What’s on??

In my blog index, a section only I, as the blog owner, can see, are several “draft” posts. Most are just a title, something to remind me of an idea for a possible entry. Place holders of sorts. One of these draft entries says just “TV Guide.” It’s been sitting there for months, taunting me, challenging me to flesh it out. The idea – which seemed so fruitful when I saved it into the index – is to take the bits and pieces of my cat-related activities and distill them resemble television listings.

Today, for some reason, the post finally took shape. Somehow I managed to transform my mundane life into talk shows, comedy, drama, and even a little education. Cable channels, broadcast channels and community access – my “TV life” has it all. So sit down, grab your remote, and choose a show.


6am (NBC) Today: Segments include: using a cat as a substitute alarm clock and scheduling your morning routine to include pet care. Guest Dr. Phil gives tips on shaking off early morning surprises and moving on with your day.

10am (Animal Planet) Cats! Cats! Cats!: Blending up a healthful raw diet for felines and a review of species-appropriate canned food options.

11am (Community College Channel) Accounting 12A: Saving for unexpected expenses.

1pm (Community College Channel): English 4B: Creative writing for bloggers.

2pm (FOX) Montel: Therapists stage an intervention to help a guest with double addictions: repeatedly testing her diabetic cat’s blood sugar levels and drinking Irish Cream.

3pm (NBC) Ellen: How to choose a pet sitter for special-needs animals. Special guests: the Broadway cast of Cats!

8pm (NBC): The Office: The office is thrown into turmoil when internet access crashes due to Angela’s excessive posting to an online bulletin board for diabetic cat owners.

8:30 (CBS): Survivor: China: Survivors are challenged to restrain and test a hungry, grumpy diabetic cat. Winners receive dried tuna flakes.

9pm (ABC) ER: A pancreatitis attack threatens the health of a cranky middle-aged patient. A family member holds ER staff hostage after receiving a shocking bill for services.

10pm (FOX) 24: The drama continues as Jack runs an overnight blood glucose curve.

11:30pm (NBC) Tonight Show: In his monologue, Jay pokes fun at the lengths some cat owners are willing to go to for their pets. Guests include feline diabetes specialist, veterinarian Lisa Pierson.

Hometesting Lesson

A couple days ago, I met Mike, Jennifer, and their newly-diagnosed diabetic kitty Max. Max had a very rough introduction to diabetes – swinging from ketoacidosis (a life-threatening side-effect of uncontrolled high blood sugar) to hypoglycemia (complete with seizures) in the course of one week. If anyone needed to learn how to test their cat’s blood sugar – and pronto – it was these guys.

When Mike first posted on FDMB, members asked, as they usually do, where he lived. That turned out to be about 10 miles from me, so I got in touch with him and offered to come to his house with a meter kit and teach him how to perforate his cat. I still have a robust collection of meters at the ready, and I’ve poked thousands of holes in my own cat, apparently all the qualifications needed for this educational project.

We scheduled a time, I gathered the supplies, and set out. I did ask about Max’s personality – if he was anything like Isabella, I’d bring protective gear – but Mike assured me he was a sweetie.

And he was. A cute black & white long-haired model, Max was skinny, but seemed none the worse for wear after his ordeal. I introduced him to bonito flakes (on the advice of others on FDMB: make friends with cat before poking) and chatted with Mike and Jennifer about the general routine that I use to test Isabella. After we practiced using the meter on Mike (blood glucose: 99) we assembled supplies in the kitchen and got ready.

I held the wee Max in my lap and poked. Three heads bent close to inspect his ear. Nothing. (Max was completely cooperative.) Mike suggested testing the inner, un-furry side of the ear, and lifted the cat into his own lap.

Poke. Inspect. Ah! A little blood appeared and was sucked up into the test strip, but it wasn’t enough. Quick! Poke again! A bigger bead this time, enough to start the meter on its countdown.

The results of Max’s first test? Blood glucose: 59

OK then! Good thing I stopped by. Jennifer was set to give Max another dose of insulin in about an hour. With a glucose of 59, more insulin probably would have landed Max in the emergency room with his third hypo of the week. I talked to them about the importance of testing before every shot and having a “don’t shoot below” threshold. For instance, if Isabella’s blood sugar tests below 150 or so (a rare event, indeed), I don’t give her insulin. I wait until it’s high enough to justify an injection. They needed a similar plan to give themselves a cushion. They also probably needed to reduce Max’s dose, since he was still pretty low many hours past his last dose.

