It really hit me hard today. It's been almost 10 years, so that's quite a lot of time, and years are passing by, and suddenly someone you have shared these years with, is gone forever. What does that do to all those shared years? They are now, like your companion, slowly sinking into oblivion.
So, I was going through old photographs today to create a photobook. A bad idea at this moment of grieving. But I couldn't leave the house today and needed something to do. I also wanted to stay with P. so that he doesn't feel neglected. Like always, my unhealthy perfectionism kicked in after awhile and it turned into a gruelling obsession. I wanted to find every single photograph available, order them chronologically, not just by year, but actually by month and day. I was trying to restart old mobile phones to rescue the photographs on them. Then, all the old cameras that ended up somewhere after I had bought some newer equipment. And yes, there were some forgotten memory cards with low-quality photographs on them.
I was trying to rescue what I couldn't rescue. So, I was getting sadder and sadder, looking at all those pictures; his early years, his maturing years, his physical bloom, and slow decline, and then all the photographs I took last week, hoping to stop time.
The guilt question has been creeping into my mind. I had to acknowledge that this year must have been pretty hard on him health-wise. Probably I didn't take it seriously enough, which means, I didn't spare him the many visits at the vets, the cortison, the antibiotics, the narcoses, the stress and pain. But then, what would have been worse? Not going to the vet, and hoping that his ailments would heal on their own, or do as I did? Two operations, one end of March (to get rid of a rotting tooth, as I was told), the other end of August (to remove the excessive nasal mucus, which was chronical and had taken hold of his upper respiratory organs again). I could see that especially this last operation with its anaethesia and the brutal cleansing of his nasal cavaties had hit him hard. He was another cat afterwards, even though he eventually had two months of almost unburdened breathing through his nose, until it all started again two weeks ago.
Anyways, looking at the photos from these months made me cry in shame and guilt. He was still in pretty good shape in July and August. And then afterwards, end of August and September, he had started to decline. I am not sure whether my mind is making this all up to torture me, but I have always felt bad about this last but one visit at the animal clinic when they rinsed out his nasal cavaties. Somehow it was my fault, because as he didn't respond to antibiotics any longer and the mucus in his nose had hardened and couldn't be sneezed out any longer, so that he was breathing hard and noisily, they didn't see a way to treat his chronic rhinitis. They had just shrugged their shoulders. I had asked them, whether it was possible to do a rhinoscopy and rinse his nasal cavaties, like they had done years ago successfully during a tooth operation. And they reluctantly agreed to try, but their reluctancy was not a sign of medical consideration, but rather cluelessness. So, they couldn't offer any alternative, and I could sense that it was mostly all about the money. I didn't know then that he had a tumor. Had I known that, I wouldn't have sent him through all that.
He was pumped full with medication and especially painkillers after the operation, and before that, I had been given an anti-inflammatory drug instead of the antibiotic, but which made him vomit several times a day. Thank god, I immediately stopped giving it to him the second day, but I guess that his kidneys (he had never had kidney problems before that) couldn't deal with the impact. And as I said, there were more painkillers to take after the operation. In the weeks to come, he was losing weight dramatically. Also his behaviour changed. He was no longer the affectionate cat that he had been before that.
There was a point, his loss of weight, excessive drinking and urinating all around the place, also his loud calls during the night and early morning, that I took him to the vet again. This was the visit when we learned about his very high kidney parameters, and then the vet pressed his belly and detected "something unusual, probably a tumor", which was later confirmed. Four weeks later, and he is dead.
I still don't know why this tumor, which was 4 cm long, and all the others in his lymph system, had never been diagnosed before. I am pretty sure that his kidneys had suffered from the last operation, but I do not know, why despite all the blood tests for all sorts of ridiculous parameters and visits at the vets and in the clinic throughout all those years, nobody could feel that there was something cancerous growing in his belly? It must have been there for months, maybe years.
Before I disappear in a swamp of guilt, remorse and pity, I just want to say that I wouldn't have put him through the last operation if I had known about the tumor. The only diagnostically significant and helpful treatment he received was the ultrasonic of his belly and kidneys. And this was all done without an anaesthesia. If there is a next time, I would immediately ask for ultrasonics of all the inner organs, if possible. Forget about radiographs, blood samples and swap tests, they just support a money-making machine on the backs of our animals.
