Not Even Once

This post isn’t about Meth Amphetamines, it’s about Methimazole. A couple of months ago I wrote about Purr’s diagnosis with hyperthyroidism and the ethical problems associated with extensive veterinary intervention. When his vet prescribed methimazole for him I strenuously voiced my concerns about its side effects because of a previous nightmare of torture, and subsequent death, that we (out of love) subjected Sylvester (a different cat) to 7 years ago. She assured me that Sylvester’s situation was a rare case and that she’d never had ANY problems like that. Well......... she has now! We’ve hit the jackpot again and let me assure you deciding what to do is very difficult when faced with a prematurely dying animal. Long story short Purr’s health quite unexpectedly and suddenly crashed last week. When we took him in his white blood cell count was 1000 when it should have been 20,000 and his platelets at one point measured 13,000 when they should have been 300,000.

He’s home now, and while his numbers aren’t normal he is improving. I’m really glad he’s doing well but that leaves us with a whole new set of problems. First of all, the vet’s guilt for almost treating him to death was not so overwhelming that she wasn’t able to personally hand me a bill for $439.87 in the middle of her heart felt apology. Add to that the $416 dollars we’ve spent on this since June for a total of $850. So problem #1 is how much is too much? $850.00 would buy:

850 dozen eggs for someone in Bangladesh
425 units of blood for transfusion in India
more than 1/2 of a house in Uganda
and 6800 cups of milk in Ghana

Each step along the way I’ve done what I thought was right, and what’s done is done, but that doesn’t lessen my awareness of the inequities I am perpetuating. And unfortunately this isn’t over. Purr still suffers from his original thyroid problem and will require treatment in the form of surgery (another $800) or other potentially dangerous medications with no guaranteed assurances of longevity, quality of life, or freedom from additional suffering. As I’m writing this it seems obvious that I have once again backed myself into the same corner I was in 7 years ago.

Last weekend was an emotional roller coaster; shock (at his sudden deterioration), followed by sadness and grief (at his impending death), and finally acceptance of our decision to put him down. Miraculously that decisiveness was just the motivation he needed to start recovering almost as quickly as he deteriorated. My ulcer, on the other hand, is not improving. And as for what to do now, I find I possess about as much clarity and resolve as a meth addict.