Back to the vet

A week has gone by without a word - a humbling testament to how quickly time marches on when we are busy living it. Last Tuesday Fig went to the vet for the blood panel needed before he could receive his next chemotherapy medication. I hate to stress him by taking him there, but this seemed necessary. They drew his blood and we waited...and waited...and waited for the results. In that instance, time crawled as I worried about Fig's stress level, about what the results would be, and what our options would be. At last the doctor came out with a dizzying array of colorful charts that essentially told me:
1) Fig's kidney function is continuing to deteriorate due to the cancer (it is still growing)
2) His liver function and white blood cell count are still good (he can have more chemo)

I caught myself feeling disappointed that the chemo wasn't stopping the cancer. He looked and acted so much better than before we started it - he has an appetite, his coat is still glossy, his eyes still clear, he is still alert and even plays after having some catnip. How could he not be getting better? Ah, the human proclivity for hope and denial!

Then we discussed options. I asked about the more aggressive chemo approach. Sadly, I learned that it would require weekly hospitalization for hours while an IV dripped the chemicals into him. This is where the quality of life issue comes in, since Fig would be miserable spending one whole day of each week he has left on earth being at the vet with a tube stuck in him. He might even have another seizure or stroke, and become debilitated or even dead as a result. Clearly, this approach does not seem an option for Fig. So we opted to take another capsule home. The pharmacy technician gave me a pair of blue latex gloves with the capsule - just to drive home how toxic is the substance I am putting in his body. I feel like a poisoner, but shove the capsule down his throat and wait until he swallows. I continue to hope that he will outlast the vet's prediction of 1-4 months left.

I have been wondering if, on some level, Fig knows that he is going to die. He wants to spend nearly all of his time on our front porch, watching the birds, cats, and neighbors; it's as if he wants to soak up every bit of experience and stimulation possible, making up for years spent indoors. And even in food, he wants constant variety. I have to mix wet food of different flavors and dry food with the bonito flakes to tempt him. These days I have 3 or more tins of different cat food flavors open in the refrigerator at once to accommodate his need for diversity in meals. One night my friend and I took him for a short walk - it was a mild evening and the night sky was sparkling with stars. After a block he ensconced himself on the warm asphalt and regally watched the bats flying overhead, listened to the crickets, and quietly enjoyed our company. I am glad that we are able to spend these moments together. Glad, too, for the miracle of technology that allows us to capture his moments and antics on video - memories of Fig that will outlast his all-too-brief passage on this mortal coil.