May 30, 2013

The nightmare continues


Chaos was still geysering this morning.  I had spent some time last night researching other local vet practises.  I know a little about a couple of them already, and decided to try the one that runs its own 24-hour emergency service rather than banding together with other practises—which sounds to me more liable to error.  They said they couldn’t see me today because they were still backed up after the holiday but listened when I said that Chaos was urgent and . . . found an appointment slot for us.

I have some hope of my new vet.  She’s young—and has a fabulous regional-UK accent—and in that absent-minded way of true animal people was down on the floor with the hellhounds (I’d brought both, of course:  Chaos is a clinger, and can use all the emotional support he can get) all the time we were talking, not just while she was trying to examine her patient.  She told me a lot of stuff I already knew—that there is no guarantee that we aren’t looking at three different bad situations—or two anyway, the litter-brother hellhounds and the hellterror.  And that the situation or situations are unlikely to be clear and distinct or to have clear, distinct answers.  Hey, I have ME.  I know all about blurry.   But the thing is she is engaging.  She is not blowing me off.

She spent over an hour with us—keeping her next patient waiting—and had a lot to say, most of which I’ve forgotten because I’m very tired and have extreme crumbliness of brain.  But she has a Beginning Plan and she sent me home with a sack of stuff with Very Clear Instructions printed on each item, including the nine little plastic crap-sample containers, since part of the beginning plan is doing the faecal tests all over again rather more comprehensively, and with three samples from each hellcritter over three days.  This is, in fact, what I had been expecting the idiot from my ex-practise to recommend.

Chaos is in a bad way.  If he’s not significantly better tomorrow she wants him in hospital.  I have the standard Thickening Agent paste for his bowels, and electrolytes for his water.  He’s getting both of these because I’m squirting them into him.  I’m not surprised I have to force the paste on him—horse wormers usually claim to be ‘palatable’ too but I’ve never seen a horse like the stuff—but he’s not interested in his water dish either.  And while he’s clearly wretched, I also suspect he’s feebly liking the attention of having me squirt him.  I’m smearing a little honey on his gums for the calories too—also, while this is a standard emergency treatment, even before CHALICE I’ve always believed in honey magic.  I’d much rather have him at home, and he’ll be a lot less stressed if he can stay home too.  Never mind that I’m forgetting how to do my work—remind me how I earn my living?*—I’d be no more able to concentrate if he were in a clinic kennel being ministered by veterinary nurses.

Thanks for all the support from blog readers—both on the forum and by email.  Because I’ve been living with this for a long time, I know most of the stuff that everybody knows,** but particularly in my current state of unbrain, I don’t at all mind being reminded.***  And . . . I think I’m falling down the Ravine of Inarticulacy.  I hope I’ll have a better update tomorrow. . . .

* * *

* And vets are EXPENSIVE.

** Remember—the hellhounds are cereal-allergic, so things like rice and ginger biscuits are not options.  And I think cheese, which is popular with hellhounds, gave Darkness one of his terrifying geysering fits, and at the moment it’s not something I want to experiment with.  It has seemed to me yogurt has made them worse too, which—since you DON’T KNOW what aspect of something is causing the problem—makes me twitchy about probiotics, although the James Wellbeloved cereal-free kibble I use has prebiotics in it which some experts, or ‘experts’, on and off the internet, say are easier on touchy digestions.  And yes—the big thing is that I want to FIX THIS.  I don’t want to go on struggling more, or sometimes disastrously less, successfully, with the symptoms day to day.  To day to day to day to .  . .

Shared bacteria:  yeah.  I’ve worried about this for years too, since with my several decades of IBS I’ve been interested in guts for a long time, and totally believe in the mood and behavioural aspect and the ‘second brain’ theory.  But in current circumstances it just makes me feel like Typhoid Mary, since I’m no more of a mess than usual.  Less, considering that I’m totally stressed out by hellcritters.

. . . Snork.  I like liver.  It is, indeed, one of the Keeping McKinley on the Road therapies, so it’s a good thing I like it.  I know I need meat, and specifically red meat, but I literally notice Lack of Liver if more than about a week goes by I don’t have an injection.  And hellhounds adore it.  They’ll eat it if they’ll eat anything.  But sometimes they won’t eat it either.  And they also get brewer’s yeast.  It’s good for what ails you—including repelling fleas.

Southdowner says there aren’t vet teaching hospitals over here the way there are in America—that’s what I thought of too, because in my early horse days that was what you did with intractable critter problems.  There is nothing better than a good one.  There are some fancy trusts and things that do a similar job over here—one that Southdowner can recommend, and the specialist within my driving distance according to my new vet is indeed very good and they send their complex cases on there.  So that’s still on the radar, but I talked to the specialist before I rang the new local people and felt that going from Mr Idiot to the specialist was a bit like going from a tricycle to a Ferrari—I’d like to try a bicycle and maybe a VW Golf in between.

*** But I’d be grateful if you didn’t remind me of the whole ‘environmental illness’ thing any more.  I went through a huge amount of this when I was first trying to find management strategies for the ME.  There’s a monster environmental-illness implication with all us mysterious-auto-immune-illness people . . . and the bottom line is that there’s mostly freak-all you can do about it, except not buy a house next a mobile phone mast.  Turn my wireless off?  Sure.  I could do that.  What for?  All three of my houses are bathed in other people’s wireless.  Turn your laptop on and ask for available servers and a list of at least half a dozen unscrolls.  I don’t deny this is an issue, but I prefer to expend my limited energy on something I have some hope of making headway on.



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