A Gut Feeling

The doctor is very nice. Very soft spoken. Very frank.

Cats have passed things like this before, but the risk is very great. And a needle could do a lot of painful internal damage on it's way out. 

Super. Next.

We could try endoscopy.  There may be a way to go down Trinket's throat and pull the needle out.

With what?  A magnet?  I ask for more information on that option.

He explains that the only real risks involve time.  They don't do endoscopy at this facility. I would have to drive to the nearest one that does, an hour away.  And in that time, the needle could have traveled further and make the endoscopy impossible. And then I'd be driving back presumably for surgery, which might be more complicated by the additional travel time. 

Not a great option after all.

Or he could do surgery now. He could have her on the table in 15 minutes.

He seems like a nice man. I ask him, "What would you do?" 

He tells me that surgery is the best option.  Endoscopy might just be prolonging the inevitable. Hoping she'll pass it seems dangerous and could be painful.  The most human option, and the best chance for success is surgery.

I agree to surgery and he goes to get consent forms.

The consent packet is pages and pages long. I have to decide on heroic measures. I have to opt in or out of pain meds. I have to decide on a threshold for treatment. I have to make a lot of seemingly harsh decisions about what I am willing to take financial responsibility for. The information leaves me breathless. Good thing. That way the alarming estimate doesn't propel me into a state of shock. 

I sign off on treatment and sign away my next paycheck. I ask if I can see Trinket one last time. He agrees and then tells me to go home. It will be a few hours and they will call me. I should not stay.

The tech brings her in. She is wrapped in a towel. She seems woozy. Three of her four legs have been shaved and there is a tiny IV in her front right leg, taped and oozing.  Her fur is wet. She has had her abdomen shaved.  She is pathetic.

I am visibly shaken by her appearance. The tech tries to calm me by telling me that I am in luck. This particular doc is one of their very best surgeons. Trinket will be well cared for.

I reach out and scratch her ears and the top of her head. She leans in to rest her little kitty head heavily on my palm and closes her eyes.  I kiss her goodbye and tell her she is my good girl. 

And again I am crying as I turn to go.  I feel like I've seen Trinket for the last time.