Perhaps I shouldn’t make kitty clinic time right before my bedtime when I’m tired. The results haven’t been pretty.
Alaska hates having his thrice-weekly subcutaneous fluids therapy. Hates it. He wiggles and squirms and eventually starts yowling as if I were trying to kill him. Of course, this makes an already challenging procedure even more challenging. Half the time he manages to squirm away before I able to shut the flow of fluids and water ends up squirting out of the needle, and out of him. Tonight we had the added bonus of me somehow ending up getting poked by the needle. So, while I’m cleaning up water and blood, Alaska continues yowling as I am yelling at him in frustration, and then decides to take a dump in the rabbit’s pen. Gee, Alaska, tell me how you really feel.
When I go into do Tangerine’s wound treatment, she shows me how much better she is feeling by dashing about the room hiding in places that are near impossible for me to reach. Finally I have to break out the broom to corral her back into the kitty condo. Fortunately her treatment with the warm compress is much less traumatic than Alaska’s treatment, so once I get her in the right position everything is fine.
Her wounds look nice and clean and the infection seems to have cleared up, so I’m tempted to let her drainage incisions heal, but the vet told me to keep them open until this Saturday, so we have a couple more days of this.
So, my hat is off to the caretakers of the world, be they professional or amateur, or take care of animal or human. Since I never had kids, nor dependent parents, I don’t have that much experience taking care of humans. Which is probably good since I’m not good with blood or other bodily substances. I do better with people’s emotional wounds, but bloody, pus-filled, oozy physical ones? Not so much