Thursday, March 19, 2009
Poor little K.C. has been sick. The first time, we chalked it up to the stress of settling into her new home and the stress she felt emanating from us after Pete got mugged. The second time, we thought it was a urinary tract infection. She was better by the time the test results came back, but they ended up showing nothing had been wrong.
Now, it's starting all over again. My fear all along has been that when she was spayed, it was incomplete and she is actually going into heat. I had mentioned that to the vet before, but she assured me it is highly unlikely. But now that the same symptoms have returned yet again (and in such a cyclical fashion), she agrees that it looks likely after all. She is researching when the best time to test K.C.'s hormone levels will be, and who the best vet to do the surgery is.
In the mean time, my kitty is uncomfortable. She's restless. She cries all day and yowls all night. I hate to see her suffering, but there is really nothing I can do for her right now. I'm helpless. And I understand how my husband feels when diabetes rears it's ugly head. How my parents felt all those years since my diagnosis.
I understand how it hurts them to see me shaky and sweaty and fuzzy-brained from a stubborn low. I understand how hard it is to see me with a throbbing head, achy muscles and a cranky demeanor when I've got a bad high. How they hate watching me force that needed snack down when I'm not hungry, or struggle to resist eating until my levels come down even though I'm starving.
Feeling helpless is just as difficult as feeling too low or too high . . . or in heat. (Although that last one is not from personal experience!!)