Another exhausting, emotional day. Jennifer got up around 3:00am (we went to bed at midnight) after tossing and turning from thinking about Miles. I pretended to myself that I could get some sleep until 6:30 or so. Then we just killed time while we waited for the SFVS to open at 9:00.
Right at 9:00, Jennifer called and got everything squared away: they could see Miles this morning. So we rushed over to the SPCA hospital, got Miles released, grabbed his x-rays and charts, and walked the three blocks to the SFVS.
I had never been to the SFVS before -- in fact, I hadn't even heard of it before yesterday. It's a very nice facility, and the staff and doctors were friendly and helpful. We took Miles into an examination room where a technician measured his pulse and weight. He was scared, but we were happy to see that he was a lot more alert and curious than when we saw him yesterday. His coat looked somewhat dull, though, and even a little thin in places. As you can see from the photos, he had a colorful bandage on where his IV was. He didn't like the bandage at all and would try to shake it off, staring at it in disbelief when it failed to come off. It was cute and sad at the same time.
After a few minutes, Dr. Maretzki (who we've heard is excellent) came in to check Miles out. He'd already spoken with Dr. Gebhard, but we went over the whole story again, starting from Wednesday night when he got sick, while he took notes. Then he examined Miles, which was when we noticed that Miles' belly was shaved. Makes sense -- how else could they do an ultasound? -- but it was sad to see him without his "vest" (that's what they call the double row of spots on a tabby's underside).
After examining Miles, the doctor put the x-rays up for us to look at. The problem with making a diagnosis, he told us, is the mix of things they're seeing. On one hand, his problems are acute (sudden onset) and came out of nowhere. On the other hand, the x-rays indicated possible problems in his colon, lungs, and maybe even his heart, making it look more systemic. The upshot was that he wanted to run a lot more tests, and we laid out a plan for these tests, starting with the least invasive. So he took Miles away and we walked all the way home, as sad as ever.
Around 2:30 I heard from Dr. Maretzki, and he gave me the initial results. The additional x-rays and another ultrasound revealed that he has fluid in his chest and abdomen, and that his colon wall is indeed "corrugated". The fluid is inflammatory and contains white blood cells, but he didn't know if it indicated cancer -- they will have to send it out to an outside lab to determine that. They're also going to run another full blood panel.
The other test that they're going to run, which also has to be done by an outside lab, is an FIP test. Although he tested negative when he was a kitten, it's still a possibility, and his symptoms are consistent. The thought of FIP has me scared out of my wits, as it's essentially untreatable and fatal. I can't allow myself to think about that outcome, and yet it seems that that's all I can think about. It's just that none of this makes any sense to me...this is a cat who on Wednesday morning was chasing his pal through the apartment and jumping on top of bookselves and generally being his amazing, adorable cat self. How could a harsh, fatal disease be coursing through his body and never show any signs, until it went off like a lightswitch? He's never appeared even slightly ill a single day of his life. So...how? How?
There won't be any more information coming tonight, aside from a check-in call from a vet tech who will call around 11. Perhaps we'll hear the results of the fluid analysis tomorrow. I just want to hear that FIP has been ruled out. Please.
Another awful night ahead.
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