Several months ago an emaciated, deaf, elderly calico I named “Delia” joined my large kitty family. I refer to her lovingly as my “ditch” cat because she was found in a ditch beside the road. Despite all my culinary efforts, she hardly eats anything, drinks a great deal, and remains skeletal.
A full medical workup revealed she has hyperthyroidism wherein all her body functions are speeded up, quickly using up her energy reserves. Her kidneys are failing—she has chronic renal failure (CRF)—so her body can barely rid itself of toxins and provide her with necessary hydration. On top of that she has painful arthritis in her hip joints.
Her vet prescribed Felimazole for her runaway thyroid gland, Epakitin for her kidneys, and Cosequin for her arthirits. But her mouth is always dry. As a result, she cannot take her pills. She chokes on the pills in full panic mode and often spits them out. Even if she could swallow her pills, holding her to pill her is difficult because of her arthritis. Moreover, while she received intravenous fluids and IV medications for several days in the cat hospital, she is too thin to receive sub-cutaneous fluids at home. Consequently, she cannot get enough fluids to prevent dehydration. So her serious health conditions are not being addressed. And what about her other needs?
Oops! Finally I had an aha. In trying to find a way help her medically, I discovered I had been forgetting to help her emotionally. For a while I saw her only as a problem to be solved and totally forgot about her needs for petting and attention. Unfortunately that is all too common and easy to do when you’re dealing with a serious health condition, whether it is with your cat or another human being.
Poor Delia. She needed so much more than tasty food with a great deal of fluid content provided five times a day. I was aghast at how long it took me to tumble to the fact that I was treating her differently from my other cats. She wasn’t being scritched and brushed and petted. And, with her deafness she actually needed more from me emotionally because she couldn’t hear my soothing, comforting voice to show her caring attention.
This is the same situation doctors face when dealing with a sick individual. The person can be seen as a physical “problem,” rather than a “person with a problem.” Now that I’ve finally had a 2X4 to the back of my skull, I’m spending more non-medical time with Delia. And though she can’t really purr—it sounds more like heavy breathing—she is demonstrating she is enjoying it.
Even if her medical problems are not being addressed medically which will undoubtedly shorten her life, my attending to her emotional needs for the time she has left may be more therapeutic for her than all her prescriptions.