Hard Truth

I took Fig to the vet today. They wanted to do a blood panel before dispensing his monthly chemo capsule. It's not hard to get him into his crate these days - he seems to think of it as his sanctuary - but at the other end, it can be difficult to get him out of it. Especially after he's been spooked by hearing a myriad of dogs barking and trotting by us. This time I had to upend the crate and pour him onto the stainless steel table. One woman held him while I rubbed his head in a vain attempt to distract him from the needle being inserted in his neck to draw blood. We all got through it, though, and he was happy to scramble back into his crate afterwards.



Then we sat in the lobby to wait for the results. Isn't it odd how anxiety distorts time? It felt like days passed before the vet came out with a sheet of colorful graphs comparing his baseline tests to the ones done today. His kidney function is somewhat worse, due to the cancer, the vet said. The good news is that his white cell count, his liver - all are fine, which means that he can continue with the chemo. I asked how long she thought he had, acknowledging that there are no guarantees. She said that renal lymphoma moves quickly, and that he probably doesn't have more than 2-4 months, although it's possible he might live another 6 months.



Now I wonder if I asked the right question, for what do I make of the answer? He will die of this disease well before the 5-8 year window I thought we had before he got sick. So does the amount of time he has left matters? Or is it the quality of time he has left that is important? How does a cat value its life? For Fig, perhaps, the answer lies in the number of birds and other creatures he observes from his post on our front porch, or the amount of bacon we give him from our plates in the morning, or how long we gently rub his cheek in just the right spot. Yet I truly don't know.



I was disheartened by the vet's report, though. Since Fig has seemed better since we started treatment (more of an appetite, more normal activity levels, etc.), I was thinking that he might be a candidate for the more aggressive chemo treatment than the one we are using. I've been told that treatment hits the cancer harder than the capsules do, so he might have more time with that treatment protocol. But the vet explained that it would require Fig to spend whole days at the hospital on an IV drip. Given how stressed he gets by just a short visit to the vet, it doesn't seem that given a choice, Fig would choose that treatment for himself; it doesn't feel right to make that choice for him, just for the possibility of extending his existence.