Here We Are Again
August 12, 2009
I feel like we've been through this before.
Following the glorious, albeit expensive, success of Scout's spay day, I thought we were done seeing vets. Fortune favored us with a rabies-vaccination due date of September 15, and since we fly on August 31 she was all set to just slide in right under the wire. But it appears that Alaska Airlines requires (at least officially) a health certificate for all animals on their flights, regardless of whether they are flying in the cabin or in the hold, domestically or internationally. Funny, because when we traveled with AirTran in May 2008 this was not an issue. And in fact when Mom flew north on August 1 they never enquired after Morgan's paperwork. If she hadn't declared the presence of a cat, they probably wouldn't have registered that there was one on the flight at all.
But it would be just my luck to go to the airport with no documentation and wind up being the random search victim. I'd wind up choosing between leaving Scout behind and missing my flight. I am also hesitant to forge the paperwork, even though I have a copy of Morgan's certificate (for reference) and all of the pertinent information at my fingertips. Again, it would be my luck for them to discover my false documents and fine my sorry ass for trying to carry a broken but 100% free-from-infection cat across state borders.
So I called the vet again, god are they tired of hearing from me, and arranged an appointment for next week. They are supposed to do an exam, $65, before they can issue a health certificate, $5.25. I elected to pass on their suggestion of an early rabies booster. Frankly I'm surprised that they brought it up, because they've all seen Scout's records, they all know how the shit hit the fan last fall. Today I went in to discuss, in person, our "options." It's about 98% likely that nobody in the building will be able to lay a hand on Scout without a pair of long leather gauntlets and a muzzle. Under normal circumstances I'd let them get on with it and just assuage the cat's damaged dignity with a can of tuna afterwards. But as we are all aware, Scout's fine frenzy will have some pretty dire consequences. So I asked the receptionist, first of all, if, since Scout was just there on June 30, and she is an indoor cat anyhow, they could possibly just issue a health certificate right now, date it August 13, and in exchange I and my volatile companion will never darken their doorway again. Promise! The receptionist and the technician laughed nervously at my joke. Several moments elapsed before they realized I was in dead earnest. It would save their time, my money, and Scout's general health. Everybody wins!
No, they will not bend the rules for me, they could get in serious trouble. Blah blah blah. I'm tired of their feeble female excuses, I've shelled out nearly $1000 to those fools over the last year, THEY OWE ME. So I asked, quite reasonably I think, whether they are going to insist on being very thorough in their examination. Scout is going to flip out. This isn't really a question of probabilities anymore, that's just what is going to happen, and what do they suggest to do about it. My philosophy, personally, is that any cat wholesome enough to fight back cannot possibly have anything very seriously wrong with them. If they insist on holding her down to execute the terms of the exam, it may well kill her. Would the vet kindly evaluate Scout from the far side of the room and proclaim her general soundness? No, they can probably dispense with the full-scale organ palpation but they must at very least TAKE HER TEMPERATURE. And they are not equipped with an ear thermometer, so it would have to involve sticking a glass rod up her ass.
I remember what happened before. I stood there in silent, furious disbelief as the vet who had just told me I should keep Scout's stress levels to a minimum, knowingly sent my cat into cardiac arrest. I said nothing. I just let him do it. I cannot do that again. I can't stand and watch. And listen. And god knows that it would precipitate a whole string of events just like last year's. I just. Can't.
My options are as stands: I pay for them to sedate her somehow and carry out the exam. (That sounds simple but they still haven't come up with an answer for me. First of all they seem to be under the impression that they can sedate her if it proves necessary. If she's already freaked out it's too late; they'd have to give me some pills to pop down her throat in advance, or gas her. Gas costs the earth. Furthermore, I could tell as I was discussing this with the technician that the need for gas is rapidly encroaching on the tenuous ground where the measures we have to take just to EXAMINE Scout indicate that she is, in the vet's mind, unfit for air travel.) Or I find Scout a new home in Massachusetts and leave without her. Or, since it is as unlikely that anyone will adopt a broken cat as it is that they would buy a broken bicycle (unless they want her for parts?), I have her euthanized.
And I feel like the world's most insensitive pet-owner for always bringing up that last option, but every time we go through this rigamarole I feel like I'm pouring money and affection down a well to feed the magical fish that lives at the bottom. I love her enormously, but Scout is broken. Broken enough that strangers can't handle her without causing serious failures in her life-systems. Broken enough that I thought she was going to die last time she got shots, broken enough that I had to sign a Do Not Resuscitate Order before they would spay her. She isn't a miracle cat, she isn't ever going to heal, and I've lived with that knowledge for most of the time I've had her. Nevermind paying for traumatic vet visits, how much more of myself can I (do I want to) invest in her? Could I even live with the decision to put her down? I don't know.
