Sasha

I wasn't going to write about this because writing about it makes it too real.

Sasha has been sick. He's been sick for some time, but because he is, as I say, a puker, it was hard to know if he was sick or just his normal pukey self.

He's sick.

He's been in and out of the vet over the last few weeks. He's been on antibiotics for the last two weeks, and he was doing great. He was his normal hyperactive self. He took the last of his antibiotics on Wednesday. Saturday he started vomiting. It was like before. He'd vomit once and then continue to vomit about every thirty minutes for close to three hours. I took him to the emergency vet since it was Saturday night. I gave them his history and what he's been through. Two things came up as possibilities: pancreatitis and cancer. To know about the pancreatitis, we needed an ultrasound. The xray done at the vet wasn't good enough. The ultrasound person just happened to be there as she was looking at a dog who was gravely ill.* The vet left me alone to decide what to do.

I started bawling.

Sasha is 12 years old. He's my baby. He's my boy. Yes, I have two cats, and I hate to admit I have a favorite, but Sasha is special. I've had him since he was eight weeks old. I got him less than two weeks after I had to put down Dmitrii, the cat I got in college. Sasha was a hyperactive ball of yellow fur. He has an incredibly distinct personality. I've had him so long that I can't imagine my world without him. Unfortunately, I think this may happen sooner than later.

After the ultrasound, there was no sign of cancer. Thank god. But there were three other things: Pancreatitis, gastritis, and liver disease (more specifically, some sort of liver inflammation). These are all treatable, but they are probably chronic. They can clear up, but looking back at his pukey tendencies and intolerance to some foods, my guess is that he has had the gastritis for some time, if not his whole life. The pancreatitis was probably also building.

I tend to go to the worst case scenario with these things. I can't help it. But now that I know what we're dealing with, I can start putting some thoughts and plans together. I haven't taked to my vet yet, but the other cat is going in for his shots tomorrow, and I plan on talking to her about Sasha. The emergency vet told me Sasha should be on two rounds of antibiotics (one month total), pepsid for the gastritis, and some other medication from the liver issues.

I have this thing about prolonged medical treatment for pets: I won't do it. Pancreatitis isn't terminal, but it can be lifelong and painful. Having put one cat through a very painful illness for too long because I couldn't make that decision, I won't do it to another. For now, Sasha is eating and seems to be content. He isn't himself, though. He's far too calm. I'll see how he is over the next month with the meds, but when he comes off them, if he goes back to vomiting, I'll have a decision to make. It won't be one I want to make, but if I have to make it, it will be fast.

I break into big, heaving sobs just thinking about it for all the reasons I stated above. Sasha is my boy. But I remind myself that I have given him twelve happy and healthy years. I've dragged him across the country twice. In response, he's given me twelve years of absolute devotion. He is my cat. He loves me. He is excited to see me when I get home. He sleeps next to my head. He wakes me up. He's my boy, and I love him too much to put him through a painful illness.

I refuse to watch him suffer.

I want to be positive. I want to believe he'll get better. But in my heart, in my gut, I don't think he will. And it's killing me.



*The other pet there was very ill. I don't know what it was, but his owners were out of the country and wouldn't be back for weeks. The poor thing was too ill to even make it another day so the petsitter would have to make the decision. It broke my heart to hear it all. It made me feel better to know that at the very least, Sasha and I were going home.