A very long Piso pregnancy.
DISCLAIMER: Not for the faint of heart or squeamish—some sad and graphic content ahead. Also: I have no experience birthing kittens; the closest thing to a veterinarian in my Georgian village is my host grandfather, who is a retired livestock vet, but blind and senile; neither he nor anyone else has heard of C-sections for birthing animals. I was completely, entirely, on my own.
Monday, 11am. Piso started crying, and I knew we were going into labor soon (on the 66th day of gestation--the average is 64.) One side of her was distended funnily, like the cat was running in the same direction as her ribs, rather than delivery-position. I figured it would straighten itself out. Piso continued to be meowy, and wanted desperately to be close to me, on top of me, or under my hand. After a few minutes of such behavior, I noticed a pea-sized bit of mucous escaping her, and thought this was the mucal plug, signaling the start of contractions. I put her in the box I had prepared, and it's a good thing, as her water seemed to break right then. At 11:24, her body convulsed, and I thought she was going into labor. She purred a lot, meowed at me, and if I left her side, followed me. The convulsions were erratic, but body-quaking. Multiple times, she tried to leave the box and hop on the bed, so I finally let her, figuring she knew where she was comfortable.
Monday, 5pm. I was a bit frightened that, five hours after the first symptoms, there was no first kitten, but frenzied internet searches revealed that what I had assumed were the “mucal plug” and “contractions” were actually symptoms of “Stage 1” of labor, the kittens simply lining up in birthing order, and not the real deal (Stage 2), which entailed the birth of the first kitten. A bit relieved, I let Piso off bedrest, and ate some lunch myself. She vomited, which is normal, though disconcerting. She promptly ran upstairs, and hopped into a bed-sized box on the veranda with a ton of junk in it. I took her out of it and back in my room, where she laid with me on the bed.
Monday, 5pm. Suddenly, the “waves” of Stage 1 hit her hard, six in a row, signaling what must have been Stage 2. Sure enough, her rear end had a grape-sized mucal plug protruding, which she popped and licked clean. She became extremely restless then, refused to stay on my bed or in the box, walked around, panted, and was propelled vertical whenever a contraction hit. Finally, I let her outside, to see if she would go to the box, but she could only take a few steps, then lay down. I carried her to the box, where she promptly entered and lay down calmly.
Monday, 8pm. The websites I read said we would have a kitten within an hour or two of labor, but three hours later, she ran downstairs, into the yard, and tried to poop desperately. She vomited again, then finally pooped, still contracting. She reverted back into Stage 1 behavior—ran to me for comfort, meowed, purred, and the contractions ended. She came into my room, where I inspected her nether regions and discovered a kitten tongue protruding, and the slightest bit of kitten nose. Her contractions had ended however, and the occasional wave wasn't enough to expel the baby. I grew increasingly nervous, convinced the kitten would die, and used a rag to clean its nose, so at least it could breath, in case the umbilical cord had cut off its nutrient supply. Kako and Mzia refused to interfere in any way, convinced human presence causes more harm than help. Teona just laughed it all off, which, at that point, given my emotional levels, was unforgivable. I went to bed, exhausted, with a headache, and uninclined to socialize with humans. Piso stayed with me, the whole night, occasionally wracked by a wave.
Midnight Tuesday. I woke up suddenly and naturally, as if from a nap, and checked on the cat. She remained at my side, behavior unchanged, panting, and groaning softly with the occasional convulsion, with the kitten face still visible from the birth canal. I prayed hard about what to do, then became inclined to try to press on the kitten head, visible beneath the skin above her birth canal. She mewed pitifully, and I persisted a bit more, but to no avail. I was sure the kitten was dead, but close inspection revealed that it would flail its tongue every so often. That simultaneously gave me hope, and an even greater sense of urgency.
Tuesday morning. Nothing changed in the night. I was convinced that, if Piso didn't expel the kitten, she would die. I heard her drink water, which was consoling, but the kitten simply wouldn't budge, even with my ministrations of the night before—pressing downward, between her aus and vagina, to get the head towards the opening. A quick search online revealed that calcium and oxytocin induced contractions. If I had access to a vet, she would receive injections of both, but I had to make due with petting her, to stimulate oxytocin, and see if she would eat egg shells, which contain calcium. She didn't, but she did eat some of the egg I put in her food dish. Finally with the realization that nursing stimulates contractions, I took a leftover crazy straws from my students' goody bags, applied it to a teat, and began to suck. She had no milk, but doing so did seem to increase the waves.
