Third Time's A Charm

The third time's the charm. At least we hope so.  Two weeks ago Saturday I took Moggy back to the Vet for the third time.

The first time I thought Moggy had pushed his nose someplace he shouldn't and got it scrubbed up. But then the scabs spread to his ears. So I took him to see the Vet.  She thought it was actually a hypersensitivity to bug bites. Specifically fleas.  I could get behind generic bugs; however,  I really didn't think they were fleas--I haven't found a flea on him since the first time I bathed him as a kitten when Bandit and I rescued him almost three years ago. But I conceded, fleas could be the culprits since he goes outside during the day. That visit he received a flea treatment and a steroid injection. He initially responded, but then started to get worse. Back to the Vet we went.

The practice I take the FurBoys to has three Vets and they rotate Saturdays--which are the only days I can make it without taking time off from work. So the second Vet tried a different flea med, gave another steroid injection, and prescribed an antibiotic ointment.  This regimine produced very minimal results initially. We gave it another  month.  There were no further improvements, but it didn't seem to be worsening.

Until the day the scabs started encroaching on his face--getting far too close to his eyes for my comfort.  It was also the day I saw visiable evidence that it was bothering him--his ears were bloody from scratching. This was a drastic change. So off to the Vet we went.

The third Vet saw Moggy this time. He diagnosed it as Pemphigus Foliacaeus, an autoimmune disease, and put Moggy on oral steroids three times a day until it starts to clear, then twice a day for 30 days.  Moggy will eventually require a maintance dose of one pill every other day.

The bad thing about this isn't the fact that Moggy licks his food before he eats. I voiced my concern about him licking the pill and then refusing to take it if he didn't like the taste.
The Vet gave me a really long syringe with a flexible rubbery end to hold the pull--it worked beautifully at the Vets office, but was much more cumbersome when it was just me and Moggy at home.

No, the worst part of this is the fact that excessive sunlight exacerbates the condition. Moggy LOVES being outside. He cries when he can't be outside. 

It's been 2 weeks since we started the prednisone.   He's looking better. I'm keeping him on three times a day because of going outside.  When I see a little more improvement I'll drop back to twice a day. 

On a brighter note, we seem to have hit on the correct diagnosis.

Oh, and Moggy no longer fights me when I give him his medicine. I'm not sure if he realizes it's helping him, if he's resigned to the fact he's getting it, or if it's because I'm becoming extremely competent at pill administration. I prefer to believe it's a combination of all three.

Guacachuck and the Bloody Bandaids

So my new Service at work (same job, just a realignment) had our Halloween themed monthly staff meeting yesterday.

The theme was scary food. I joked and said everything I cook is scary. (This is pretty much true.)

After consulting  Pinterest for ideas, I decided to take Bloody Bandaids (Graham crackers with white icing and a smear of red "blood" icing).  Then I decided I had to make some savory  "bandaids" as well (crackers w/provolone and scraps of thinly sliced salami). 

I had forgotten I already decided on guacamole and chips (I couldn't find a head, and didn't have time to make a jack-o-lantern), so  I used a half mask. 

I called mine guacachuck. 😁
(Nurses have wicked sick senses of humor.)

Some Days Being Organized Just Isn't Enough

Some days it just does not pay to be organized. It took three stickies, one on my bathroom mirror, one on my steering wheel, and one on my phone...but I remembered  Bed Huddle (my morning meeting with the Chief of Staff) was cancelled this morning.  

Since I would start my day on my Ward I wouldn't be entering the building through my normal door. Avoiding that door and the long walk from the adjacent parking lot, meant I could park in a lot closer to the east entrance.

The East entrance  lot has fairly good parking since most employees avoid it due to all the neighboring construction.

Since I wouldn't be in the Teague Tower for that meeting, I also wouldn't be in the vicinity of the Canteen, which meant I would either need to eat breakfast at home (too early for food), pick something up on the way in (lines are unpredictable), or pack something. While  I packed my DDPs and a breakfast shake, I decided to go ahead and pack a lunch as well.  The Mexican leftovers sounded good. My little lunch sack was full so I put my snak (bananna) in the pocket of my rain jacket. I was set.

I actually made it to The Swamp Room (my co-shared office) with time to spare.

Sounds good, right?

I have a decent parking space, I'm ready to work, I'm set for the day. I decided to eat my banana for breakfast and finish off the DDP I left yesterday.  It's a little flat but it's caffeine.

Now I'm  ready for a cold DDP. 

That's  when it hit me.  I left my lunch on my front seat.

And it's raining.

I'm wondering if I can find the app for errand running and send someone to my SUV.

(Actually it's just sprinkling, and I need the steps anyway since I came in the short walk--this was just my funny way to end this post.)

It's 3am--Do You Know Where Your (Fur)Kids Are?

The storm woke me up. Well, the storm, or the Lasix. Or maybe it was that last DDP late in the evening. No matter, I'm blaming it on the thunder.

I usually sleep well through rainy weather and storms of all kinds, but Moggy went outside late (he left the same time as when he usually comes  in for the night).  He was still out, cattin' around, so I was sleeping a little lighter than usual.

First, in a not quite awake, not quite asleep state, I heard the neighborhood souped up,  muffler-less truck engine coming to life, with radio blasting.  As it rolled out of the neighborhood, the choo-choo tooted its early morning "just passing through" warning. Usually I find the lonely sound of a train whistle comforting. However, if one of the boys is outside--even just in the back yard, it fills me with a pervasive uneasy dread that lasts until I lay eyes on them and know they are safe.

Finally, the sound that jolted me completely out of drowsiness acousted my ears:  that of a deafening clap of  thunder. The thunder was impressive even without being  accompanied by lighting strikes. 

And then I heard the tiniest meow.  It was Moggy, but it sounded like it came from the front door rather than the back door.  I have a little roof overhang at the  front door, and he has come in the front on occasion,  but it's usually when he scampers up to greet me after work.  For the most part, Moggy comes and goes through the back door.  However, it is possible Moggy had been lounging on the driveway and the storm caught him unawares.  Unable to reach one of his usual sheltering places, he might take whatever shelter that small front-door overhang provides.

Struggling to get slippers on my feet,  it took me longer than usual to trudge off to the front door. Enroute  I realized I hadn't heard his meow in a few, so I started talking to him through the door. Often this will keep him close by--at least until I can get to  the door.

Not this time. I opened the front door. There was nothing for me to see. And I do mean nothing. No Moggy.  No nocturnal animals. Nothing. What shocked and impressed me though, was the total lack of moisture.

Yep.  The storm was a dream. Moggy was not in danger.  At least not from a storm.

With a lessoned sense of urgency I  made my way  to the back door and opened it. I knew  Moggy wouldn't  be there. He wasn't. I called his name the way I do when it's time for him to come inside. If he's close by and wants to come in, he shoots across the yard.  This time?  Nada. 

Bandit wanted to go potty, so I let him go outside. While he was attending to business, I puttered around doing a few neglected household chores: replacing barely there TP rolls with full rolls. Topping off Bandits water and food dishes. Consolidating all the trash from the small trash cans into one tall kitchen trash can, taking it to the trash bin outside, and relinning the cans with new bags.

After Bandit had a sufficient amount of time to take care of business, I opened the back door and called for him to come back inside. When he came inside,  his brother Moggy joined us.

So it's now a little after 3am and I do know where my FurKids are, so I'm going back to sleep--at least until my morning alarms start to sound off in a couple of hours.