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Dec. 2nd, 2005 12:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thejunipertreeNympho woke me up at six o'clock this morning by staggering into my bedroom and howling at the top of his little-cat lungs, louder than I've ever heard a cat make a sound in my entire life. I jolted out of bed, as confused as I would be if someone had woken me with a thrown pail of ice water, and fell to the floor. He made his way out into the hall, where the howling continued. I'd call his name and he'd scream in return.
Lights are thrown on and I found him outside the closet where I keep the litter boxes, falling over every time he tried to take a step. He couldn't walk without stumbling and continually rocketed into the walls every time he tried. Having a diabetic cat, I've done a ton of research on what can go wrong, so I automatically knew that this was most likely a result of hypoglycemia. Too much insulin, he needed sugar in his body and as quickly as possible or else he would begin having seizures and go into a coma.
In my abruptly woken haze, I grabbed the first thing my brain focused on: a can of Redi-Whip. Whipped cream, tons of sugar and corn syrup in the ingredients and lactose from the cream itself. This should do. I sat in the hall and coaxed him into eating it off my fingers, at first rubbing it into his gums like some kind of cocaine fiend on a binge. It brought him around to the point where he could stand more steadily and stopped screeching every time I spoke to him, so I carried him into the living room, set him on the floor, and went back into my room to put on a pair of pajama pants and get my phone.
Half six in the morning and I know my vet's office isn't open, but I called them anyway to listen to the recorded message so I can hear when they open their doors and to get the phone number for the emergency vet in Philadelphia, despite the fact that I dread driving to the University of Philadelphia and know that they will charge me three or four times the going rate for treating him. I wanted the phone number in case things started to go really poorly.
The pre-recorded message tells me they open at eight and in addition, informs me of another emergency clinic in Mount Laurel, which is considerably closer the U of P. After a few more hits of whipped cream are forced into the cat and he's purring in my lap, I dial their number to see if they have any advice. It's now seven o'clock.
They ask me what I've given him and tell me to also try some maple syrup, but the woman on the phone doesn't want me to drive there because as soon as I arrive, I'll be turned away because they close up shop at eight. She recommends that I get him into the carrier and be on my vet's doorstep when they open, but to keep a close eye on the cat during the drive and bring the bottle of syrup with me, in case of any further attacks.
This is precisely what I did, calling the vet on my way when it got closer to eight. They tell me that I can certainly bring him in, but the doctor doesn't come on shift until nine-thirty and they won't be able to do much. Doesn't matter, I'm already on my way. I arrive on their doorstep at quarter after eight, in the hastily thrown on clothes I wore yesterday and half-rubbed eyebrows. I must look like a complete crackhead, but they treat me kindly and take Nympho into the back to put him on fluids and give him some more glucose. They called the vet as I was driving and she told them of a few tests to run until she gets there. Now all I can do is wait and hope for the best.
Some time later, after many flipped through magazines and glares shot at two different men bringing in their cats for declawing, I'm brought into the examination room by the doctor, who explains to me that Nympho's blood sugar had been coasting around 36 when I brought him in. It should be around 100-150. 30 is when seizures and comas enter the picture. They've brought it up to about 60 and were working on getting it even higher. We discussed reasons for this happening (concentrated insulin because I was the end of the bottle, not eating enough, vomiting, spontaneous remission), but nothing can really be focused on as the culprit. They wanted to keep him overnight for observation and glucose testing and I was told to call on Friday, around three.
I came home, made a couple of phone calls (one of which involved me calling into work and telling them I wasn't coming in because I'd only managed three hours of sleep, by all rights I should have gotten in five, but the cat woke me up). I decide I'm going to sleep until around one, call the vet, then actually go into work for a few hours. But, my body betrayed me and I woke up at four o'clock in the afternoon, still dazed. At this point, his sugar levels were hovering around 80 or so and he was, once again, quickly becoming the darling of the office.
He's such a magnificent animal! What kind of cat is he?
Russian Blue. And he swans around the apartment, bullying the other cats because they're not pure bred.
He's so sweet, everyone is just loving on him.
My old man, he really knows how to work a crowd.
I've calmed down considerably since all of this. But, Nympho is my baby, my cat. The only one out of the five who is technically mine (the other four were my mother's). I had him for the majority of the craziness that was my period of living in Philadelphia and he is one of the best cats I've ever met. My brother even loves him and he is not a fan of most animals, my menegerie in particular. If something happens to this cat, I will be a complete wreck.
I am thinking positively. That is the only thing I can do right now.
