Grit, Kit, Spit and Q

The title is an example of shorthand for the pissed off and that's who I am today.

My beautiful Blu goes back to the vet tomorrow teatime to check progress since draining 500cc or more fluid from his lungs two weeks ago.  He has Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy.  It is no consolation to know that 1 in 3 Maine Coon have it; it's a genetic disease of the heart muscle. The effects of that are not good at all.  Tomorrow we'll be discussing referral to a cat heart specialist and may get some clue if he is likely to survive for 3 months or 5 years, still less than half the average life-span of a non-HCM Maine Coon.  There IS an outside chance he can live a normal lifespan with constant meds.  He's being such a darling about taking them twice-daily - it helps that they are liquid and not tablets.  Please gods, let me find out tomorrow the meds are working well and if continuing with them, even if it's for the rest of his life, will make that life longer.

I am devastated.  I love him so much and so don't want to lose him.  MD is no help, no FC.  He thinks I should have told Di already, that I was worried enough to take him to the vet and should be giving her constant updates.  For me,  in her position, having said someone could keep the cat I fostered with them, I would be frantic not being able to do anything from a different country and would prefer to be told when it was properly identified and everything possible known.  Still, I must be wrong.

The E seems to be under control for now at least and I loved being able to spend quality time with my sister (though I missed Blu something rotten)  My beloved son is a saint, he was here looking after BLU, medicating him, feeding him up and giving me near-daily reports: all of which were he's OK, eating OK, taking his meds, breathing better and being himself, though quiet.  That's all true but: I still think he's too thin, and too quiet even though he is just a loving and just as addicted to being fussed over.