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Both cats went in for a teeth cleaning + extraction yesterday. August had some teeth removed 5 years ago and was having the same problems with some remaining teeth now, so she lost some molars and a few incisors. Gillian was showing fewer/no symptoms except very! stinky! breath! but actually lost more teeth, but he's never had dental care so this is unsurprising.
I'm glad Devon and I are at a point where we can do complete teeth things for both cats at the same time without panicking about cost. (Taking them in together requires slightly more during-vet wrangling but significantly cuts down on post-vet wrangling of separate foods or "the other cat smells funny therefore I hate them!!!")
So yesterday was awful! But it was the least-bad version of awful that we could make it. Devon took the day off* (I'm also grateful that he has unlimited paid time off, to help transport but also look after me). I woke early to take the cats in, but was able to get a fuzzy desperate nap in while they were at the vet and thus I slept through the designated Anesthesia Panic Hours (no matter how mitigated are the risks, it's hard to get over the fear of anesthesia as a former small animal owner) and woke to news that they had both come out fine and were being held for post-anesthesia observation; we picked them up in mid-afternoon. They've both been easy to medicate and are so excited about wet food that it's overriding any unwillingness to eat. August came out of surgery first and was "spicy" when they tried to put her in her carrier; her post-vet still-drugged state was clumsy and attention-seeking and weirdly high-energy, but she's acting normally now. Gillian came out of surgery second and had a slower recovery in general; he's 14 now, which is decidedly old-man territory, so I'm not surprised. He was worryingly standoffish and congested yesterday, but I think it was just sleep and drool; at 3am he woke from a very long nap, obviously feeling better because he decided it was Do Things time and Attempt to Yell (Quietly) time, and he's been acting perkier since.
I had to take pain meds and anxiety meds to wind down from broken sleep/lingering anxiety and make it through the night, but eventually we all slept together and this morning everyone is fine.
I also started them on fish oil and glucosamine after the initial vet visit, since Gillian definitely and August maybe (she's 9 now) have arthritis and preventative/general wellness things are my jam. Let it be known that I hand-feed August a few kibble at a time for each meal so she can't overeat until sick, and I have to lock the water away overnight so Gillian doesn't drink himself sick while I'm sleeping, and now I add to that fish oil + chewable glucosamine once daily and pumpkin puree every other day, and this is all a lot! I mentioned to the vet that getting to a vet can be hard but I'm very on top of things like micromanaging food/preventative health/grooming/nail trimming/anything I can do at home, and the vet said "I can tell!"
Vets I feel more than human health professionals do a better job of reward and encouragement, and I don't know if that's because the vast majority of vets I've interacted with are obviously doing it for love of the animals (and sure as hell not for the money) and/or if it's because the majority of owners need to be gently cajoled into spending any sort of time/energy/care and/or the owners who do do anything are a relief.
(That said I'm not enamored of this office, for reasons various. The actual people seem fine and I'm happy with the care the cats got; the way the business operates and the tinge it gives the experience is less lovely, and their online communication sucks.)
Anyway: big busy expensive day, Juu recovering, cats recovering; anticipating not having the urge to hold my nose when cats groom in my lap; time to play Pokemon a lot and not think about things.
* Devon is also the one who set up the initial vet appointment because I just couldn't start the process even though August was clearly uncomfortable—and then I realized that the last time they needed the vet was when my dad was dying. It's such an arbitrary and specific overlap of memories: morphing into a responsible adult to take the cats in, gritting my teeth through "how are you guys today?" small talk with vet techs; morphing into a grieving daughter but also semi-caretaker but host when visiting my dad; the gaps in between when I would hide at home and crash—and the duality of localized, fixable anxiety that required my immediate effort and a looming, existential loss that ... also required my immediate effort, vastly different in scale but both important. So much of my coping has been to not think about it for the last year, striving for distance and dullness, and that's worked to an extent. But the most mundane things can have interconnections that bring it all back.
I'm glad Devon and I are at a point where we can do complete teeth things for both cats at the same time without panicking about cost. (Taking them in together requires slightly more during-vet wrangling but significantly cuts down on post-vet wrangling of separate foods or "the other cat smells funny therefore I hate them!!!")
So yesterday was awful! But it was the least-bad version of awful that we could make it. Devon took the day off* (I'm also grateful that he has unlimited paid time off, to help transport but also look after me). I woke early to take the cats in, but was able to get a fuzzy desperate nap in while they were at the vet and thus I slept through the designated Anesthesia Panic Hours (no matter how mitigated are the risks, it's hard to get over the fear of anesthesia as a former small animal owner) and woke to news that they had both come out fine and were being held for post-anesthesia observation; we picked them up in mid-afternoon. They've both been easy to medicate and are so excited about wet food that it's overriding any unwillingness to eat. August came out of surgery first and was "spicy" when they tried to put her in her carrier; her post-vet still-drugged state was clumsy and attention-seeking and weirdly high-energy, but she's acting normally now. Gillian came out of surgery second and had a slower recovery in general; he's 14 now, which is decidedly old-man territory, so I'm not surprised. He was worryingly standoffish and congested yesterday, but I think it was just sleep and drool; at 3am he woke from a very long nap, obviously feeling better because he decided it was Do Things time and Attempt to Yell (Quietly) time, and he's been acting perkier since.
I had to take pain meds and anxiety meds to wind down from broken sleep/lingering anxiety and make it through the night, but eventually we all slept together and this morning everyone is fine.
I also started them on fish oil and glucosamine after the initial vet visit, since Gillian definitely and August maybe (she's 9 now) have arthritis and preventative/general wellness things are my jam. Let it be known that I hand-feed August a few kibble at a time for each meal so she can't overeat until sick, and I have to lock the water away overnight so Gillian doesn't drink himself sick while I'm sleeping, and now I add to that fish oil + chewable glucosamine once daily and pumpkin puree every other day, and this is all a lot! I mentioned to the vet that getting to a vet can be hard but I'm very on top of things like micromanaging food/preventative health/grooming/nail trimming/anything I can do at home, and the vet said "I can tell!"
Vets I feel more than human health professionals do a better job of reward and encouragement, and I don't know if that's because the vast majority of vets I've interacted with are obviously doing it for love of the animals (and sure as hell not for the money) and/or if it's because the majority of owners need to be gently cajoled into spending any sort of time/energy/care and/or the owners who do do anything are a relief.
(That said I'm not enamored of this office, for reasons various. The actual people seem fine and I'm happy with the care the cats got; the way the business operates and the tinge it gives the experience is less lovely, and their online communication sucks.)
Anyway: big busy expensive day, Juu recovering, cats recovering; anticipating not having the urge to hold my nose when cats groom in my lap; time to play Pokemon a lot and not think about things.
* Devon is also the one who set up the initial vet appointment because I just couldn't start the process even though August was clearly uncomfortable—and then I realized that the last time they needed the vet was when my dad was dying. It's such an arbitrary and specific overlap of memories: morphing into a responsible adult to take the cats in, gritting my teeth through "how are you guys today?" small talk with vet techs; morphing into a grieving daughter but also semi-caretaker but host when visiting my dad; the gaps in between when I would hide at home and crash—and the duality of localized, fixable anxiety that required my immediate effort and a looming, existential loss that ... also required my immediate effort, vastly different in scale but both important. So much of my coping has been to not think about it for the last year, striving for distance and dullness, and that's worked to an extent. But the most mundane things can have interconnections that bring it all back.