Lights are thrown on and I found him outside the closet where I keep the litter boxes, falling over every time he tried to take a step. He couldn't walk without stumbling and continually rocketed into the walls every time he tried. Having a diabetic cat, I've done a ton of research on what can go wrong, so I automatically knew that this was most likely a result of hypoglycemia. Too much insulin, he needed sugar in his body and as quickly as possible or else he would begin having seizures and go into a coma.
In my abruptly woken haze, I grabbed the first thing my brain focused on: a can of Redi-Whip. Whipped cream, tons of sugar and corn syrup in the ingredients and lactose from the cream itself. This should do. I sat in the hall and coaxed him into eating it off my fingers, at first rubbing it into his gums like some kind of cocaine fiend on a binge. It brought him around to the point where he could stand more steadily and stopped screeching every time I spoke to him, so I carried him into the living room, set him on the floor, and went back into my room to put on a pair of pajama pants and get my phone.
Half six in the morning and I know my vet's office isn't open, but I called them anyway to listen to the recorded message so I can hear when they open their doors and to get the phone number for the emergency vet in Philadelphia, despite the fact that I dread driving to the University of Philadelphia and know that they will charge me three or four times the going rate for treating him. I wanted the phone number in case things started to go really poorly.
The pre-recorded message tells me they open at eight and in addition, informs me of another emergency clinic in Mount Laurel, which is considerably closer the U of P. After a few more hits of whipped cream are forced into the cat and he's purring in my lap, I dial their number to see if they have any advice. It's now seven o'clock.
They ask me what I've given him and tell me to also try some maple syrup, but the woman on the phone doesn't want me to drive there because as soon as I arrive, I'll be turned away because they close up shop at eight. She recommends that I get him into the carrier and be on my vet's doorstep when they open, but to keep a close eye on the cat during the drive and bring the bottle of syrup with me, in case of any further attacks.
This is precisely what I did, calling the vet on my way when it got closer to eight. They tell me that I can certainly bring him in, but the doctor doesn't come on shift until nine-thirty and they won't be able to do much. Doesn't matter, I'm already on my way. I arrive on their doorstep at quarter after eight, in the hastily thrown on clothes I wore yesterday and half-rubbed eyebrows. I must look like a complete crackhead, but they treat me kindly and take Nympho into the back to put him on fluids and give him some more glucose. They called the vet as I was driving and she told them of a few tests to run until she gets there. Now all I can do is wait and hope for the best.
Some time later, after many flipped through magazines and glares shot at two different men bringing in their cats for declawing, I'm brought into the examination room by the doctor, who explains to me that Nympho's blood sugar had been coasting around 36 when I brought him in. It should be around 100-150. 30 is when seizures and comas enter the picture. They've brought it up to about 60 and were working on getting it even higher. We discussed reasons for this happening (concentrated insulin because I was the end of the bottle, not eating enough, vomiting, spontaneous remission), but nothing can really be focused on as the culprit. They wanted to keep him overnight for observation and glucose testing and I was told to call on Friday, around three.
I came home, made a couple of phone calls (one of which involved me calling into work and telling them I wasn't coming in because I'd only managed three hours of sleep, by all rights I should have gotten in five, but the cat woke me up). I decide I'm going to sleep until around one, call the vet, then actually go into work for a few hours. But, my body betrayed me and I woke up at four o'clock in the afternoon, still dazed. At this point, his sugar levels were hovering around 80 or so and he was, once again, quickly becoming the darling of the office.
He's such a magnificent animal! What kind of cat is he?
Russian Blue. And he swans around the apartment, bullying the other cats because they're not pure bred.
He's so sweet, everyone is just loving on him.
My old man, he really knows how to work a crowd.
I've calmed down considerably since all of this. But, Nympho is my baby, my cat. The only one out of the five who is technically mine (the other four were my mother's). I had him for the majority of the craziness that was my period of living in Philadelphia and he is one of the best cats I've ever met. My brother even loves him and he is not a fan of most animals, my menegerie in particular. If something happens to this cat, I will be a complete wreck.
I am thinking positively. That is the only thing I can do right now.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 07:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 07:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 07:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 08:54 am (UTC)0_o
I hope your Nympho stays well and healthy for many years to come.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 10:31 am (UTC)you guys will be in my thoughts.
*more hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 11:56 am (UTC)*crosses fingers*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 12:18 pm (UTC)Poor kitty.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 03:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 04:32 pm (UTC)i love him much!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-03 10:48 pm (UTC)