Status: We’ve had a run of four pretty good days. Sun baths and a couple of jumps in the tub and many successful hammings. Still off the chlorambucil; taking steroids only for another week. Some congestion; sounds like she has a runny nose. All in all 3-4 hams out of 5 on the hamometer.
Part of me has been relieved since we took Sophie off the chemo. I don’t like knowing that I have to give my cat a pill that the other cats can’t come into contact with and that I have to wear rubber gloves to administer. My biggest worry now is that I’ve given her just enough of these toxic meds to poison her system but not enough to kill off any cancer cells.
Why is it that the most prevalent cure for cancer is poison? Isn’t this just completely barbaric? Won’t this be one of those things we look back at in 50 years shaking our heads in wonder that we thought poison was somehow an appropriate cure for a terminal disease that wrecks your system? It’s like using leeches or blood-lettings in terms of medical sophistication.
I know it sometimes works. I also know it isn’t ultimately going to work for Sophie. So should I really be putting her through this? Our goal is merely palliative — to make my girl feel better and buy her a little more time. But there’s no way chemo makes you feel better, at least not in the short run. And that’s really all she has.
I watched my dad, who has leukemia [in remission now, thank God], waste away during his chemo treatments. He lost tons of weight and couldn’t even stand the taste of water. This is a man who loves his food ordinarily; he even has a little sausage dance he does whenever that meat is in the offing [I guess a love of all things porcine runs in the family, since his grandcat inherited the same passion]. But things got so bad that my sister and I were discussing some desperate measures, in states outside of Colorado, to get him to eat again. Thankfully, we didn’t have to, and he’s back to his fighting weight now. And although I haven’t seen him do the sausage dance in a while, he certainly still loves it.
I feel like the therapy is bad enough in humans, who at least have a choice. My dad used to get blood transfusions in between the chemo treatments, and those were the only thing that made him feel great. That’s not really an option for Sophie.
I have a difficult time having made this decision for my cat. The oncologist at Nashville Veterinary Specialists has been great. I’ve had several phone conversations with him, and he always makes himself available. I’m trying to hang in there in the zen bubble, but it’s hard. I know I have a tendency to anthropomorphize my cats, but I know that Sophie knows. She has a look about her, and she has exhibited behaviors she’s never shown before.
For instance, her time out in the yard. I’ve walked a few steps behind her as she’s gone to explore the back yard and walk the fence perimeter and even walk outside onto the sidewalk — things she’s never done before. It’s like she’s doing her own version of a bucket list, like she wants to satisfy her curiosity about a few things while there’s still time.
She’s showing a kinder side, too, cuddling up more with Suki than usual, which has engendered a little more peace in the household overall. Her favorite thing, though, is to be in my lap or by my side, sometimes purring, sometimes not.
I guess I’m running a little anxious because I’m heading on a road trip for a few days, leaving the kitties with a friend of mine who is house-sitting [snaps and props to Sheila the Awesome]. I know she’ll be in great hands; I just naturally worry because they’re not MY hands. Not healthy, this worry. I always get anxious before trips, even when everyone’s health is optimal. Going to have to snap out of it. Might be time to give myself a ham treat.