Tuesday, 7am. Lado, then Teona, then Kako checked on me, especially curious about the straw. I told them that having a kitten in the birth canal for 12 hours meant the mother could die, and that milk production stimulates contractions. Lado was sobered by the information, Teona remained flippant and humored by it, and when Kako told me to leave the cat alone to take care of herself, he laid off when I said that she chose to be with me. He asked if he could help, though there was nothing he could have done.
Tuesday, 9am. The waves Piso was having were making the kitten's mushed up face more visible, and I thought I saw eye slits. I decided to try the pressing motion on the skin above the birth canal again, and behold! It began to slide downward, and in a half-second, the whole kitten was free. Piso began licking it clean instantly, and it squirmed all over. Its head was a bit oblong, but it was alive, and a darling tabby! The placenta did not follow, and all semblance of cramps had ended, so I pulled the umbilical gently with a rag after a half hour. The afterbirth slid out and Piso ate it right up. Her milk still hadn't come in, but that silly little kitten didn't seem to know how to suckle anyway. I read online that infant formula with a bit of yogurt is ok for kittens as a supplement, so tried feeding it that with an eye dropper, to no avail. After cleaning the baby, Piso conked out, exhausted, and was tough to rouse, thought she did lick the kitten whenever she was conscious. At one point, the kitten felt cold to me, so I brought in the heater blanket I had abandoned when winter ended, and set that up under them.
Tuesday, 1pm. The kitten finally latched onto a teat, so even though Piso's milk wasn't in, perhaps it was comforted by the motion. I continued my endeavors to find a substitute food source. I tried infant formula alone with no luck, then condensed milk+egg yolk+water+yogurt, the kitten didn't seem to care much for that either, despite the recipe's supposed success among owners online. Perhaps it wasn't simply about being nourished, but the act of suckling was necessary for the kitten's contentment. It's belly wasn't horribly gaunt, but neither was it the familiar plumpness of a kitten's.
Tuesday, 6pm. After nine hours of heavy resting, the now-familiar wavelike cramps of Stage 1 labor began again. They were definitely the same thing as the day before, but with a different tone. The first time around, it was like a cramp would begin, then Piso would willfully press with it. Perhaps this drove her into premature birthing, since she was only in that stage for about 6 hours when 12-24 is typical. This time, the waves resembled regular cramps, with no deliberate pressing as it relaxed. Piso rode them out passively, and I hoped that meant she was saving her energy for the second kitten.
Tuesday, 8pm. Piso's milk came in. I had been prodding her belly gently, squeezing her teats, when the slightest bit of moisture seeped out of one, then another. I grabbed my crazy straw again, applied it, and began to suck. One teat gave way to milk momentarily, which only could move up the straw about a half-centimeter (so no, I couldn't/didn't taste her milk). The same ministrations worked on two other nipples, so I applied the kitten, who rooted around, as he had been doing the last 12 hours of his life, and began to suckle weakly. Relieved, I decided to move Piso from my bed, to the ground under the desk, using the blanket she'd been sleeping on, and the heater blanket. The transition was slow going, but I got her situated, changed my own sheets, and got into bed, hopeful that by morning, she'd have 2-3 more kittens, all suckling happily.
Tuesday, 10pm. Piso hopped onto the bed with me, abandoning the kitten. I brought it up to her, and she rested awhile.
Tuesday, 11pm. Piso hopped off the bed, and went back ot the nest, in search of her kitten, which I relocated.
(Repeat, a handful of times, and vary with a bit of eating and drinking from Piso.)
Wednesday, 1am. Piso hopped back onto the bed, and I decided to retrieve her blanket to put back on the bed, in case she had discharge. I left the heater blanket on the ground for the kitten.
Wednesday, 3am. Piso stayed with me, so I moved the kitten back onto the bed, where he remained with her overnight, occasionally mewing with frustration at being overly squashed by his restless mother. We all dozed fitfully.
Wednesday, 6am. Of all days and timing, I had a school excursion to prepare for. I would be seeing the historical sites of the Kakheti region of Georgia from 8am to 8pm, and though I was loathe to abandon Piso, I needed to take my mind off her, and could not skip out on my only opportunity to see the oft-cited places of my home the last seven months. I was hopeful that, being alone without me as a distraction, things would follow their natural order. I left her and the kitten sleeping soundly on my bed, the wave-like cramps apparently having stopped at some point in the night without my noticing. Mzia agreed to check in on her.
Wednesday, 3pm. I called Teona for an update during the excursion. She informed me that the first kitten died soon after I left that morning, but had no other news. I was sad, feeling a bit guilty for not having been present, though I knew I probably couldn't have changed the outcome. My lack of sleep and this news brought a bit of gloom to the rest of the field trip.
(It gets gruesome now, but things resolve in the end.)
