mialia
Member Since 2018
My friends that haven't dealt with a diabetic cat won't get it as much as you all. I'm really struggling.
Carbon was diagnosed in late September. Just as I started a new job keeping me away from home more. I got a roommate with Type I to help give shots and test. It took two times taking him in for his front legs shaking and muscle loss to get him properly diagnosed. I switched vets. I took him an average of once a month and well over 10K in the last six months.
When my first roommate moved out, I got another one to take care of him. She is high strung, bipolar and not well medicated. She made a lot of mistakes and added stress as she tends to walk around yelling her stories. Carbon loved her (she was crying once and he jumped higher than he has in ages to get on the counter to butt his head against hers) but he was also scared of her rants. She loved him and has a good heart under her illness. She has cried with me a fair bit since we lost him, and I'm sure cried alone.
I can't get over the guilt. It's almost two weeks and I still can't even get close. I should have had him checked for something else going on, given how impossible he was to regulate. Even the second opinion vet said he only responded to lantus and then only barely. I should have known there was something going on.
In his final days, I moved him into a friends home as my house was contractually rented out nearly 6 months before his diagnosis. It was stressful for all of us. My other three cats struggled with diarrhea the entire time. Carbon never came home.
I had an appointment with a new vet that was closer and supposedly really good and seemed to understand diabetes. It would be the fourth vet. I just wanted someone to listen. However, the day before his appointment he was doing really well (or so I thought) and I was stressed myself with my own life, so I though I'd take him in after we moved home. Less stress for him. That was tuesday. He didn't eat that night and the next day he wouldn't eat, so I took him to our emergency vet. She kept him to run tests and I had to go to the airport for work. My roommate picked him up and was given appetite stimulant and some antibiotics. His organ levels all otherwise seemed ok.
She called me the next day said he wasn't eating. I hemmed and hawed about her taking him in, because he'd only been on the food stimulant for a day and he'd had all these tests run the day before. She syringe fed him wet food and he was still drinking. The next day he was worse. I had her take him in. They called me and said if you want to be here, you need to come now. I hopped on the earliest fight to get me home - the next morning, no sleep, and was there to say goodbye. They gave him fluids and treatment all night but he didn't respond at all to any of it. He was definitely dying when I got there. He couldn't breath when he'd move his head so I didn't even spend as much time as I would have liked saying goodbye, because I didn't want him to suffer for my needs.
He was in DKA though the vet said there was definitely more going on. But why didn't I have him go to the better vet tuesday, why didn't I have her take him in the next day? Why didn't I run more tests on him. How much stress was he in. What if I had found a way to not move out? I didn't have to rent the first week - I could have cancelled that. He wasn't home in his favorite sunny spots the last weeks of his life. He wasn't where he loved. He was in a stranger's house. What if I found a better roommate?
I started blocking FMBD on facebook because I keep reading about people that had cats diagnosed and they lived a normal life. Searching life expectancy of a diabetic cat results in "can live a normal life". I ****ed up. There's no denying it. He should be here, in the sun.
He found me, ran into my house injured, feral, in January 2006. My ex and I took him to the vet and the vet said he was full grown, at least a year maybe two years old. He was almost dead. We got him fixed up and then I insisted on keeping him when the ex and I split. I kept all four. I hate that I did the math today, because I thought he was older. But that puts him at 14, maybe a bit older. Still should have had years. All my cats get close to 20. My other three are the same age and super healthy.
Though writing this, and going back through pictures trying to find the earliest one so I could figure out when he actually came into my life, I saw so many amazing memories and that was just the first year. He was such a clown. He should still be here. If I'd done my job, he would be.
Carbon was diagnosed in late September. Just as I started a new job keeping me away from home more. I got a roommate with Type I to help give shots and test. It took two times taking him in for his front legs shaking and muscle loss to get him properly diagnosed. I switched vets. I took him an average of once a month and well over 10K in the last six months.
When my first roommate moved out, I got another one to take care of him. She is high strung, bipolar and not well medicated. She made a lot of mistakes and added stress as she tends to walk around yelling her stories. Carbon loved her (she was crying once and he jumped higher than he has in ages to get on the counter to butt his head against hers) but he was also scared of her rants. She loved him and has a good heart under her illness. She has cried with me a fair bit since we lost him, and I'm sure cried alone.
I can't get over the guilt. It's almost two weeks and I still can't even get close. I should have had him checked for something else going on, given how impossible he was to regulate. Even the second opinion vet said he only responded to lantus and then only barely. I should have known there was something going on.
In his final days, I moved him into a friends home as my house was contractually rented out nearly 6 months before his diagnosis. It was stressful for all of us. My other three cats struggled with diarrhea the entire time. Carbon never came home.
I had an appointment with a new vet that was closer and supposedly really good and seemed to understand diabetes. It would be the fourth vet. I just wanted someone to listen. However, the day before his appointment he was doing really well (or so I thought) and I was stressed myself with my own life, so I though I'd take him in after we moved home. Less stress for him. That was tuesday. He didn't eat that night and the next day he wouldn't eat, so I took him to our emergency vet. She kept him to run tests and I had to go to the airport for work. My roommate picked him up and was given appetite stimulant and some antibiotics. His organ levels all otherwise seemed ok.
She called me the next day said he wasn't eating. I hemmed and hawed about her taking him in, because he'd only been on the food stimulant for a day and he'd had all these tests run the day before. She syringe fed him wet food and he was still drinking. The next day he was worse. I had her take him in. They called me and said if you want to be here, you need to come now. I hopped on the earliest fight to get me home - the next morning, no sleep, and was there to say goodbye. They gave him fluids and treatment all night but he didn't respond at all to any of it. He was definitely dying when I got there. He couldn't breath when he'd move his head so I didn't even spend as much time as I would have liked saying goodbye, because I didn't want him to suffer for my needs.
He was in DKA though the vet said there was definitely more going on. But why didn't I have him go to the better vet tuesday, why didn't I have her take him in the next day? Why didn't I run more tests on him. How much stress was he in. What if I had found a way to not move out? I didn't have to rent the first week - I could have cancelled that. He wasn't home in his favorite sunny spots the last weeks of his life. He wasn't where he loved. He was in a stranger's house. What if I found a better roommate?
I started blocking FMBD on facebook because I keep reading about people that had cats diagnosed and they lived a normal life. Searching life expectancy of a diabetic cat results in "can live a normal life". I ****ed up. There's no denying it. He should be here, in the sun.
He found me, ran into my house injured, feral, in January 2006. My ex and I took him to the vet and the vet said he was full grown, at least a year maybe two years old. He was almost dead. We got him fixed up and then I insisted on keeping him when the ex and I split. I kept all four. I hate that I did the math today, because I thought he was older. But that puts him at 14, maybe a bit older. Still should have had years. All my cats get close to 20. My other three are the same age and super healthy.
Though writing this, and going back through pictures trying to find the earliest one so I could figure out when he actually came into my life, I saw so many amazing memories and that was just the first year. He was such a clown. He should still be here. If I'd done my job, he would be.
