Immune System Status: Fail

I love it when my immune system goes on vacation at the same time as me. It adds that little something extra to the photos, y’know? Red nose, puffy eyes, sweaters in summer.

However, it usually gets back to work once I’m back home. Maybe the death of my cat kept it at bay, in sympathy to her. It probably thought I needed to be alone.

Which is how I’ve managed to remain slightly ill for two weeks straight. First there was a really nasty cold, probably caught off this one guy on the train who kept coughing and wouldn’t put his hand over his mouth (I’m pretty certain everyone in that carriage got sick afterwards). This turned into a dry cough, hesitated around my tonsils then decided to dive right down into my lungs and try brochitis for a bit, was chased out by my actually taking meds and eating properly, leaving the cough, which turned back into a really nasty cold exactly a week after the first one, just in time for me to learn about Kitteh having to be put down, so y’know, I’d need tissues even when I wasn’t crying; and now that seems to have been replaced by a vague but persistent dizziness that won’t go away.

This after three months of near-perfect health, which is quite a lot for me. Maybe my body has decided to have all its illnesses at once to then I’ll be done for the rest of the winter.

I wish.

Love something

I was going to post something along the lines of how important family is when I got back, but something more important has happened.

My cat is sick. We went on a week’s vacation to see my parents, leaving a friend with the keys, and said friend messaged us two days before we got home saying she wasn’t eating. At first we thought it was normal – in as much as being so depressed that she’s refusing to eat could be normal. We knew that when we went away, she had a tendency to sleep a lot, lick herself a lot, and eat little. She was still drinking, though, so it couldn’t be that bad.

When we got home, she seemed to be sulking. Which would be normal, although usually when we’d get home she’d have a little crazy run-about and then stuff her face with food, only to vomit it up later. We were used to this, and had already begun dosing the food in her bowl… except that she didn’t eat it, and we found a nasty red vomit stain on the sheets. That night she threw up twice, yellow bile.

A little nervous, I took her to the vet the next day. It’s a good job he was ten minutes away on foot because I couldn’t find her catbox and had to put her in her harness – which she hates – and carry her there, ignoring the stares of people who didn’t know cats could meow so loudly and holding her tight in case she panicked (which she did every time a car went past).

The vet diagnosed a tummy bug (“everyone’s got them at the moment”), gave her two jabs and prescribed an anti-inflammatory sirup and pills to take every morning. He warned me, however, that if she hadn’t eaten by this morning (two days later), she’d need a blood test.

That night she stopped drinking. I took the seringe from the sirup and used it to feed her water. It contained 1ml at max.

The next day she looked a little better, and drank on her own – at first. But as the day wore on, despite the meds, she progressively stopped moving, crying plaintively at us when we was thirsty. We had to accompany her to the water bowl and encourage her. Sometimes she tried to lap a little, but most of the time she just crouched there getting her neck fur wet and occasionally looking back to see if we were still there.

I took her back today. Did you know that when you take blood from a cat, you take it from their neck? The veins aren’t big enough elsewhere. She got another jab, of antibiotics this time, but no more prescription meds. I have to take her to a radiologist in another town so he can do a scan of her kidneys, which are swollen, and depending on that and the blood test results, she’ll probably have to be hospitalised.

Either that, or she’s got AIDS and has no chance.

I’m exhausted and terrified for her. I’ve lived with three cats, but Kitteh is mine. I brought her up. She’s not my baby… but to her, I’m her mother. She depends on me, and although this is costing a bomb and will probably cost us even more to come, I’d give my own blood to save her, if I could.

Caring for another living being makes you more human. I think children should be brought up with animals to care for, because it teaches them responsibility, but also compassion. When something else’s survival depends on you, you learn to put that thing first. And I think that, while we all need to take care of ourselves once in a while, in order to evolve towards that need, you first have to learn to take care of each other.

On the other hand, this experience has given me an idea of what a taxing job being a carer is. I don’t think it’s a job you can do well without becoming emotionally involved in it, which makes it not only physically exhausting, but also emotionally exhausting. I’m giving her seringes of water every half hour, and every time she manages to drink by herself, it cheers me up for an hour or so. When she meows at me like she’s in pain, I feel like crying. It’ll be a relief if they hospitalise her, because at least then I’ll know she’s in good hands, despite the fact that she’ll be scared and miserable away from home.

So I’d like to tell everyone who reads this that carers, temporary or permanent, whether they’re paid for what they do or not, deserve your respect. And that includes you, carer. Respect yourself, take care of yourself, and realise your own worth, because the work you do requires incredible strength, and the fact that you do it is priceless.