how clever he is. About like a small child.
That’ll teach me, I suppose, about the perils of worrying more than my fair share.
Anyway, I’m glad he’s home and doing well. I never would have chosen to learn how to take care of a diabetic cat during a pandemic, but that’s what has to happen. I can do this.
And I’m honestly so grateful to have more time with him.
Books by Page Turner: