Chemo Fur

Happier, healthier days.

Some of my students have told me they have "chemo brain," which I take to mean they feel foggy and forgetful (although it's worth noting that they have been some of the most engaged of my students). I think Bullwinkle must have chemo fur: his fur is wayyyy softer than it's ever been. Very silky and smooth.

Every night, for most of the time we've lived here, we've sat together at the top of the stairs and had a big cuddlefest. Part of the cuddlefest has often involved him sitting in the skirt of whatever mumu or nightgown I happened to be wearing, as if it were a pouch (I often called him my little marsupial). He stopped being so interested in the cuddlefest a little while before he was diagnosed though -- I didn't know he was sick, and just thought its charms had worn off for him. We still had our little ritual, but not every night.

After the first chemo treatment (two weeks ago), he was really freaked out about upstairs. He had spent a lot of time at the top of the stairs through most of his illness (I had put some blankets on the floor up there for him) and I guessed that he must have had some hallucinatory-type dreams about the top of the stairs while he was under anesthesia. So that was yet another loss -- no nightly cuddlefest any more.

But something happened this week. My theory (which may have no basis in actual fact) is that Bullwinkle really doesn't handle anesthesia very well. With hindsight (which in my case, still isn't 20/20), I think he spent the better part of three days this past week just recovering from the anesthesia on Monday. This is why I won't take him back for more chemo -- he was too sick just from the anesthesia. But it seems as if the effects of the chemo kicked in at the end of the week -- and he's felt much, much better. And, best of all from my point of view -- we've gone back to our nightly cuddlefests at the top of the stairs (he beat me up the stairs last night).

And he is still a night person, I mean, cat. He sort of hangs out all day looking a bit iffy (happily, the Dick Cheney look he had earlier today is mostly gone) and then wakes up when it gets dark. Which means it's really hard to feed him through his feeding tube at night lately. Last night he ran up to the top of the cat tree (this is with a syringe of food hanging from his feeding tube) and stayed there. So there I was, standing next to the cat tree, reaching way up over my head to feed him. I don't think I imagined the wacky grin on his face. :-)

Still, he's a very sick cat, and definitely getting weaker. Today I could tell he really wanted to jump up to a stool, but didn't think he could make it -- so I picked him up and put him there. :-(

The Worst Indignity Yet

The tumor must be growing, and quickly, because now Bullwinkle's mouth looks like Dick Cheney's -- one side turned up and the other side turned down. Poor Bullwinkle -- nobody deserves that!

The Wheel of Fortune

Snoozing on the sofa in healthier times.

Around and around it goes. Bullwinkle felt great yesterday. This morning he felt awful and I started wondering if I should call Dr. Blackshear. Tonight he stalked and pounced on a black thing on the wall (his own fur, but he thought maybe at some time it might move). Oh, and did I mention he totally unwrapped the bandage keeping his feeding tube in place -- about 15 minutes after I changed it? Yet he's super skinny and is having trouble jumping; he has to make many more intermediate jumps to get to places that used to be a single jump for him.

He's sitting on my shoulder as I write. He's spent a lot of time on my shoulder today -- not to mention throughout his life. Sometimes he perches on my shoulder so long that my back begins to ache. But I will really miss that warm fur-body on my shoulder when he's gone. :-(

The Comeback Cat

Snoozing in the sun this morning.

Bullwinkle's amazing. He feels much, much better tonight than he has for weeks. It was quite difficult to feed him through the feeding tube tonight -- he kept wanting to run around. He rode around on my shoulder most of the evening, sniffing (in a very engaged way, I might add) at every bit of food I tried to eat. So I opened a can of Fancy Feast for him (salmon) and he practically buried his head in it. (He did try to eat some but wailed while he was trying -- I think it must really hurt to try to use his tongue.)

My coworker John, who hates cats (and who therefore can't be trusted, so he's probably wrong), claims that Bullwinkle has no intention of ever dying, because he finally has me right where he wants me -- wrapped right around his little claw. :-)

I took a short video of Bullwinkle while he was purring and kneading on my shoulder; you can see it here.

I really want to thank you all for your sympathy, support, and encouragement. They've meant so much to me, and I really do think they've meant a lot to Bullwinkle too (in some way that's impossible to understand or gauge).

Reprieve!

Dr. Blackshear came and spent quite a bit of time with Bullwinkle & me this afternoon. The short form of the story is that, while she said it wouldn't be premature to put him down today, she also said that if it were her cat, she wouldn't do it yet. Plus she said she has known -- it's been real clear -- when it was time to put down her own pets. Since it was certainly clear to me when it was time to put Jezebel down, I'm going to try to trust myself and wait for that time with Bullwinkle too. Not to mention that Dr. Blackshear doesn't seem to think he's suffering terribly at this point (and he does seem quieter and more peaceful than he has since before the last chemo treatment).

So that's the story in a nutshell; I cried all day long and am exhausted. But I do feel privileged and relieved to be able to spend more time with my baby kitty-boy.

Bullwinkle snoozing on my shoulder this morning.

Frustration

Bullwinkle is feeling somewhat better tonight. I have an appointment with Dr. Blackshear tomorrow afternoon and we will talk about whether we should do hospice care with him or put him down -- it feels to me as if it could go either way. I do think that finally, tonight, he's starting to realize some benefit from the most recent chemo treatment. He's alert and has acted more like his old self than he has for a couple of weeks. But regardless of what my decision is for him tomorrow, we are not going back to chemo.

When I got Bullwinkle home from the cancer clinic on Monday, I could see he had some tape wound pretty tightly around his right forefoot. I figured that's where they'd drawn blood from, so I left it on that night -- but it was bugging him so much yesterday that I decided to take it off. After I'd gotten most of it off, I realized it was holding what looked like a catheter in place. I called the cancer place last night and basically said I would have appreciated being told that they were leaving a catheter in his arm, and could they please call me and let me know how to deal with it since I'd already taken most of the tape holding it in place off. I asked them to call me at home if they returned my call at night, but if they called during the day to please call me at work. I gave them both numbers. Naturally they called me this morning at home -- while I was at work (that was frustrating).

So... after being gone for the better part of 14 hours, wondering why I hadn't heard from them, I returned home at 9:30 p.m. to hear their message, which was something like: "We understand that a catheter was inadvertently left in Bullwinkle and we really apologize; all you have to do is pull it out and put pressure on it for 45 minutes and everything will be just fine." Wow. I'd call that another frustration (although that may be an understatement). I hate how cynical I feel right now -- but they were quite deliberate Monday about making sure they got paid before I took Bullwinkle home. Too bad they couldn't have been as meticulous about removing the catheter.

As if that weren't enough, I checked Bullwinkle's feeding tube tonight (I could tell it was bothering him) and the stitches holding it in are really tight and are pulling his skin up -- and his skin is very warm around there. Chalk up yet another frustration -- to say the least.

My poor little kitty-boy has had such a rough time -- and I'm really starting to feel that part of that tough time has been inflicted on him by the very people I've paid (and paid well) to take care of him.

The whole thing just sucks.:(

Loop the Loop

Bullwinkle's better -- but not a lot. He did briefly bat at his Mr. Moose toy (the one that at some time -- long, long ago -- had stuffing and catnip but is now flattened and beat up). I think the anesthesia has been very, very debilitating for him -- and the boost from the chemo isn't offsetting how tough the anesthesia has been -- so I don't think we're going to go back. But I hope to be able to talk to Dr. Blackshear about that some time this week.

Here's a video from happier times (although I was just as goofy then, maybe even worse than recently):