I had to perform ophthalmic surgery on one of our cats yesterday. Well, maybe not so dramatic as surgery, but I’ll get to that.
Honey is a pure-white, half-breed Persian cat (she has the lovely fur without the flat face).
At the end of my first year, more than a year before I would deliver my first human baby, Honey had kittens for the first time. She was uncomfortable and kept trying to run away when she felt a contraction coming. The poor cat was drenched in sweat. So in the middle of the night, I helped her give birth. She only needed help with the first one, and then nature took over. And the last one was born breech, so I helped a little with that one too. That was the first time I realised I would be able to handle the gore of medicine.
One year later, a few months before I would do my surgery rotation, Honey got fixed and needed her stitches taken out. Removing stitches is a relatively simple procedure if you keep your wits about you, and we weren’t about to pay the vet some ridiculous amount of money for that. So with some antiseptic and sterile stitch-cutters, I did it.
It was a little more complicated, what with the long white fur everywhere and the cat trying to inflict mortal damage upon me, but all turned out fine.
Yesterday, Little Sister noticed that Honey had a foreign body stuck in her eye that was causing significant distress. It wasn’t a penetrating object – it looked like a loose piece of plaster. An eye-rinse was not going to work, as Kitteh was already lashing out at us with her sharp nails. I didn’t have any ophthalmic equipment either. Eventually, desperate, I wet a sterile swab and tried to quickly get the object out of her eye. It took two tries.
I love veterinarians, I just don’t want to pay exorbitant fees for something non-invasive that I can do myself. My family reckons I may have missed my calling