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I can barely stop crying but I am hoping that by writing this diary that I can begin to live with my decision. This morning at 5:00 am, I decided that my only option was to put my cat to sleep. My beautiful tuxedo, my divorce cat, my companion was a neutered four-year-old male and apparently neutered male cats are prone to urinary tract blockage. Two weeks ago my cat started straining when he arrived at the litter box. I took him to his regular vet and the vet put him on a different diet and drained his bladder. This weekend, he started straining again and was so uncomfortable that he pushed hands away when I or my son tried to pet him. We had read online that time was an issue with this problem, so I decided to take him to the nearby pet emergency hospital. I did not have pet insurance.
When we came in, I told the technicians what had been happening and they took him to the examination room. A few minutes later, one of the technicians came out and told us the cost of the exam and the cost of a blood test. Because I am usually broke in the summer (I teach; no pay in summer), I had applied for CareCredit before we even left the house. But it wasn’t enough. After the exam, the vet came and talked with us about the costs to treat Raleigh. She said $2500 to $3000. I was shocked and it was more than I had in credit. I thought that I could gather a few hundred more dollars but I knew I couldn’t get to this range. So we discussed less costly options and we started on these options. Her attitude toward me and my cat was dismissive. First she said that I could take my cat to the south end of my city (the less affluent part of my city) and I might find less expensive care. No matter that I didn’t have a clue about vets in that part of the city or how to contact one in an emergency. But, of course, she said the vets wouldn’t be board certified or trained in the surgery my cat needed. Or I could euthanize him right away since I couldn’t really afford his treatment (and I probably shouldn’t have a pet because I couldn’t produce that amount of money immediately).
Let me say here that I have always thought of veterinary costs as a part of having a pet. My cat had all of his shots and had a recent examination at my regular vet that indicated that he was in good health. I have had cats all of my life and they typically lived to be 18-22 years. I lost one cat a little earlier—Watermelon developed diabetes. For five years, I gave Watermelon insulin twice a day every day. So I am not someone who doesn’t even think about veterinary care as a part of pet ownership. But for me this whole scene is a study in neoliberalism. No matter how large a role a companion animal may play in my own health, I am responsible for all costs. And I am responsible for paying for my share of the costs of the vet’s education and her practice. That entry to veterinary schools is highly competitive because there are fewer slots than students who want to study it is just, well, that’s the way it is. That veterinary knowledge has advanced and bears no relation to costs people have experienced in the fairly recent past is, well, my tough luck. That I feel like I was the victim of a holdup—well, tough shit, lady. You’re the one without the money or the credit to pay for this emergency.
Early this morning, the pet hospital called and told me that Raleigh’s bladder had burst. To save him, he would have to have immediate, emergency surgery. The minimum cost for this surgery was $4000. This pet hospital had no options other than CareCredit. I had already expended the amount of credit that I had with CareCredit. And given that time was short, and his bladder was spewing toxins into his body, I had to make a decision right away. I think that they didn’t even try very hard to save him. The evening before they had not been able to fully insert the catheter to drain his bladder. I was willing to try to pay for another try. I couldn’t raise the whole amount but I was willing to try family members to give it a shot. I told them that. But there never was another try.
I held him for 45 minutes and then let him go. I can’t stop crying.