Things have been so mad the past few days. I’ve found myself wanting to write dozens of posts (like a RMR of Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, the fact that Period Tracker widget blooms with flowers when you’re in the fertile time of your cycle, issues at work, issues in Thailand, etc), but having no time at all.
Because of Howlite. I know that she isn’t the most popular part of this blog (that would be the movies), but she’s the most popular to me, so I tend to write about her quite a lot.
Wednesday I went out to dinner for a friend’s birthday. Get home, go to the bathroom. Of course the cats follow me. I’ve gotten into the habit of examining Howl’s bottom discreetly as she wanders around while I pee, since my staring doesn’t seem to both her in there (cats are weird).
I noticed that there was something seriously wrong. All I saw was a white circle. That was new. I had recently read about how anal prolapses can result in dead tissue, which would not be the red I was used to. I freaked out so much that I almost didn’t finish my business in the need to rush after her as she left the room.
I manage to snag her. I check, and it’s like she’s got a disk inserted in her anus. It was a dried like .. rock of feces that couldn’t get out because the sutures were in the way.
Took her to our local after-hours vet, they removed it (when the vet came in with the forceps I nodded and said, “yeah I’m not watching”), but they of course had to cut the purse-string sutures to do that. Meaning the likelihood of her prolapsing again has gone back up.
She gave me some Royal Canin GI food to feed with her regular food, which has probiotic stuff, then probably some fiber food later on, when this is done. Still says we don’t have to worry about the bladder stones or hernia until there’s blood in her urine. Great. But she did say when we did the surgery for the stones, we could do the hernia, too, all at one time. Yay. I’m thinking April, barring any further problems.
Poor Howlite. Her life is a hard one, I thought.
Then, just now, she has prolapsed again. It’s 4:30 am. I have no ride. I cannot find a 24-hour car or taxi service (outside of the airport, I suppose). Because of my epilepsy, I do not drive, so I don’t even own a vehicle to break the 6-month law even if I DID drive. (Like I NEEDED another reason to freaking hate the fact that I am epileptic.) The 24-hour vet is NOT in walking distance. Like at all. They have a driver, but the driver doesn’t come in until 8.
(Insert rant about how it’s stupid for a driver to come in when there are hundreds of taxis up and running, but to NOT be available when there are little to no public transportation options.)
In speaking with the RTB vet, she felt that we could wait until I could get a ride. She had recently eaten, so they wouldn’t be able to do the surgery yet anyway.
Internet groups (with and without vet advice) have offered so many things to check and to do. So many contradictions on why one food is awful, but, wait, so is the other food! I just want it to be SIMPLE, even though I know it isn’t, and it certainly doesn’t have to be.
I think, sometimes, of all the people who insist that I have children. That everyone wants children. And it was always annoying and upsetting before that people refused to understand that I didn’t (and don’t) want children. And that was before my trials with Howl. I don’t think I could afford all the operations and procedures Howl’s had to go through, if she were human at a human hospital. Sure, a kid would be more likely to complain to me directly of the problem, so I would understand the specifics a little more, but they’d also understand ME a little more. A kid probably wouldn’t take it all that well to see her/his mama curled up in bed bawling.
I don’t have the emotional stability to be strong for someone in pain.
So. I’ve been doing a lot of crying.
I wish time would hurry up a bit! I need to get to the vet!!!!
(On top of this is the much more superficial problem of my laptop crashing. Thankfully, I still have my bizzillion year old ASUS netbook, but I’ll be dammed if this isn’t throwing a shipping container of dynamite on an already well-fueled emotional firestorm.)