Wednesday, 8pm. We finally arrived home, and I raced to Piso's side. Just as with the first kitten, the second kitten was face-visible from the birth canal, most certainly dead, as its eyelids, closed perforce for ten days after birth, had opened at some point (either inside the womb, during birth, or as a result of Piso's incessant licking, once she could access the face) and revealed void, haunting orbs. Nonetheless, I tried to press and expel it from the skin above the birth canal as I had with the first one, but she meowed and squirmed, horribly pained. Although it had hurt her at first when I tried it on the first kitten, by the time its whole face was visible, a gentle press took care of it with no pain. This one, on the other hand, was further expelled than its older sibling, but somehow more strongly lodged. I called Kako to help, and he tried to pull it out while I held Piso's feet, but he couldn't do it either. This was the first time he was privy to her state up-close, and said that it wasn't right for her to be in this much pain, and the humane thing to do would be to perish her ourselves.
Wednesday 8:30pm. He left me with that thought, and I ran upstairs, dialed Erik frantically, and sobbingly explained the situation. Wrought with my own helplessness, I was pained by Piso's pain, and certainly wanted to help her end the ordeal, but I was not convinced that eliminating her from the world was the answer. I had been numbed from any feeling for the dead kitten (probably 'dead kittens,' plural, as at least one remained in the womb), but my drive to see her come out alive had driven me to hysterics. She had been birthing for 58 hours, when a normal birth, from onset, to delivery of the last placenta, rarely lasts more than 36 hours. I pleaded with Erik to tell me what to do, and, with a voice thickened by emotion himself, he thought Kako's suggestion was for the best. I gulped the bitter idea down, and steeled myself to tell Kako, the sooner the better, and get it over with.
When I came downstairs, Piso was squatting in the yard, and Kako and Mzia were both doing chores nearby. I announced, still crying, that Piso should probably be killed, and they both told me NO. They insisted that Piso would be fine, that she had made it this far and was still strong, that the remaining kittens would be stillborn, but she would make it. Kako had asked his father for tips, and the old veterinarian simply said she had probably been to young to conceive, as it was her first heat, and if the father cat was large, the kittens were too large for her tiny frame. They said that perhaps, the fact that I had been feeding her quality cat food had made them grow too large for her to deliver. (I later refuted this vehemently, saying perhaps the kittens would have been large regardless, and if it weren't for quality cat food, she would have been too weak to make it.) They were disbelieving that a cat was something to cry over, which only added to my sense of desertedness. Here I was, heart bleeding for my poor little cat, unable to eat or sleep or think about anything else, and instead of trying to help with the birth, or offering me a hug of comfort, the Georgians laughed at me.
All throughout this conversation, Piso remained in the yard, nearby. I looked over at her, crouched, and realized the kitten had slid out further, to the shoulders. I announced this, and Kako plucked a large leaf from nearby, telling me to pull the kitten out. This time when I grabbed hold, Piso didn't meow, or try to get away, but merely resisted. The kitten literally felt glued to her insides, and I had to pull HARD for it to budge. With the snap of a rubber band and splinter of toothpicks (umbilical cord and kitten bones breaking), Piso's body released the second kitten, with a neon-yellow, thick, amniotic sack—a sure sign of hours-long infection. While I'll never forget the image of the first kitten's black nose and purple tongue, quivering at me from within his mother, this second kitten was material for a nightmare. With open, bluish-white eyes, a lolling, white tongue, a body, encased in a urine-colored sack, it had been stretched during birth and my pulling to the abnormal length of about seven inches, and its head appeared disjointed from its spine. I weakly noted that it would have looked like Piso, white and black, and Kako told me to take it to the toilet. This is pretty much the second advantage of a Turkish toilet over a Western one: it is deep enough that the smell doesn't reach you terribly, and it's inaccessible to dogs or other animals. The placenta didn't follow right away, but figured it would make its way out at some point. Certainly now, however many kittens remained inside would make their unremarkable descent.
Wednesday, 9pm. I called Erik back and told him the outcome, not without a few tears, but with relief that Piso's death would not be on our consciences. We chatted a bit with some semblance of normalcy until I was ready to go to bed.
