I hate taking my floofs to the vet. I recognized that today. I’d put off taking Tucker for a long time, probably to his detriment.
Veterinary offices and animal hospitals harbor bad memories. Cats hit by a car and dying in a room, waiting for treatment. Feline fur friends taken in to see what’s going on to learn they have cancer. Nothing to be done. Four friends over seven years, three spread over a four-year period, nine altogether in my lifetime.
I know. Shame on me. I should be stronger. A better human for them. Accept that death, injuries, and pain are part of life.
I do understand. Doesn’t appease my feelings of loss at their demise. It’s not all ’bout me, though. It’s about what my little friends ended up enduring, even before their illness was diagnosed. Vets always validated that they’re suffering.
We took Tucker back today. Check on his thyroid. Those numbers look good now. Other numbers don’t. He has high blood pressure. He’s gained weight, which was good, but his kidney numbers are worrisome.
A prescription was given for the hyperthyroidism. Another for the high blood pressure. Nothing for kidneys – yet. Monitor them for a bit more. See if it’s a side effect of meds or situation. Meanwhile, we continue his pain meds and his thyroid meds. Twice a day, twelve hours apart.
He goes in for surgery on Wednesday. Dealing with refractory stomatitis gingivitis. All his teeth are to be removed. Well, all which remain. Many of his teeth are already gone.
All this came to mind because my wife interpreted some comments made by the vet at Tucker’s last appointment as dismissive of us as pet mates. I didn’t see it myself. I saw it as being weak on my part. A coward, really.
Now, fingers crossed that all goes well for my black and white buddy. He remains upbeat and loving.
I hope I do right by him.
Michael Seidel, writer 