Ivan is really really really sick

My Ivan cat is very ill. He was originally diagnosed with diabetes, but it looks like there may be other issues. Potassium deficiency, etc. Here he is wobbling about.

That was yesterday. This morning he was doing much better! Still unsteady, but not leaning against things. But then he started vomiting, right after receiving his insulin. So...we would assume his insulin would be too high, right? Because he had no food in his gut to off-set it since he'd barfed it up? He started having a reaction, so corn syrup was prescribed. But he didn't get better and my wonderful vet was able to fit him in for fluids and a glucose check. Turns out he was not too LOW (too much insulin not enough food) but too HIGH (too much glucose).

So now I own a glucose meter and in addition to hating me for force-feeding him, and giving him insulin, Ivan now hates me for pricking his ears every couple hours for blood. But at least I'll know now if he is "too high" or "too low."

Ivan had a stay at an emergency clinic, Colonial Veterinary Hospital, Saturday-Sunday, and they were great. Of course, no one can be as good as my own veterinarian, Cornerstone, who fit me in last week, and today. Ivan had two wonderful techs and a vet hovering over him today, and last night Dr. Shakespeare brought potassium supplements home with her so I could pick them up there after hours because I couldn't make it to Ithaca during the clinic hours.

I don't know what is going to happen with Ivan. I keep hoping he'll perk up and I'll get the miracle of another few years with him. It's been so long since I got the call that he and his littermates had been dumped in Danby State Forest and all had been caught but him. He bit my finger trying to eat tuna off of it so was placed on 10-day quarantine, and I fell in love. I asked my then-husband if I might keep him, and he said "no." I ignored him, so you can see why I'm single now.

I've had three "special" cats. Tommy was my childhood cat. He was killed by a dog at age 12. Those were the days when everyone let their cats out. Rastus I adopted from the Chenango County SPCA for three bucks, and smuggled him into my high school in my sweatshirt. He passed away at age 17 of cancer. And Ivan, well, Ivan came into my life just after Rastus left it. He is now nearly 16.

And here we are.