Moby is not feeling well. I knew this, more or less, before work yesterday, but D had the day off and was taking care. Scrubbed in, I got his message at lunch that Moby was not better, and he was going to get a vet appointment. When I finished my room, and had to relieve another scrub, I checked, and he'd made an appointment for today. I took over the other room, told Pris Moby was ill, but D was taking care of it.
Suddenly I was mobbed with my fellow nurses telling me to go home, someone else would scrub the case. This got me tearful, but I tried to convince them to let me do my assignment and I'd be fine if they just stopped talking about it. Not knowing exactly what was going on, but that he's 13, all the worst possibilities washed over me. Susan hugged me, contaminating me, and insisted I go home. Oh. Well.
I did some nurse stuff to get him feeling better, massage and heating pad and olive oil for him to lick off. He held his tail pressed against his butt, walking a bit stiffly. This morning went out to get an infant suppository. Got it in, not elegant to say the least, much complaint and a final hiss. He's on the litter right now, I'll check it once I see him again. Don't want to disturb the process.
This is going to be a long day.
4 comments:
sending good wishes to the dear old fellow! and to you, of course.
Sorry to hear that Moby is not feeling so good. I hope the vet can help. 13 is not that old... our male cat died (of cancer) in March, aged 16, but his sister is still with us, though her digestion is a bit ropey. Both are rescued cats, like your Moby and Eleanor. It does tear the heart to ribbons when the beloved dependent creature we have adopted suffers...
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