When Matisse got so sick back in June Dad kept taking her back to the vet for more work, even though it seemed apparent to the rest of us that she wasn't going to bounce back, and she had accepted her fate when she decided to stop eating. And this seems unrelated, maybe, but Grandma crashed last week and the family are all highly resentful of the EMTs that resuscitated her against her wishes; Grandma is bedridden now, doesn't know who she is or what is going on anymore, and in the natural order of things should have died last week. It was a waiting game with Teazer; it's turned into a waiting game with Grandma. But they were/are old, and Scout's not even two. Most of the time she's fine. But she can't do normal cat-things like get shots. And I acknowledge that I've been letting her play outside for the last two weeks or so, and even though she's having the time of her life it puts a visible and audible strain on her cardiovascular system. How long do I really think that can last?
What I want to know is, am I doing the same thing as Dad? I've brought her back from the dead once. If Scout starts coughing and her gums start turning white like last time I won't hesitate, I won't put her through that again, but am I knowingly allowing that to happen by taking her back to the vet? Is it more or less ethical to sidestep the seemingly inevitable panic attack, to spare her that since they won't let me bend the rules? Does doing what I think is right have to involve graphic certainty that Scout had reached the end of her road? How much of a waiting game am I willing to play on my very dear but irretrievably damaged girl? How do you know it's the right time to let them go?
Following the glorious, albeit expensive, success of Scout's spay day, I thought we were done seeing vets. Fortune favored us with a rabies-vaccination due date of September 15, and since we fly on August 31 she was all set to just slide in right under the wire. But it appears that Alaska Airlines requires (at least officially) a health certificate for all animals on their flights, regardless of whether they are flying in the cabin or in the hold, domestically or internationally. Funny, because when we traveled with AirTran in May 2008 this was not an issue. And in fact when Mom flew north on August 1 they never enquired after Morgan's paperwork. If she hadn't declared the presence of a cat, they probably wouldn't have registered that there was one on the flight at all.
But it would be just my luck to go to the airport with no documentation and wind up being the random search victim. I'd wind up choosing between leaving Scout behind and missing my flight. I am also hesitant to forge the paperwork, even though I have a copy of Morgan's certificate (for reference) and all of the pertinent information at my fingertips. Again, it would be my luck for them to discover my false documents and fine my sorry ass for trying to carry a broken but 100% free-from-infection cat across state borders.
So I called the vet again, god are they tired of hearing from me, and arranged an appointment for next week. They are supposed to do an exam, $65, before they can issue a health certificate, $5.25. I elected to pass on their suggestion of an early rabies booster. Frankly I'm surprised that they brought it up, because they've all seen Scout's records, they all know how the shit hit the fan last fall. Today I went in to discuss, in person, our "options." It's about 98% likely that nobody in the building will be able to lay a hand on Scout without a pair of long leather gauntlets and a muzzle. Under normal circumstances I'd let them get on with it and just assuage the cat's damaged dignity with a can of tuna afterwards. But as we are all aware, Scout's fine frenzy will have some pretty dire consequences. So I asked the receptionist, first of all, if, since Scout was just there on June 30, and she is an indoor cat anyhow, they could possibly just issue a health certificate right now, date it August 13, and in exchange I and my volatile companion will never darken their doorway again. Promise! The receptionist and the technician laughed nervously at my joke. Several moments elapsed before they realized I was in dead earnest. It would save their time, my money, and Scout's general health. Everybody wins!
No, they will not bend the rules for me, they could get in serious trouble. Blah blah blah. I'm tired of their feeble female excuses, I've shelled out nearly $1000 to those fools over the last year, THEY OWE ME. So I asked, quite reasonably I think, whether they are going to insist on being very thorough in their examination. Scout is going to flip out. This isn't really a question of probabilities anymore, that's just what is going to happen, and what do they suggest to do about it. My philosophy, personally, is that any cat wholesome enough to fight back cannot possibly have anything very seriously wrong with them. If they insist on holding her down to execute the terms of the exam, it may well kill her. Would the vet kindly evaluate Scout from the far side of the room and proclaim her general soundness? No, they can probably dispense with the full-scale organ palpation but they must at very least TAKE HER TEMPERATURE. And they are not equipped with an ear thermometer, so it would have to involve sticking a glass rod up her ass.
I remember what happened before. I stood there in silent, furious disbelief as the vet who had just told me I should keep Scout's stress levels to a minimum, knowingly sent my cat into cardiac arrest. I said nothing. I just let him do it. I cannot do that again. I can't stand and watch. And listen. And god knows that it would precipitate a whole string of events just like last year's. I just. Can't.
