When I lived at the Daily Planet (a cooperative) in 1991 in Santa Cruz, I had speech therapy at 11 AM
every Thursday in San Francisco at UCSF. Getting up there was a saga. I would drive
to Pasatiempo drive and park my car. Then I would catch the 17 express bus to the
train station in San Jose. Once there I would take Caltrain up to San Francisco. Then
I would take a MUNI bus to Market Street and go down below the street and wait for
the N Judah streetcar to take me out to UCSF.
I always took a peanut-butter sandwich with me so I would have something to eat
before starting back to Santa Cruz, a 3 & ½ hour journey. It was March and I was
done with Speech Therapy, I was sitting on Parnassus Street, across from the UCSF
hospital building. It was so tall, it cast a significant shadow onto the street
though it wasn't 12:30 yet.
I watched the cars drive into its shadow,
musing about my cat. Helix had been acting odd for a couple of days and, finally,
I had taken him to the vet on Friday morning of last week.
The vet had checked him over and said, “He’s fine.” I was relieved, stood and then
did a double-take.
“He’s not fine,” I said. “He is acting different then before. Something is wrong
with him.
We finally agreed to do a blood test. I would have the results later that day so I
left him there. I returned about 4 PM and the vet did not have good news. The
results of the blood test indicated that Helix’s liver was not fully metabolizing
hemoglobin. Bilirubin (a toxic break down product of hemoglobin) was building up
in his bloodstream and poisoning him. She said it was not uncommon for outdoors
cats to lick antifreeze puddles. Propyl Glycol (antifreeze) attacked the Liver
causing it to fail. Liver failure resulted in the death of the cat.
I asked her if there was anything to be done. She said, we could try an IV with
saline solution to allow Helix’s liver to flush out the remaining Propyl Glycol,
his kidneys to excrete the Bilirubin and see what happened. It would probably
be two, maybe three days before we would know anything. We have an idea if the IV
was working on Monday
I agreed to that and the last view I had of Helix was of a staff person holding him,
his front leg sticking out with a piece of white tape wrapped around his paw. A
clear plastic tube came out the white tape and went up to bag of saline hanging from
a stand on wheels.
I called on Monday to see how Helix was doing. They told me he seemed more alert,
was looking around more, but it was too early to tell. I called Tuesday – same thing.
I called Wednesday night, right as they were closing. They had given him a blood
test in the morning. There was no Bilirubin in the sample and all liver metabolites
were normal. I felt relief temporarily. “Something is still not right with him,”
the vet informed me. “He hasn’t eaten since you brought him in Friday. He has to
be hungry, but he won’t eat, he just sniffs at his food. Until we figure out what
is going on, it would be better if he stayed here.”
At dinner that night, I wasn’t saying much. People would ask how Helix was doing? I
was really depressed and almost started crying. I had had him since he was kitten
(two years before) and now it looked like I was going to lose him. When I had first
got him, he was really tiny and completely infested with fleas. I bought some flea spray
for kittens and Tim held him so I could spray him without getting the spray in his ears,
eyes, nose or mouth. We left him in the downstairs bathroom with a litter box, on
the linoleum floor. I can still see his tiny body, his fur standing up from the
toweling we had given him to dry him off from the flea spray (as recommended on the
bottle). The next day there about 40 of the biggest fleas I had ever seen lying dead
on the floor.
I hadn’t been aware of how much I cared for that cat until this happened. I briefly
considered canceling my trip to UCSF, but hadn’t given them 24 hours notice so I
couldn’t cancel unless I fabricated a disease. I wasn’t willing to lie to them so
I went to bed, planning to go to San Francisco, the next day.
Speech Therapy had come and gone and now I was sitting near Parnasuss Street, digging
the plastic box, my peanut butter sandwich was in, out of my pack. I found the box,
had opened it and was raising the sandwich to my mouth when I realized, “Helix is
not eating because he doesn’t see me eating.” I was really hungry, but put the
sandwich away. I did not have money to buy food, but needed the sandwich to try
out my theory, so I went hungry.
I put the sandwich back in its box, donned my pack and reversed my route. I took the
elevator below the UCSF outpatient building and caught the N Judah streetcar back to
Market St. I went up the stairs and took a MUNI bus back to the train terminal. I
rode Caltrain south to San Jose. I took the Highway 17 express bus back to where I
had parked my car at Pasatiempo Drive. I drove directly to the animal hospital.
Once there I explained my theory, requested an exam room, Helix and a bowl of food.
The assistant got the food which she placed in its bowl on the exam table. She
disappeared, then reappeared a few minutes later with Helix, the IV stand and the bag
of saline hanging from it.
I explained (again) what had occurred to me. She rolled her eyes in disbelief,
but wheeled his IV stand over to the table and placed Helix on it near the food. He
walked over, sniffed it, then turned away. Without a word, I opened the sandwich
box I had brought from my car and began eating. I was watching Helix as I ate. He
watched me, sniffed his food and looked at me again. I was really hungry and my
sandwich was ½ gone. Helix sniffed his food again, looked back at me eating my
sandwich, placed his
front paws at the edge of the food dish, bent his head and began to eat. I took him
home after I had paid their outrageous bill ($692 for seven days).
The vet called the next day to inquire about Helix. I said he was doing fine,
exhibiting the behavior patterns that I had come to expect. Then she got into
the real reason for her phone call. She said there was another blood test that
would assay whether his liver was so badly damaged, that it would fail. I asked
what they could do if it failed. She told me there was nothing to be done. I was
taken aback.
“You want me to spend $180 on a test that does nothing for the animal? Are you kidding me?”
She tried to guilt-trip me about how I wasn’t being a responsible owner, how I
didn’t care for my cat, have his best interests at heart etc..
I shut her up with my observation, “If his liver fails, he dies. If his liver is
okay, he lives. This conversation is over,” and hung up on her.
She didn’t call back. Helix lived for two more years and was run-over in Eugene Oregon.
A friend found his smashed body about five feet off the side of the road. Evidently
the driver that took him out had swerved off the road to hit him.