And now I ask for his forgiveness, even though I know it is impossible and simply too late for that.
(End of October, 2021)
So, I was going through old photographs today to create a photobook. A bad idea at this moment of grieving. But I couldn't leave the house today and needed something to do. I also wanted to stay with P. so that he doesn't feel neglected. Like always, my unhealthy perfectionism kicked in after awhile and it turned into a gruelling obsession. I wanted to find every single photograph available, order them chronologically, not just by year, but actually by month and day. I was trying to restart old mobile phones to rescue the photographs on them. Then, all the old cameras that ended up somewhere after I had bought some newer equipment. And yes, there were some forgotten memory cards with low-quality photographs on them.
I was trying to rescue what I couldn't rescue. So, I was getting sadder and sadder, looking at all those pictures; his early years, his maturing years, his physical bloom, and slow decline, and then all the photographs I took last week, hoping to stop time.
The guilt question has been creeping into my mind. I had to acknowledge that this year must have been pretty hard on him health-wise. Probably I didn't take it seriously enough, which means, I didn't spare him the many visits at the vets, the cortison, the antibiotics, the narcoses, the stress and pain. But then, what would have been worse? Not going to the vet, and hoping that his ailments would heal on their own, or do as I did? Two operations, one end of March (to get rid of a rotting tooth, as I was told), the other end of August (to remove the excessive nasal mucus, which was chronical and had taken hold of his upper respiratory organs again). I could see that especially this last operation with its anaethesia and the brutal cleansing of his nasal cavaties had hit him hard. He was another cat afterwards, even though he eventually had two months of almost unburdened breathing through his nose, until it all started again two weeks ago.
Anyways, looking at the photos from these months made me cry in shame and guilt. He was still in pretty good shape in July and August. And then afterwards, end of August and September, he had started to decline. I am not sure whether my mind is making this all up to torture me, but I have always felt bad about this last but one visit at the animal clinic when they rinsed out his nasal cavaties. Somehow it was my fault, because as he didn't respond to antibiotics any longer and the mucus in his nose had hardened and couldn't be sneezed out any longer, so that he was breathing hard and noisily, they didn't see a way to treat his chronic rhinitis. They had just shrugged their shoulders. I had asked them, whether it was possible to do a rhinoscopy and rinse his nasal cavaties, like they had done years ago successfully during a tooth operation. And they reluctantly agreed to try, but their reluctancy was not a sign of medical consideration, but rather cluelessness. So, they couldn't offer any alternative, and I could sense that it was mostly all about the money. I didn't know then that he had a tumor. Had I known that, I wouldn't have sent him through all that.
He was pumped full with medication and especially painkillers after the operation, and before that, I had been given an anti-inflammatory drug instead of the antibiotic, but which made him vomit several times a day. Thank god, I immediately stopped giving it to him the second day, but I guess that his kidneys (he had never had kidney problems before that) couldn't deal with the impact. And as I said, there were more painkillers to take after the operation. In the weeks to come, he was losing weight dramatically. Also his behaviour changed. He was no longer the affectionate cat that he had been before that.
There was a point, his loss of weight, excessive drinking and urinating all around the place, also his loud calls during the night and early morning, that I took him to the vet again. This was the visit when we learned about his very high kidney parameters, and then the vet pressed his belly and detected "something unusual, probably a tumor", which was later confirmed. Four weeks later, and he is dead.
I still don't know why this tumor, which was 4 cm long, and all the others in his lymph system, had never been diagnosed before. I am pretty sure that his kidneys had suffered from the last operation, but I do not know, why despite all the blood tests for all sorts of ridiculous parameters and visits at the vets and in the clinic throughout all those years, nobody could feel that there was something cancerous growing in his belly? It must have been there for months, maybe years.
Before I disappear in a swamp of guilt, remorse and pity, I just want to say that I wouldn't have put him through the last operation if I had known about the tumor. The only diagnostically significant and helpful treatment he received was the ultrasonic of his belly and kidneys. And this was all done without an anaesthesia. If there is a next time, I would immediately ask for ultrasonics of all the inner organs, if possible. Forget about radiographs, blood samples and swap tests, they just support a money-making machine on the backs of our animals.
And now I ask for his forgiveness, even though I know it is impossible and simply too late for that.
(End of October, 2021)