My options are as stands: I pay for them to sedate her somehow and carry out the exam. (That sounds simple but they still haven't come up with an answer for me. First of all they seem to be under the impression that they can sedate her if it proves necessary. If she's already freaked out it's too late; they'd have to give me some pills to pop down her throat in advance, or gas her. Gas costs the earth. Furthermore, I could tell as I was discussing this with the technician that the need for gas is rapidly encroaching on the tenuous ground where the measures we have to take just to EXAMINE Scout indicate that she is, in the vet's mind, unfit for air travel.) Or I find Scout a new home in Massachusetts and leave without her. Or, since it is as unlikely that anyone will adopt a broken cat as it is that they would buy a broken bicycle (unless they want her for parts?), I have her euthanized.
And I feel like the world's most insensitive pet-owner for always bringing up that last option, but every time we go through this rigamarole I feel like I'm pouring money and affection down a well to feed the magical fish that lives at the bottom. I love her enormously, but Scout is broken. Broken enough that strangers can't handle her without causing serious failures in her life-systems. Broken enough that I thought she was going to die last time she got shots, broken enough that I had to sign a Do Not Resuscitate Order before they would spay her. She isn't a miracle cat, she isn't ever going to heal, and I've lived with that knowledge for most of the time I've had her. Nevermind paying for traumatic vet visits, how much more of myself can I (do I want to) invest in her? Could I even live with the decision to put her down? I don't know.
When Matisse got so sick back in June Dad kept taking her back to the vet for more work, even though it seemed apparent to the rest of us that she wasn't going to bounce back, and she had accepted her fate when she decided to stop eating. And this seems unrelated, maybe, but Grandma crashed last week and the family are all highly resentful of the EMTs that resuscitated her against her wishes; Grandma is bedridden now, doesn't know who she is or what is going on anymore, and in the natural order of things should have died last week. It was a waiting game with Teazer; it's turned into a waiting game with Grandma. But they were/are old, and Scout's not even two. Most of the time she's fine. But she can't do normal cat-things like get shots. And I acknowledge that I've been letting her play outside for the last two weeks or so, and even though she's having the time of her life it puts a visible and audible strain on her cardiovascular system. How long do I really think that can last?
What I want to know is, am I doing the same thing as Dad? I've brought her back from the dead once. If Scout starts coughing and her gums start turning white like last time I won't hesitate, I won't put her through that again, but am I knowingly allowing that to happen by taking her back to the vet? Is it more or less ethical to sidestep the seemingly inevitable panic attack, to spare her that since they won't let me bend the rules? Does doing what I think is right have to involve graphic certainty that Scout had reached the end of her road? How much of a waiting game am I willing to play on my very dear but irretrievably damaged girl? How do you know it's the right time to let them go?
Truthfully, I would try the pill route. She's not showing any signs of feeling that her life is ending - and as Matisse showed, cats will know it. Every cat I've ever had has had hysterics when they get taken to the vet. One of them, who has an asthma problem anyway, tends to be wheezy for days after any trip to the vet.
But a pill - possibly one for the vet, one for travel - is so much easier, both on you and the pet. That would be what I would try, if I were in your shoes.
(I had a much longer, in-depth answer written out a day or two ago, but my computer crashed, I lost it, and then my workplace actually wanted me to *work* (silly them), so I never got back to it. This is the gist of it, though.)
Yeah, that seems like our best bet. Scout's actually 100% okay with traveling; her carrier is a "safe place," where she goes to sleep when it is too hot to nap on my bed, and where I keep her six million toys. So the flight itself will be a snap. Just got to get her to hold her shit together long enough for the vet to get a temperature reading.
Hell, I've still got a couple of Ativan from the dentist, a few dusty shavings from one of those will have her higher than the moon.
(Kidding.)
What kind of vet is not equipped with an ear thermometer? One can be obtained for less than $40 online.
Following up on what anonymous said, I'm not entirely convinced this vet is up to scratch - thinking that a cat freaking out about getting tested means said cat is unhealthy... Hell, I had to go get a shot yesterday and I nearly passed out!
But that's neither here nor there. Go the pill route, get this bloody vet test over, get Scoutlet up to Alaska, and enjoy knowing that she is going to LOVE it up there!
New solution: vets what do house-calls! There is a DVM who covers the whole Boston-Framingham area from his car, the better to accommodate housebound or disabled pet owners, exotic animals not normally serviced at clinics (like...reptiles I guess? or parrots), and animals that are exceptionally distressed by vet visits. I think we fall into the latter category, but more to the point this man has joined the 21st century and assures me that Scout can have her temperature taken in her ear. Amen. She won't be happy about a stranger in her space but at least the most traumatic part of our last check-up will be vastly less invasive, and Scout will be on her own turf.
That's absolutely fantastic! Hooray for modern vets and the "miracle" of ear thermometers!