Wednesday, 6/4/03, 1:10 p.m.

At this moment, I'm writing at work.  I am in a sort of state of shock and/or suppressed emotion.  There is an odd feeling in my heart/stomach.

Our youngest cat, Max -- my collaborator on this site -- has been pre-diagnosed with fibro-sarcoma -- cancer.  We first detected a lump in his groin 'way back in January.  He also seemed to be losing weight.  The doctor operated on him, found a lot of dead tissue in the area and essentially said Max (even though he acted fine) would probably have only weeks to live.  Operating was probably not an options.

We had to wait 4-5 days for the results from the biopsy.  During that time, I prayed non-stop for the lumps to be removed from his body.  I had a running chant going in my head every waking moment.

The biopsy sent to a lab at the University of  Missouri Veterinary College  was inconclusive -- two pathologists couldn't definitively say what the tissue was.   It felt almost like a miracle had occurred.   We breathed a cautious sigh of relief.

Poor Max was traumatized and hurt following the surgery.  He hid in the basement after we brought him home, hardly having any contact with him beyond putting food in the cats' bowl.  Eventually, he came around and gradually he became more like his old self -- albeit still somewhat skittish.  We felt bad that we'd had to put him through this ordeal, but we wanted to be sure.

Then, about 2 months ago, we noticed a different, larger lump developing on his left side between his rib cage and his hind leg.   We hoped this was just some sort of infection and that it could be treated with antibiotics.  We took him back to our regular vet to see what he thought.  He sheepishly admitted he was seemingly wrong last time, so he suggested we take Max to a specialist in town.  He's such a scaredy-cat (he trembles at the vet's office), we hated to put him through all this again.  The area where they shaved his fur was just starting to fill in again.  But we couldn't ignore this:  the lump on his side was wide as a nickel  pushing against his skin.  It couldn't be very comfortable, and he had pretty much stopped eating treats.

The pre-diagnosis is some sort of fibro-sarcoma.  Discussing with Doctor Stoll at the Veterinary Specialty Services clinic in St. Louis, our options are very extreme and expensive.  We are now at a crossroads.  With Sky's current condition, this makes things doubly heart-wrenching.   Our cats are our family and now we could potentially lose two of them.

The doctor recommends aggressive surgery -- the sarcoma has attached to the body wall.  This would entail reconstructive surgery to replace that body wall.  It will give him a 25% chance of assuring that the cancer would not recur, providing they can get it all out.  On top of this, it would probably require very expensive radiation treatment.  It would require him to stay in Columbia, Missouri for 4 weeks.  This would supposedly increase his chances survival by another 25%.

The thought of the trauma Max would have to endure for all is unimaginable, given his timid nature.  But, he's Family -- you should take whatever measures are necessary for him, no matter the expense.  But would we be selfish in putting him through this?

Worst of all, given the rapidity this seems to be gaining, we must make the decision soon. And I fear we will have to choose euthanasia. The worst part of this is it could become a matter of money. We have the option to pay installments, but that would take a long time to pay off. The guilt of making a decision like this, especially since he still acts healthy, is already tearing me up, and makes me dig in my heels.  No amount of money should stand in the way of Family getting the help they need. But if it means such trauma and separation from home, is it worth the cost? If  this was a dog, that'd be one thing - a timid cat is another.

I have no tears at the moment -- I'm working, which gives me a distraction.  Once I talk to Nora, it may all come crashing down on me.  It may not happen until I get home. 

In any case, with Sky's health failing as well, this is going to be one of the hardest times emotionally that we've ever had to face together.  Right now, I have no idea how I'm going to tell Nora.

Worst of all, given the rapidity at which this seems to be growing, we must make the decision soon.  And I fear we might have to just choose euthanasia.

2:42 p.m.

Spoke to Nora.  She reminded me that we'd agreed that he need the surgery, whatever the case.  We owe him that.  I hate to put him through it, but we must try.  It's a shame he'll have to be shaved again.  I've made the appointment for his surgery tomorrow.  The sooner the better.

I'd finished custom-building him a new scratching post.  After tomorrow, who knows how long it will be before he uses it.  He was only getting the idea when I put it out on Tuesday.

Back to Skywise. 

I visited him at lunch today. They let me be alone with him in small exam room. He looked more alert while I held and petted him. It was a good sign that he's more aware of his surroundings.

I took him home when I got off work. He looked better, though tired. Now, we have to give him subcutaneous fluids every day or so, to keep him hydrated, as well as give him a potassium supplement and Science Diet KD.

It's good to have him sleeping on my pillow again, but the finality of the progress still weighs heavily on Nora and me.

At some point, a responsible pet owner must weight their pet's quality of life. For now, he's still affectionate, his eyes are brighter and his tail swishes, so he must feel relatively well. So we will do what we must - he's Family. I've had these nagging feelings of "are we prolonging his life because we can't let go yet?". But, I now firmly believe it's too soon to thing of euthanasia. There's a danger of another "crash", and a decision may have to be made then, but I hope it doesn't come to that.

I try to make extra efforts to hold him, and tell him that we love him very much.

I guess it's not like we didn't know something like this would eventually happen. But kidney failure in cats can sometimes take years to finally overtake them. What's bothersome is we now have knowledge of a maximum survival time period. Slowly, he's dying and his body is giving out.

I know that with renal failure, the muscle tissue is slowly consumed and cats get skinnier and skinnier. I hate to thin this will happen to Sky. So far, his weight loss is not as noticeable because he has medium-length fur.

Ultimately, our decision to free him of his body will depend on when he is no longer happy with his life. Our mourning process has already begun. Every so often, I think in terms of memorials, writing down memories. I should be doing this, because he still looks pretty good and is relatively healthy looking, but I tend to dwell sometimes.

I try to console myself with the fact that if he lives another year, I should be grateful - 17 years is a good age for a cat. After all, according to a vet's office chart, Sky's 80 years old in people years.