Wednesday, 11pm. I went downstairs, where Kako, Mzia, and Lado's dad were eating, and Piso was crouched under the table. She perked up to see me, and came over for a petting, with an arched back, and nose that sought my hand, as she always does. Kako had given her some sausage, which she ate, and when I put down water, she drank it. She was the most revived I had seen in three days, and Mzia too expressed relief at seeing her out of the moribund state of the last 12 hours. She and Kako strongly urged me to leave Piso outside for the night to finish the process, so I could sleep soundly and my room could air out from the smell of sickness. While we chatted, Piso mewed a few times in the way that I have come to recognize as pre-labor meows. Sure enough, when I glanced at her rear, the tail of a tabby kitten was dangling out, and contractions soon pushed out a hind foot. (At first, I felt dread at the tail, as if the kitten were coming out hiney first: that's the most complicated delivery. Regular breech—hind legs first—is not usually a problem. The sight of that hind foot was a relief of its own.) Piso scratched at my window, now closed to her, to get into the room, even though I was outside with her, but when her behavior had become fairly routine—meow, pace a bit, contraction, contraction, lay down, purr/groom—I decided to head to bed. I took some time to straighten the room, change the sheets again, take out the trash, put all the dirty laundry that might have had contact with Piso into a bag for washing in the morning, and climbed into bed. I tried to ignore Piso's alternate meowing at the window and scratching at the front door, and soon fell asleep.
Thursday, 1am. I woke up, suddenly again, as I had the last two nights after two hours of sleep. I lay in bed, restless, until I heard Lado come through the front door, going to bed around 2am. In the silence ensuing, I wondered if he had latched the door properly and, as if reading my thoughts, Piso began scratching at the door furiously. A minute later, it became quiet, and I knew the door had swung open. I gave up trying to leave her outside, figuring it would cause her more distress than anything, and put a dirty sheet back down for her, on top of my clean bed. The kitten was in the same position as I had left it—tail and one limp hind leg expelled. After an hour of petting her, contractions, and her licking the putrid, dead kittten clean, I realized it had slid out far enough for me to give it a tug. That freed it up to the armpits, which is how it remained the rest of the night, despite mine and Piso's efforts. She didn't seem in pain, however, and was very happy for me to inspect her belly with my hand. I knew now that the third kitten was the last one, and the two mounds remaining, one of which could be lifted while under her skin, were probably the afterbirths of the second and third kitten. I rubbed vigorously, pressing on any firmness I felt in the birth canal, but sadly didn't feel anything convincingly shaped like a kitten head. Piso let me press and rub with as much vigor as I wanted, and the occasional contraction hit. She purred sometimes, panted for a bit, hopped off the bed to lay on the floor when she got hot, with the kitten dangling behind, but had to paw my arm for me to lift her back on. She ate once, and though I still didn't fall asleep until about 4am, it was the slightest bit more restful than the night before, until I woke up at 7am.
Thursday, 11am. After a sound sleep, Piso hopped off the bed and came onto the porch. She began licking the kitten still dangling from inside her, then went into the yard. This pleased me, as it meant she would probably take care of it soon. A half hour later, I spotted her under a tree and decided to check on her. It turns out, she had eaten the exposed part of the kitten, all the way up to her rump! Gross as it was, she must have known that that was necessary. I promptly closed my windows and door so she wouldn't bring a bloody behind onto my bed, and she came to rest on the porch were I was drawing, alternately sleeping and tending to the stump of the kitten, still lodged inside, and sleeping.
Thursday, 2pm. I got up the courage to try to pull on the kitten remains, since she had hollowed out its insides and a ribcage remained, leaving something to grab hold of. It remained as stuck as ever, but after a half hour of me tugging-her licking-her biting-her chewing-me tugging, the remainder of the kitten FINALLY gave way to me, with an oozing of brains through the ribcage and ear, and the same snapping noise the second had made as it was released, and the rotten smell became its most pungent. A placenta immediately followed, with crimson blood leaking from Piso's insides. The outside portion of the kitten had been at least 4-inches long by the time Piso ate it, and the inside portion was equally as stretched—a far cry from the 3-inch thing that would have been, had it emerged alive. I promptly tossed the last kitten, and the T-shirt I had been using to tend to it, in the toilet.
Piso gobbled up the placenta, and tended to her leaky genitalia, though I was glad to see that the bleeding seemed to stop. Twenty minutes later, she grabbed onto something with her teeth, and the final afterbirth slipped out. My assumption now is that the second kitten's placenta became entwined with the third kitten, thus impeding its exit, but now, it was all over. Three kittens, three afterbirths, one tenacious queen, at all times free of vaginal bleeding , and four days, four hours, of the most emotionally intense ordeal I have EVER experienced.
EDIT: Friday, 7am. Piso made it through the night, with a bit of stinkiness still emanating from her--either her womb, the surrounding fur, or gas from eating all the yuck--but by morning, she smells of regular farts, and the food that gave them to her is empty from her bowl. Although she's been a trooper, I'm still wary of sepsis, from all that toxicity in her blood. Now that she's made it 18 hours, the fear is subsiding. She and I both fell asleep at 8pm last night, and though she still meows a bit from soreness, her genitals remain stretched and red, and she licks them clean every so often, she also purrs, cuddles, drinks, and eats. We made it.