It’s a lot to take in when you’re new at the diabetes game. It’s even harder when the only message you’ve gotten from the vet is about the importance of sticking to a 12-hour injection schedule and always giving a consistent dose. Here I was, a total stranger, telling them that the meter trumped the vet, and they should listen to me. I think they understood. I hope so.

After I left, I remembered lots of things I forgot to tell them:
~ to give Max a treat after the test (the 59 completely distracted me!)
~ to apply pressure to Max’s ear for a few seconds to reduce bruising
~ that one day, sooner or later, they’d hit the vein and be wiping blood off the walls, cabinets, and floor. (They’ll figure out the importance of applying pressure when the cat is bleeding all over, that’s for sure!)

Then there was the stuff I deliberately didn’t mention:
~how my cat used to scream when I tested, I was so bad at it
~that I wore long pants, long sleeves, and leather gloves to avoid being maimed
~that I used to have to encase my cat in a blanket to get the deed done at all
That’s not the sort of information that builds confidence in the teacher, you know what I mean?

I haven’t heard from Mike or Jennifer since the lesson. Hopefully they’re using the new tools and Max is going great. Hopefully their vet agreed with a lower dose when they reported the 59. Hopefully, hopefully.

I just have to accept that I did the best I could.

Apologies

I want to apologize to all the spouses, roommates, brothers, sisters, and children of anyone who reads this blog and who has had to endure the singing of O Pancreas, over and over and over, for the past week.

Apparently, once the song gets in your head, it stays. And it has to be sung. Repeatedly.

Just ask my cats. Or poor Wally, in Minnesota who has listened to Dan.

I'm sorry. Really. But the damage is done and I can't take it back now.

A Christmas Carol

Thanksgiving is barely past, but we are skidding headlong into the Christmas season. So don’t blame me if I get a carol or two rattling around in my head. And, please, don’t blame me if, while I’m swimming, I start to change the words and make a carol about my favorite subject, the object of obsession, the source of great fascination and frustration… my cat’s pancreas.

It’s a completely normal and natural thing.

And so, with great pride and confidence that I am not, in fact, crazy, I present the song I hatched during tonight’s workout.

(To be sung lovingly and loudly to the tune of O Tannenbaum.)

O Pancreas

O pancreas, O pancreas,
Why did you have to leave us?
Since you’ve been gone we now rely,
On insulin called PZI
O pancreas, O pancreas,
Why did you have to leave us?

O pancreas, O pancreas,
Sometimes you rear your head
And when you do, blood glucose drops,
So I give food to make it stop
O pancreas, O pancreas,
Sometimes you rear your head

Try TID, try BID
Or change the dose, no guarantees
Tomorrow morn, she could be high
Or might be low, I can’t deny
That even now I have no clue
From day to day just what she’ll do

O pancreas, O pancreas,
Why did you have to leave us?

Statistical Obsession

I’m sitting here on a Saturday morning waiting for the vet to call me back. Isabella started vomiting last night and is really not well at the moment. So while I wait (and hope that it’s just a passing intestinal bug) I’ll document my growing obsession with my blog statistics.

Let me be frank: this blog is not exactly setting the world on fire. In fact, I’d like to thank everyone who reads it – the number may run as high as a half dozen. You all must be very optimistic that someday I’ll put something here that actually worth reading. It’s good to have hope.

While you’re hoping, let me tell you about my sad, sad fixation. I’ve signed up with a free statistical website called Site Meter. By putting a little bit of code in the blog layout, I allow Site Meter to monitor who’s coming to read, how long they hang around, how many and which pages they look at, etc.

So far, there have been 383 visits to my blog. Now, I know you’re thinking Yeah, and 350 of them are you, but I assure you, I’ve trained Site Meter to ignore me. It’s only watching you.

The longest visit was almost two hours. I feel pretty confident that was someone who clicked on the blog and then was rushed to the emergency room or something before they could click away. Even I realize that there’s not two hours worth of material here.

The vast majority of the visits log this duration: 0:00

That’s right. Not even one second. I never dreamed it was possible to click away that fast. But the folks who find this blog – well they manage it. Repeatedly. Ouch.

