Nasty cancer

We wound up in the vet’s emergency room last night after I left behind a scary trail of blood from the upstairs to downstairs. It all started when I tried to eat after taking my appetite stimulant. Ignoring the baby food left out for me, I instead tried to steal Elmeria’s food.

This rotten tumor apparently has a sensitive side. When I bite down I bleed. Not wanting to gross anyone out, let’s just say that Elmeria’s food dish looked like a scene out of a horror flick. Elmeria, who’s deaf but by no means dumb, started to wail. I went downstairs to use the bathroom and that’s when the trail of blood became apparent to the humans.

So I was whisked away to the vet’s office where basically nothing other than an exam could be performed by the nice resident on duty. I was however told about Chinese herbs that may work to clot the tumor so that I can eat in peace. Meanwhile, I’m back to hunkering down in the closet. And yes, after last night’s festivities, I do need a sponge bath, which is something I’m possibly willing to consider.

This morning I was fed Cat Sure (Ensure for cats) with a syringe to avoid an encore of last night.

Now, I need my rest, folks.

Jane continues

I got subcutaneous fluids and a vitamin B shot Wednesday at my local vet. The fluids are meant to hydrate. The humans can’t really tell if it helped or not.

I’ve staked out a quiet spot in a new location, a coat closet upstairs where I hang out on top of a stack of plastic storage boxes. Winter coats offer a privacy curtain from Lar’s prying eyes, and the humans with their handfuls of meds.

Jen has taken to leaving a tray of food outside the closet. Sometimes the deaf Elmeria lumbers by and stops in her tracks to snarf up some of the goodies. I don’t really mind since food is not my top priority these days. Back in the day I would have hissed at the old girl.

Sometimes I eat on my own, like the other night when I lapped up both baby food (chicken and gravy) and kitten food. Other times I have to be spoon fed.

Last night the tumor framing half my jaw started to bleed a little. This morning it was a worse scene as I bled profusely when being fed. Other cancers hide under cover but squamous cell carcinoma is an especially vulgar, in-your-face, opponent.

We know studies are underway at universities and hospitals. I may have to go before they bear fruit. Sometimes the humans fear the time is imminent, like when I lay in the closet seemingly too weak to do anything else. But then the urge strikes and I race down the stairs for a drink of water or to use the bathroom, surprising all in my midst. So I’m here for now, still dragging myself back up like a boxer in the 12th round.

A thinner Jane still reins

I can’t say that I like having an eye dropper hovering around my mouth like a helicopter, but the food it contains is proving to be quite tasty. Chicken and gravy, turkey and rice, all blended into a nice, smooth and shiny consistency. It is lick-your-lips good. Who knew?

Babies have it made. Maybe that’s why as we grow very old, we revert back to that stress-free state.

Though I was weak a few days ago, this diet combined with whole lactose-free milk is giving me energy. The mystery is why I don’t eat on my own. I can’t explain it, and so far neither can anyone else. I also can’t seem to find the map of water dishes snaking around the place. So a water-filled syringe is keeping me hydrated.

I am relatively comfortable and not feeling bad at all, so all the good wishes, prayers and hopeful vibes from my loyal readers must be working! Oh, yeah, the meds don’t hurt either.

Be well, my friends.

On Sunday Jane enjoys a window-view.

Surviving not suffering

Baby food. Turkey and vegetables to be exact. Its pureed consistency works fine in an eye dropper which is then administered to my fighting self. I can not endorse this insult to my proud carnivorous self as I struggle against hospice patient treatment.
Keep in mind that it was not long ago that I could lap up two plates of food before Lars had even sniffed at one.

The prevailing human theory around here is that this force feeding will allow me to survive long enough for the drugs to kick in and prompt me to eat on my own.

On another level, maybe it’s the biological instinct to do everything possible to survive. We’re aware that many bystanders would say I should be euthanized. (How many of those people do you think might actually be pro-life?)
Since death is a forever commitment, we’re reluctant to sign on the dotted line.

That said, it’s time for my predisone.

Where there’s life, there’s dope

Now I’m on new drugs, prednisone and mirtazapine to stimulate my appetite and bring down inflammation, thanks to my regular vet Dr. Mac. There is hope that if we can get me past this trauma, I will rally and the Palladia will go back to its job of rubbing out the tumor al’ la Tony Soprano-style.

Denial can be a useful tool.

