Super Senior

I’ve written before about the similarities between my elderly cat and my elderly father. On Thursday both went to the doctor. I took Randy to the vet in Seattle and my brother took Sidney to a urologist in San Diego. Randy is nearly 16 and weighs 10.8 pounds, which equates to 78 human years. There’s a formula used to guide care as pets age; Randy is now considered a super-senior. Sid is 95 and weighs 170 pounds, mostly from decades of fatty corn beef. They’re fairly similar. Randy has behavioral health/turf issues and pees in my bed when I forget to close the door. His incontinence isn’t due to illness or infection, he simply hates when I travel. He’s slowing down and sleeps a lot. Sid has after-effects from his stroke, common to old men – in highly technical terms, it’s called a lazy bladder. He’s also slowing down and sleeps a lot.

I wrote a detailed medical summary for Dad’s urologist to help guide treatment. I couldn’t find a way to easily communicate with their office so I faxed it in, with no acknowledgment. The doctor’s recommendation was to prescribe a drug that might impact memory, get weekly bladder scans which are logistically impossible to arrange, and come back for another (revenue-enhancing) visit. Otherwise, just wait.

My vet had all of Randy’s history on her computer and greeted me warmly. We discussed the pros and cons of intervention for an elderly cat just starting to show kidney issues and tooth decay. Together we did a palliative consultation about quality of life for a cat who enjoys food and naps. Why do expensive blood tests and dental surgery? Let’s just wait and see.

Both Dad and Randy lost their soulmates 5 years ago; both have adapted. In retrospect I’ve coped fairly well with that chapter, although life continues to test my sense of the absurd. I wonder, like all of us, about the parallels that guide our connections and priorities. I’m going to pet my cat now.