When MomBert stays over, we usually kick back for a few episodes of baking competitions or HGTV. MomBert ends up in my usual tv watching spot and I sit across the room.
Sookie heads for her normal tv spot which should be beside me on the couch. However I have been replaced and the human who looks and smells like me is across the room making heavy eye contact with her.
She really has to think this one through. I’m clearly not making sense.
Based her on her final assessment and some brushing from MomBert, I think Sookie has determined that I should probably stay on the other side of the room.
The surgeon has cleared The Bird to cat again. She’s got two weeks worth of licking stuff to catch up on. I want to get her a tiny sweatshirt to keep her naked tum warm, but she’s excited to be gone, crate, and onesie free.
What I’ve determined is, Birdie does not sleep well with the cone. Lots of frequent ups and downs during the night and while I’m at school. Everybody cruises through to check on her, Miles mostly to monitor her food that he cannot access. Olivia looking into the camera says it all: “This is some fucked nonsense, y’all.”
So today on a sunny Saturday, we are saying “Fuck it!” Birdie is having monitored cone and crate free time in her stylish onesie. It is hard to curl up and chew your toes with a cone on.
Our normal vet was all about the onesie however we did the second surgery at the vet who administered her chemo and they are opposed to the onesie: it traps air not letting the wound breath and gets dirty potentially getting dirt in the wound. They basically made it sound like I would leave her in the same onesie for two weeks without ever cleaning it or checking her wound. Eyeroll. I was like: “BITCHES. SHE. HAS. A. FIERCE. WARDROBE.” Insert tongue pop here.
What I know is that right now she is out cold in the most uncomfortable spot I can imagine, the sunspot got too hot, but she is sleeping.
Everyone but Sookie who has fled the scene got flea meds. Miles and Olivia will now lick themselves silly and then try to help each other, leading to my paranoid delusions of them ingesting too much flea medicine.
Not so fun Fun Fact: Cats can fight through medical sedation?
Apparently, yes they can. On chemo visit 3, Birdie, in true Birdie badass style, fought through sedation twice. They did not steal her blood and she did not receive chemo that day because she was not fucking having it. Not today, Satan!
I suspected something was up when I did not get the normal call saying that bloodwork was done and she was good for treatment that day. Instead I got a midafternoon call saying that Bird had fought through and been brought out of sedation twice, and that they could not hit a vein get a blood draw much less a vein to safely administer chemo. I’ve always considered her to be a feisty redhead which may be part of her sedation issue, but she had been extra vocal in the car that morning despite the normal pre-vet dose of gabapentin to chill her out, and the attending doctor said that sometimes cats are super motivated to fight the sedation when “they know what’s coming.” I could see that. Bird is no dummy, but her attitude can get in the way sometimes. There was a tearful moment at my desk after the call, because I was frustrated and worried for her as well as exhausted with the end of the school year and managing her treatments. No treatment that day meant we had to go through it all again the next week. (My cats are my kids, but there is still a certain shame in asking someone else to cover a class because I have to drop my cat at her appointment, talk to the doctor, and then drive 25 minutes to get to school that day. Better yet was the email asking an admin not to schedule me to proctor a standardized test because of a treatment day. The one good thing about COVID was that by spring of this school year, very little phased anyone.)
However what I got back was an insanely high little creature with four shaved and bloody legs. It made me wonder if she had pulled a tech who was not good at blood draws. It reminded me of the nurse at Blonde Doctor’s office who tried both arms then went back for a third try and wiggled the needle around for good measure, all the while yapping about her teenaged son. At try number 3, I had to lay down and say, “Just take whatever you want. I’ll be laying here.” That visit ended with me in the lab with the phlebotomist and a juice box after. So I had much more sympathy for my little girl who may have had to deal with fools that day. I rinsed Birdie’s legs and purr-ittoed her because I was not going to make her lick that much of her own blood off her little leggies.
Round 2 of treatment 3 was the next week. We changed her Gabapentin dose slightly, and the attending doctor (this is a teaching hospital so we see someone different each visit) made an extreme effort to give Birdie the royal treatment and her own space. Things went much better that day, many vet students now have pictures of my cat in “her office”, and Birdie has cemented her reputation.
That incident aside, Birdie has tolerated chemo very well -KNOCK ON WOOD-and had minimal side effects other than just needing to relax the next day. Her appetite, energy, and bathroom habits have been amazing. A re-scan did not show any evil growths. This month was Treatment 5, her last chemo session. She got a bandana signed by the staff; cats do not want to ring cancer bells or any bells really. She has one more surgical hurdle and then it’s all about monitoring from there.
Last night there were some particularly interesting episodes on, but my bed was calling. I left off on the search for the Black Demon Shark that allegedly ate baby whales when I released I had my own El Demonio Negro watching with me.