Been rough to say the least for a couple of weeks now. We lost our beloved cat, George; and according to my team of doctors, I nearly shuffled off the mortal coil.
The cat was my best friend. Okay, companion if you will. He adopted me nearly 17 years ago at an animal shelter in Alexandria, Virginia. I walked past his cage, and he reached out and grabbed me, and bawled. He was desperate to get out of that cage, and was frantically trying to get me to help him.
So, I did.
He rewarded me with a lifetime of loyalty. For nearly every night that I was home, for that entire time, sometime in the night he would jump up on the bed, and sleep on my hip, or right next to me. He was always eager to greet me when I'd been out of town. And loved to sit on my lap, or next to my monitor when I would write. In the winter, I'd often pour some Macallan (or something else out of my scotch collection) and sit by the fire; and as soon as I got down the whisky glass, he'd run over to the chair and wait for me; then sleep on my lap while I sipped my drink. He was a Turkish Van (aka swimming cat), and he loved to swim. He'd also play fetch for hours with paper wads, foam balls, etc, or for as long as you'd let him. He also thought he was one of our huskies, and was always playing with them. They were his "pack".
He was loved by everyone in our family, and stole the hearts of many of our friends; but he was really my cat.
About a year ago he developed pancreatitis, so his diet and appetite changed, and he started losing weight. Then shortly afterwards he developed heart, and then kidney disease. A couple of times he developed fluid in his lungs, and we had to have it drained. We gave him about 6 different meds every day.
Otherwise he was a very happy cat. He still loved to play and cuddle, and wanted to be with us. Our vet speculated he maybe had 2-3 years, max left. But only because of our care. When trips to the vet started to become more frequent, we started to prepare ourselves for the inevitable.
About a month ago, he developed a kidney infection. Antibiotics weren't working. I cancelled my commitments, and cleared my calendar. Two weeks ago, we found out that he had a collapsed uretuer, and was in kidney failure, which had started to accelerate his heart failure. He would require a very risky surgery, which would give us a few months at best. The vet surgical team was ready to go.
Instead, we brought him home. Our family vet came to our house, we said our goodbyes, and he fell asleep for the last time, in my arms. The family was devastated.
Two days later, on Friday afternoon, I told my wife I felt I was getting a sore throat. By Friday evening it hurt to swallow. I took some cold meds and popped some vitamin C and went to bed. I was sure I was just tired and stressed. Saturday morning the pain was much worse, and my face was starting to swell. We have a concierge medical service, so my doc came out, did a strep test; said my throat just looked a bit red, but started me on an antibiotic. Sunday, it hurt to swallow. It felt like a small airplane was stuck sideways in my throat, with the wingtip buried deeply on the left side. I pushed the fluids, but couldn't eat.
Monday was even worse. The docs office called to tell me the strep test was negative, and I was to keep pushing fluids, and finish the antibiotics. I was eating pain pills like candy, and for the first time actually started getting scared. I've spoken to doctors and experts while doing book research who've shared with me the phenomenon of people who know they're going to die. They feel so sick, that letting go seems like a good idea. I was watching tv, trying anything to take my mind off of how sick I felt, and for some reason, I thought of Jim Henson from the Muppets. Apparently, he died of the flu in a matter of days from first feeling sick. I started wondering if that was going to happen to me.
It hurt so much to swallow Monday evening that I started drooling. I hadn't eaten anything since Saturday. My jaw was so offset, I couldn't close my mouth properly. The pain was so intense, that I couldn't even spit. I actually was thinking I might die. It hurt unbearably to speak, and my voice was just a croak by late evening. But if I had been able to speak, I'm not sure I would have told my wife that I'd not had anything to drink for several hours. So, I sat up all night in the other room. I was miserable. But I was convinced the antibiotics just needed another day, and not wanting to panic my family, I didn't wake my wife. My litmus test to pull the cord on an emergency was how my breathing was being affected. My breathing was fine. No issues. Monday, I didn't sleep at all.
Tuesday morning, I had a fever of 103. Unable to speak at all now, I texted my doctor. I had two choices. Get to the ER immediately, or to his office. If he didn't hear my answer in 5 minutes, he was sending an ambulance to my house. I texted I was on my way to see him; and I was met by a team of doctors who were amazed I was still conscious, let alone upright. I was told I had a massive abscessed infection in my throat. I was immediately given iv fluids, steroids, and antibiotics. And after about an hour, and several calls, arrangements were made for me to meet a surgical ENT team to get a CT scan, and drain the abscess at the local hospital.
About 5 minutes after leaving the office, and on my way to my surgery, it burst in my throat; filling my mouth with warm, thick pus and blood. My wife pulled over on the road, and I spent the next ten minutes hacking out the poison. Almost immediately, my voice returned to a croak, and I could swallow again.
Upon arrival at hospital, we were met by the team, and I was told surgery wasn't necessary now. But, I was immediately admitted for three days. Given fluids and iv antibiotics, and am presently now at home, on three very powerful antibiotics at the same time, and a high dose oral steroid. Yesterday, my jaw finally settled back into place.
My follow-up to the ENT was this morning where he told me that had the abscess erupted internally, he would have been talking to my family about what options they had to try and keep me alive. Now, I'm feeling stronger everyday. Especially with these steroids kicking in now.
I'm still sick, but healing. At least my body. I think my heart is going to take much, much longer. I have a feeling that despite sitting by the fire,with a glass of scotch in my hand, it's still going to be a long, cold winter.