#biospy

One of my kitties has been suffering from severe weight loss, vomiting, lethargy, and smelly/loose stool. We've done an ultrasound and TLI-Folate test. It's come down to either IBD or lymphoma. My vet said we should do a food trial to see if hydrolyzed food would help his symptoms. However, IBD or lymphoma can only be diagnosed through biopsy.

The biopsy would require invasive surgery. My partner and I are of the opinion we would not pursue chemotherapy for any animal from a moral standpoint. So a biopsy would not necessarily change our course for care if it was lymphoma.

My question is are there pros to performing the biopsy anyway? I won't lie that the cost is a bit prohibitive but I also want the best for my boy. He's now starting on a hydrolyzed protein diet with fortiflora. I want him to feel better, however we don't know if its IBD or lymphoma but we are treating as if its IBD. Does knowing between the two help? Is pursuing a biopsy through surgery worth it? His quality of life (over quantity of life) is my top priority. I want him to be as comfortable and happy for as long as we can. We love him so much.

Thank you so much for your time and input 😊

Sueanoi here.

Chemotherapy for animals aren't as terrible as you might think. Most animals adjust very well with little to no side effects. (and if they don't adjust well, the correct course would be to stop anyway) .

If you do not wish to go that route at all, for any reason, then there is no need to do the invasive diagnosis. You'd be treating for IBD without evidence that it's IBD. and it's probably either right or wrong.

Knowing the definitive diagnosis can give you and the vet a prognosis and correct plan of care without guessing in the process. It depends on how well the animal is doing, for me to decide if knowing the info is worth the risk.

n. The removal and examination of a sample of tissue from a living body for diagnostic purposes.

n. A sample so obtained.

My mom would say waiting is the worst part. My vote would be the helplessness.

I had my biopsy yesterday and took today off work. I’m coughing up a storm and my only desire in life is to eat ice cream, but hey, what can you do? I feel like my skin should be crawling with dread. I should be unable to function waiting for test results. However I watched “Step Up” and ordered pizza with an old friend, and it’s beautiful outside.

I know I am supposed to be detesting this moment, but I’m not. 

The most accurate analogy for this period of waiting is a roller coaster. Not because “Life throws you through a loop,” “You never know what to expect,” “It’s a wild ride,” or even “Life is a whirlwind of emotions.” I may be sentimental, but I am no fan of clichés. 

It’s like this: my least favourite part of roller coasters is the initial incline. I hate being strapped in, my arms too restricted to hold hands with the person beside me (even if I’m too proud to admit it would be comforting), feeling like the whole train of us is going to slide backwards at any moment, derail, and plummet to our deaths. I know all of this is imagining is far worse than what’s over that initial bend. When I have tests, when I strap myself in and know that something might be wrong, my future doesn’t provide security anymore. I can survey and assess everything ahead of me, but it’s little use until I’m actually propelled forward. The surgery. The medications. The pain. The isolation. The loss of intellectual ability. Usually, I’m more apt to handle it than I believe myself to be, although it doesn’t make it any less painful.

Everything that comes after that incline, no matter how exhausted or daring I am, grateful or resistant, I am committed to. I will continue, not necessarily because I want to or because I know what’s best, but because I am stuck. I am entrenched in my life and the state of my body. There is no Plan B. If I don’t follow the treatment protocol, I could die. I can’t jump out of the car because I’ve had enough.

Right now I’m in that sweet spot - on the peak between dread and terrifying actuality. As soon as they make that call, my life will have lost all sense of gravity. The decisions that are distinctly mine to make without grave consequences are pushed to into non-existence until I might be ready for them again.

Today is about cookie dough blizzards and sunshine and Channing Tatum before he pretended to be a male stripper. I put on mascara and the pizza guy didn’t know that things aren’t going so well. Isn’t it sweet, this semblance of control?