Petey spent about a day and a half in the hospital, and got to come home much sooner than even Dr. Gil expected. He was a little skittish, but otherwise his regular charming (or annoying, if you’re his sister Lilikoi) self.
He was alternately sweet/silly/dopey/nosey/busy/and a few other dwarves. I remembered all over again why I love him.
And then Dr. Gil called with the news I had been expecting, but dreading. The fluid analysis and bloodwork were consistent with a diagnosis of lymphoma.
All I could think of was: How does a young, strong cat who’s never been sick a day in his life get cancer? Yeah, it’s not an original question, but grief and shock don’t usually inspire me.
But, there was some good (ish) news. According to Dr. Gil, if a cat’s going to get cancer, lymphoma is the cancer to get. It’s the most treatable, many cats can go into long remissions, and cats tolerate chemo better than pretty much any other creatures (especially human ones). The type of lymphoma Petey has (mediastinal lymphoma) is the bestest of the lymphomas.
Woo Hoo! We hit the cancer jackpot 😦
Now all we had to do was decide what we were going to do about this. We could:
Do nothing but keep the poor boy comfortable, giving him a matter of days or weeks
Opt for a very mild chemo protocol, which would keep the boy comfortable, possibly knock back the cancer, and probably not cause very many side effects
Go all in and hit this mofo lymphoma with the strongest, most powerful chemo protocol known to felines — and hope that the cure wasn’t harder on the boy than the disease
I looked over and saw that happy little cat tangled up in a pile of fleece he stole from my scrap bag, and really, what choice was there?
We’re going all in. Putting all our money (and whooo-ey, it’s a first-class trip to Hawaii’s worth) on the Big MamaJama of the chemo protocols, The University of Wisconsin-Madison protocol.
Wish us luck!