Kitty’s first surgery and the loss of all my money
Last month I took both of my cats to the vet for their annual check-up and vaccines. This was Shed’s fifth year in attendance since the day her bitch mom abandoned her in our backyard. Cali joined us indoors one year later despite being from the same litter, and so this was her third time going to this type of appointment. I was used to walking out of that office a few hundred dollars poorer but with full confidence that both of my girls are as healthy as can be, so used to walking out with my head held high and a pet carrier in each hand. I would feel so intoxicated by the compliments on Shed’s shiny coat and Cali’s incredibly sweet temperament. I admit, I got cocky. Something in my dumb, little brain had been telling me for weeks before the appointment to look into pet insurance, but I thought they’re always so healthy, plus there’s probably not enough time for the insurance companies to complete enrollment before we have to go in, I’ll just do it after.
Well, as you can deduce by the sheer fact I decided to write this, the appointment didn’t go as usual. Shed, my pride and joy, my baby, my reason for existing… had a bad tooth. “It’s called tooth resorption,” the nice vet explained. There was no rhyme or reason as to why this could happen to a cat. At random and, apparently, very commonly a tooth will just start getting absorbed into the body. She showed me her inflamed gum, and told me it was hurting her. It had to come out.
Luckily for Shed, I will never decline medical care for either of my cats. Unfortunately for me, I will never decline medical care for either of my cats. We made an appointment to take her into surgery that same day and I immediately started fearing for the worst, thanking the universe I had been able to get my hands on some credit cards the previous year. I was told to expect the surgery estimate by email within the week. I immediately opened up my work availability and talked to my boss to beg her for more hours. I decided to use the three-ish weeks between the check-up and the surgery to bulk up my savings so that I could survive living after it was all done.
I got the estimate in the middle of a shift and almost peed my pants at the high estimate. Luckily I had most of that money saved up from the last time I worked like crazy to afford a trip to South Korea. I would be able to afford the surgery! I would just be left without much after… That was okay, I could deal with it if I knew that my baby would not be in pain any longer. A few days later, as I’m beginning to accept my fate (me being a slave to my work building for the upcoming month). Cali started showing worrying signs. She began to groom her genitals and lower tummy obsessively and she went to the litter box often with not much to show for it after. I worked the entire day m housemate told me she might be constipated, but the day after I was off and I spent the hours stalking her and looking at her movements. After seeing her strain in the litter box like three times in the span of ten minutes, and only seeing a small dot of urine on the clay, alarms started going off in my head.
IT’S A UTI. SHE HAS A UTI. MY BABY’S GOING TO DIE.
I called their usual vet clinic and they let me know that even though they didn’t have any open times for a last minute appointment that I should contact the emergency vet in town and ask if they had any open windows. The receptionist at the emergency clinic had a gruff, older voice that scared me. I was emotional as hell because my poor Cali was going through something and I have had experiences where receptionist staff were not very kind. She explained to me how their emergency hours work and when I, on the verge of tears, asked, “Is this something she would have to stay overnight for, or can they figure out what’s wrong tonight?” her voice became much softer and she explained some more. She referred to Cali as “your baby” throughout the interaction, which both made me feel better and also made me want to cry harder. Once I had resigned myself (and my driver, as I don’t drive) to the emergency hours and the idea of a first come first serve environment, the nice receptionist lady whispered into the phone two more clinic names for me to call. I thanked her lots and immediately looked up the numbers to those. The first one I rung told me they did have an open space and could check my Cali within two hours. Great! Long story short, the clinic was lovely, and the vet was hot. She said that Cali’s urine didn’t have any bacteria or crystals, so it wasn’t a UTI. What was happening is that her bladder was swollen (?????????). She said it’s commonly caused by stress. I couldn’t begin to guess at what was stressing her out so badly, but no matter, they had drugs I could give her and make her feel better! She let me go by telling me that although the medicine will help her now, her urine concentration was not quite where she would like it to be and to take her in in two weeks to get her urine tested. If her urine concentration came back weak again, they might need to do some tests to check that her kidney function is good.
Safe to say, I did not have a good few weeks after that. Cali’s symptoms cleared up and with the help of some new pheromone plug-ins around the house, her mood improved as well. I should have felt better that she was peeing like normal and didn’t seem to be in pain, but the possibility of kidney failure was tearing me apart. It took weeks for me to be able to make an appointment for her with my usual clinic because of how much I was working. The clinic would be open until 6pm, and I work retail. It was simply not working. I spent weeks looking at my babies, wondering if they were okay or if I was watching them suffer without knowing, plus having to deal with the fact I could not reach the vet. Eventually, I managed to get that call through and I scheduled Cali’s check up on the same day as Shed’s surgery. The plan was that we would drop Shed off in the morning, take Cali into the clinic in the evening, and leave with both of them.
In the middle of all of this I make plans to go out of town in a few weeks with my friends. Terrible idea as I had not worked as many hours as I was doing since the South Korea grind. I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. My days were bleeding together from the repetition of everything. I wore the same clothes to go into the same building to see the same people during the same hours and have the same conversations with the same customers over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over again. My bra was causing pimples? irritation bumps? to form along the hems. I got dandruff??? By the end of this ordeal I genuinely could not tell my days apart. For fuck’s sake, I started getting into a J-pop group just to be able to hold on through the last 8 days straight of shifts back to back. By the end of it I made sure to ask for days off to watch Shed during her recovery and make sure I would be home in case she needed medicines or something like that. I did it for my own well being as well because I knew I would not be able to go to work knowing Shed was at home with stitches in her mouth. I had five days off. FIVE! Sweet freedom that would go from the day before the surgery all the way til 3 days post-op.
I spent the first day rotting. I could not move, genuinely. Something about the mixing of my worry for the next day plus the anguish from being a constant slave to capitalism plus knowing all of my money was going to be burnt up in 24 hours… I was not doing well. I slept maybe five hours that night as I had to get up early to give Shed the tiny bit of food she was allowed that morning. After dropping her off I spent the next five hours cleaning the house because if I sat down my heart would explode from the anxiety. I got periodic calls from the clinic. One told me that they were about to begin, that she was doing good, but that they found another tooth that had to go. The tooth we knew of was mostly absorbed apparently, which made it easier for the vet to remove but also broke my heart to hear about. About two hours later I got the call saying everything went well and she was awake. Soon after we took Cali in and I got to wait while they collected the suggested urine and blood samples. The tech told me Cali was making biscuits on whoever was holding her during the urine collection hehe. Despite all of my worries, Cali’s urine results were. clear! The urine was perfect apparently, and the vet assured me she was convinced her blood panel will also come up clear.
The cost for the surgery was thankfully less than the highest estimate, but with Cali’s tests tacked on it brought the bill up to a painful $2,200. Ouch. No matter. The tech made a pained face when she told me the total, “I really hate having to tell people how much they owe.”
I get it, I appreciate the sentiment, but I have been preparing, it’s okay (it hurt to tap my card. Really bad, actually.). You know what, though? The moment I was told that Cali was declared in perfect health I didn’t care about the money as much as I did before. They’re healthy, pain free, and happy. That’s all that matters to me. Thank goodness for credit cards lol.