Not to diminish the cliche, “where there’s life, there’s hope.” This is what is keeping us going.

Because the meds are supposed to be taken with food, I am now being fed lactose-free whole milk with a dropper! At first I fought this indignation with all my strength (which is still considerable btw for a cancer patient), but once I sampled the creamy liquid, I decided I liked it. Not enough to go up to the bowl and drink it myself though. I have no desire to do that or eat my once beloved Friskies. I also did not scratch my condo scratching post this morning. Just not in the mood.

Jen tried spoon-feeding me diluted food. Finally, this was where I had to draw the line. I headed back to the laundry room, metaphorically hanging out my “DO NOT DISTURB” sign.

That said, I’m alert, aware and appear comfortable. I am still Jane.

It’s Jane’s way or the highway

Do-gooders, beware! It’s my party and I’ll die how — and if — I want to!

Last evening I was forced to hiss at the humans, for their hovering was bordering on the obnoxious. I’ve taken over the laundry room and am holding it hostage. Hanging mismatched shirts and whatnot offer an independent feline a veil of privacy.

This morning I ran up and down the stairs, scratched at my scratching post, lapped a little at the gravy from my food, had meds stuck down my throat, and once again retreated to the top of a linen chest in the laundry room. The humans had lined the chest with a nice fluffy towel and pillow, so this is becoming a serene spot. There’s also a window with a northern exposure in this tiny room so that I can gaze out at the birds should the urge strike.

Jane under cover

When I’m ailing, I either head to my den which offers privacy, or to the laundry room upstairs where I can hang out with soft, warm towels that comfort my increasingly bony physique. If I wore clothes, they’d be swimming on me.

I just don’t have an appetite these days. Now the humans are forced to admit that I’m not just being finicky. In the closet of their souls, they realize that I’ve never been one to snub dinner, meaning this is a downturn in my much hoped for recovery.

So this morning it was off to Dr. DiBernardi who did a post radiation exam that included blood work and a basic feline tune-up. It doesn’t look like I have an infection, but rather am dealing with the progression of a rotten, crappy disease. Cancer, you suck. (I sure hope you can hear me. Take it personally, you freaking b——!)

Dr. DiBernardi prescribed syringes of painkillers so that I can hopefully resume eating with some comfort. The tumor could be growing in my throat, which obviously impedes the enjoyment of food and drink. In addition malignant tumors give off toxins that destroy any feeling of well-being. Put it all together and I’m not a likely candidate for a dinner party.

We’re going to try Pepcid along the painkillers. I’m still on Palladia in the hopes that it will at least suppress the cancer that stalks me.

On the drive to the vet oncologist, we saw a dead cat in the road. It’s a reminder that I could be suffering in a darker, more dismal way. At least I have the comfort of family, friends, and smelly laundry all around me.

Fall back

I just love this time of year when South Florida temps are a little more tolerable and I can sleep in an extra hour in my favorite comfy chair. Lars, with his big thick Norwegian coat, is assessing the cool temps wafting through the screen door. This is his first winter. He’s also wondering where the lizards are, as they tend to take cover when the thermostat dips below 65 degrees.

Last week the humans were in New England visiting extended feline and canine family. I was here with the usual suspects, Lars and Elmeria, along with Jen’s sister Nancy who played caregiver for the week. She was much better at cleaning up after me than Jen. The floor has never been so cat food-free, as Nancy was there with the rag as soon as I dribbled or hurled food post mandelbotomy-style. At the same time she was not quite as adept as Jen at diluting my food so that I can eat with more ease. She also did not know that if I turn down two plates of different foods, that’s the signal to offer up a third. Apparently, she has spent too much time with the human breed.

Anyway, an earnest reader suggested we view a video detailing what sounds like a very promising drug. Jen promptly e-mailed the site to oncologist Dr. DeBernardi who expressed concern over being able to obtain the drug, which is now being tested in England, to the U.S. We are hoping that perhaps the medical team at the University of Florida might be able to perform the clinical trial locally. We shall see. Interested parties, please view:

Meanwhile, I’m thinner but still plugging away.

fWhen the going gets tough, I often head or a top shelf in the laundry room. Somebody should really fold these towels.

When I crave alone time, I head for the top shelf of the laundry room. Why doesn’t someone put away these towels?

This week I will see Dr. D. for my post radiation follow-up.