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Pam K
65 years old
Female
Vermont
Born Mar-6-1959
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Joined: 2-May 12
Profile Views: 626*
Last Seen: 20th May 2012 - 09:43 AM
Local Time: Mar 28 2024, 07:24 AM
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Pam K

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9 May 2012
My Peanut, a tiny torbie who was diagnosed with HCM last winter, is gone, and my heart is broken. She was diagnosed when I brought her to the Vet because my husband and I thought her breathing was a bit labored. They removed fluid from around her heart, and gave me the phone number for a Cardiologist. He ran tests, and gave me a treatment plan that included three different drugs. Something happened not long after that....she stopped eating. There was no way to get her to take her meds, and I tried everything from compounded formations to needles. She got sicker, and I raced her into the Vet one day because she seemed so weak. I'd been syringe feeding her with homemade chicken broth, but she was clearly losing weight rapidly. The doctor ran some tests, told me that she was anemic (but didn't know why), and talked with me about the transdermal meds, which I had ordered. It was a long night, most of it spent in a cold room with Peanut hiding her tiny face under my arm. She hated the crate, the Vet's offices, more than any cat I'd ever seen. I was sent home with some high-calorie canned food, and extra Lasix needles. I cried all the way home, and so did she. I promised her that I wouldn't put her through that again. My poor dear sweet Pea.

One day, after about a week of feeding her with a syringe with the watered down high-calorie food, she didn't seem as limp and uninterested....she looked at the syringe. I pushed a little bit of food out, and she licked it off!!! I was so thrilled, and for days I fed her that way, until she began eating out of a little dish. I was so thrilled with her progress after that. My husband Will would text me things that delighted me while I was at work...."Pea is on the prowl." (She had barely walked for a whole week.) "Pea is eating some kibble!"

Peanut was a miracle, she began playing like a kitten again, dancing around the invisible (to us) specks on the tile floor, attacking them, then dancing again. Then into the living room, to leap into her favorite toy, a paper bag full of tissue paper. She'd dig out the tissue, dance in it, run back into the bag and poke her wide-eyed face out the hole I'd cut, ready for me to dangle her toy. To say hello, she would walk her tiny six-pound body up to my face, give me a Peanut peep, and rub her pink nose against my cheek. I miss her, I miss her, I miss her. She gave more love, more joy, and more silly joy than any animal I've known.

On May 1, I took her for her cardiology re-check, which I'd been dreading for weeks. She was doing well, but I could still see that her breathing was not normal. She'd take a deep breath after running hard, a puff we called it, and her heart beat was much faster than our other cats'. I'd promised her I'd keep her home, but felt it was important to have her checked one more time.....as it turned out, her meds all needed to be upped a bit. Half of the blockage was gone, but there was still some fluid around her heart. She looked awful on the way home, an hour and a half drive, so stressed and worn out. I thought she just needed to be home, in our quiet home with her special corner of the couch to rest on. But as the afternoon wore on, her breathing seemed to get worse, and when the cardiologist suggested giving Lasix injections a few hours apart, I did and she did not get better. Suddenly she was panting, and when I tried to pick her up, she meowed so quietly. It hurt her. I called the local home vet, Peanut's regular Vet, and finally a Vet a half hour from home answer, and said that we could bring her out. I gave my husband the phone and went to her. She was dying, I could tell by the way she was struggling for breath, stretched out on the couch, little wet sounds emanating from her lungs. "She's dying!" I cried. My husband wanted to wrap her in a blanket and take her in. I got into the car with her, and almost immediately she screamed, trying to claw away from me, digging her claws into my shoulder. I held her, she let go and settled back down, struggling again to breath, and I kissed her head again and again, telling her that I loved her, that I was so sorry, that I loved her so much. At least twice more as we raced to the doctor, she clawed and screamed. She was drowning. The last time was the worst, she bit my thumb hard after a terrible scream, then let go, no fight left. I kept talking to her, there was one last scream, and then she fell back into my arms. "She's gone!" I cried, sobbing over her. Her tiny foot, soft and warm next to my head, her head and all its life bent sideways. My husband didn't want to believe it, he cried, "No, no, no!!"

I never knew how to balance Peanut's terror of the crate and the doctors with doing what was best for her, and I can't bear the guilt on top of the grief. It's left me with a shattered heart because she was so happy, and then I killed her. That appointment was too much for her....but if I didn't go, she would have died with me wondering whether there had been something they could do to help more. If I had seen how rapidly she was going downhill, instead of trusting that she just needed to be home, that she'd been given a good prognosis and would be alright soon...if I hadn't clung to my denial, she would be here right now. Or maybe she would have died on the table while they drew the massive amount of fluid away from her heart and lungs. I am so sorry dear Pea, I didn't do it the right way, and I caused you so much pain. I want to hold you in my arms, hold your tiny body against mine, caress away your pain and feel your warmth, and that big green eyed gaze, looking up at me with such trust. I let you down sweet Pea, I am so sorry. I love you so much.
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