My favorite feature is the one that tells how the visitor found my site. Most of them say “unkown,” but now and then Site Meter admits that the blog appeared in a list of Google search results. My favorite search so far is this:

diabetic cat cranky

If that doesn’t exactly describe Isabella, I don’t know what would. And somehow it’s comforting to know that somewhere out there is someone else with a cranky diabetic cat, and that person found this blog to be worthy of 51 seconds of their time.

People with puking diabetic cats have been directed here by Google more than once. And now that I’ve used both “puke” and “vomit” in this entry, I’m sure that more will stop by in the future. Welcome!

Site Meter does more too, but I don’t want to freak you out. Rest assured, it’s not giving out your name or your email or anything. But it gives me enough stuff to simultaneously satisfy my voyeuristic needs and make me feel like a loser. Because let’s face it: visit durations of 0:00 are not exactly a raving endorsement.

Don’t Worry, Be Happy

We experience moments absolutely free from worry. These brief respites are called panic. ~Cullen Hightower

That quote sums up life with a diabetic cat. My life, anyway. Could be that I’m an anal-retentive control freak worry wart, or maybe all people with diabetic cats feel this way. The point is, I worry. At the beginning, it was constant. Now, a year into this adventure, the worry is toned down and yet always ready to spring forth in the form of panic at the slightest provocation.

For example: A couple months ago I was listening to the keynote speaker at a writers’ conference when a cell phone rang. It was my phone’s ringtone and it was about 6pm – the time I imagine the pet sitter will be checking in on the cats. In the two seconds it took to realize it wasn’t my phone, my level of anxiety skyrocketed from “bored” to “aneurysm,” completely mystifying my sister in law, who, I’m sure, has never seen such a reaction to a phone ringing.

Another example: This morning Casey woke me begging for breakfast. My sleepy brain spit out a few bits of reality:

1) it was Casey begging, not the gluttonous Isabella;
2) Isabella wasn’t on the bed like she usually is;
3) it was 6:15 – a full fifteen minutes late.

That last bit jolted me fully awake. Isabella’s internal time mechanism operates with a precision that rivals an atomic clock and she wants her meals served on schedule. This, coupled with the fact that I was expecting her blood sugar to be running lower than normal – well the picture my imagination painted wasn’t pretty. I shot out of bed and down the hall, veered into the living room and flipped on the light. No cat. (Except Casey, still begging.) Full panic now. “Where’s Isabella??!” I asked out loud, sort of high pitched and gulpy, conjuring images of seizures and a foaming mouth. I circled around to the kitchen, where Isabella was sprawled on the rug in front of the sink. Relaxed. She hopped up at the sight of me, stretched and sauntered to her bowl. Fine, not foaming. Elapsed time since Casey woke me: 15 seconds. Years taken off my life: at least six.

Yes, this is what it’s like with the worry toned down. You don’t want to know what a wreck I was the first few months. Really, you don’t.

Home Sweet Home

I just got back from a trip to the big apple. NYC. The most awesome place on earth. There was no point to the trip besides the fact that Virgin America had an airfare (San Francisco to JFK) that was too amazing to pass up. Never mind the million and one things I could do to improve my house (or my cat), I spent the money on a random trip to New York.

It was a short trip – only four days – but it was the sixth trip I’ve taken this year, and this one seemed harder on the cats than the others.

When I got home last night at two minutes to midnight, both of the cats’ bowls were full of food. Odd. Isabella and Casey are normally pretty enthusiastic eaters – Isabella in particular – and yet here were two bowls that seemed barely touched. A note from the sitter mentioned that she was concerned too; Casey hadn’t eaten his last three meals (which meant the fourth was rotting in the bowl). But both cats seemed basically OK so I decided the problem could wait until I had some sleep.

In my own cozy bed. With my cozy cat curled up next to me. Until …

Have you ever been awakened by the sound of a cat erupting? It’s not good. Isabella spewed the little she had eaten in no fewer than three places, including over the edge of the bed onto the floor (splash!). That woke me enough to a) wipe floor, b) peel the comforter out of the now-barfy cover, and c) add another problem to the list of things that I’d deal with after I had some sleep – now curled up tight in a little chilly ball in my no longer cozy comforter-less bed.

This morning I got Casey to eat with a bit of encouragement, tested Isabella’s blood sugar (it was not great but not awful), and started some laundry (bye-bye-barf), which took care of the obvious problems. But I’ve got the nagging feeling that all is not well with Isabella. She seems a little off, sort of depressed -- which means the next trip I take is probably going to be to the vet.