My Cancer Check-up with Dr Schoen

Theme of the Day: Bloodtests!

Well, yippie. Here we are again! Dr Schoen's medical clinic. Just sitting around waiting for medical attention. Now that's the thing - I don't need any medical attention. I've done my best to not barf on the bed and to keep the upchucking of fur balls outdoors. It's like I'm being punished or something!

Dr Schoen apparently has some kind of affirmative action program at the clinic where she is forced against her will by federal law to treat some quota of dogs. Otherwise, I'm sure she wouldn't have dogs here. It's just too nice of a place.

I'm feeling fine and don't mind sitting here with my pretty owner even though the ride over in the PPU (personal prison unit) always gets me grumpy! They treat me like a criminal sometimes.

I glare at my other owner and he gets up so I snatch the opportunity for a more comfortable chair that I deserve that will remove me from a tile floor that the people here allow DOGS to run on.

I think dogs have peed in here. It doesn't smell, but it just has that weird creepy feeling that you get when dogs have been around indiscriminately urinating on things. I don't know why dog owners even bring them in to a vet. This world would be a better place with fewer dogs. Less barking, less poop surprises in the front yard. I was sitting on the fence in the front the other day and this big fat guy walks by with a dog on a leash (it's disgusting that dogs allow this leashing business). So anyways, this dog just squats in my front yard and takes a dump!

I can't tell you how ill this made me feel. If that dog had been there alone I would have chased him down and scratched his face off but in this case I was afraid the big fat guy, Mr Giganto, would topple over on me. They would have never found me!

I've strayed a little off topic - everyone but the most stupid humans know that dogs are the retards of the animal kingdom.

The other owner took this picture. To the extent that you can call it a picture - the composition is horrible! It's not like I expect Ansel Adams to return from the grave, but I just wish he would try a little harder. He always talkes about his fancy camera. I bet that thing is smarter than he is! Which would explain alot, I guess.

It turns out I'm here for a check up. Jennifer, who is a vet tech here and she's the one who looks after me at home when my owners desert me, spills the beans that I need some blood work done so my oncology vet (Dr Prouix <--- board certified) can send in a prescription for my cancer pills. This requires several vets and a medical laboratory to coordinate my treatment since these are human cancer drugs. My cancer is in remission but that doesn't make me any more thrilled to be called the cancer cat by my owners. But it's nice to know that everyone around here understands that I'm an important celebrity and requires a complete medical team for my well-being. That just comes with being so important.

So I'm here for a check up. I'm feeling fine (except for the ride in the PPU (personal prison unit) which always gets me in a bad mood! Dr Schoen comes in and starts doing her medical stuff - poking me in places that are not always pleasent. She must realize that I'm feeling fine since she seems so happy.

The good mood disappears in a hurry though when she grabs a torture instrument (see forensic photo below) and reaches around to my back side! At that point I demand that no more photos be taken. In the internet era, photos have a way of ending up on the internets. That's like celebrity cat 101. At any rate, just remembering this is putting me out of the mood to blog.

I do feel important though. This vet visit isn't cheap and that blood workup - well let's just say I'm glad that didn't come out of my Fancy Feast fund. And the pills - get this - 120 bucks for two months supply.

I'm feeling luved!

My oncology checkup! 9 month progress report

Well, here we are again! Just sitting around waiting for medical attention. I'm feeling fine and don't mind sitting here with my pretty owner. The other one took this picture. To the extent that you can call it a picture - the composition is horrible! I'm here for a check up. I'm feeling fine (except for the ride in the PPU (personal prison unit) which always gets me in a bad mood!

We don't have to wait long and Maggie, the Vet Tech, comes in. After a few pleasantries and questions she checks my weight. I'm always a little self-conscious when my weight is checked. I don't know what that's all about because when I checked this morning, I was looking mighty fine. So it turns out in the last 5 months I've gone from 11 lb 2 oz to 11 lb 10 oz. That's good news for me to gain 8 ounces! That's good because that virtually guarantees that I'll continue to get morning and evening Fancy Feast Grilled Seafood dinner with gravy! All the Fancy Feast's with gravy are super!

One thing that this hospital needs to do is get with the times. All my European cat friends always talk in metric and this place never does. That half a pound that I've added on to my handsomeness is 226 grams. You know what's really funny about that? That's about what a rat weighs! That's funny and disgusting at the same time!

Maggie takes me to the "back room" and I sit around for awhile. There don't seem to be any clear escape routes. Oh - and the "back room" is no "back room" - it's a major veterinary medical facility with so many gizmos it makes your head spin.

Well, it doesn't take long for them to get in gear. Time is money! (I've never heard them say that, but I bet they do! They got to with all the fancy art work on the walls around here. Everything is paintings of cats or dogs. Obviously no paintings of cats with dogs because that would be perverted! Now that I think about it, it's probably the cat paintings that are pricey; the dog paintings look rather cheap. To be honest, I wouldn't even call them art. I don't want to get into a discussion of Aesthetics but these dog paintings could only be considered art from a Relativistic point of view. You know, like dog paintings are good compared to mouse poo! ha ha ha! I'm sure for a couple of packages of Twinkies one could hire someone with a PhD in post-modernism to try and make sense out of dog paintings, but I don't have time for that kind of crap. Now let's get back to me!

Here I'm getting the needle because they have to take some of my blood so they can do a complete blood count (a CDC). They'll be able to tell me how I'm doing. That's good because I wouldn't want an incomplete blood count! People would start wondering what trailer park I was from! I wonder if this test could tell if dogs are vampires? I bet quite a few of them are. It seems just like the sort of disgusting thing a dog would like to do. Lots of dogs are blood fetishists so it only stands to reason that lots of them are vampires. That's just common sense!

Well finally I get real medical attention. By "real" I mean from a real doctor. And not a regular vet type. My doctor, Dr Prouix is certified and stuff. His name sounds French but I don't think he is because he's really nice. He's a certified Diplomate in Oncology and in Radiation Oncology. I don't know what the hell that means but if you have two Diplomate things that has to be good! Plus, his titles sound really scientific. I like that - I don't want some witch doctor throwing some chicken bones to tell me how I'm doing!

Although I'm getting checked over plenty good, I'm starting to get a little tired of it. I get poked, blood drawn, my heart listened to by one of those stetho-thingies.

I THOUGHT things were going pretty good until THIS little procedure took place! Since the first time I went to a vet I've thought vet techs are sneaky. They always act really nice and then the next thing you know you either have a needle poked in you or something poked up your behind!

Well, I'm all done and hanging out with the two owners to see how I scored on the tests. Or whatever they do with them.

It's all good news too! My blood scores are all normal and Dr. P says that my cancer is for all practical purposes in remission. I'm a little uneasy about this "for all practical purposes" lingo, but I'll let it slide. I'm feeling fine and I'm certainly looking fine, and I have a great appetite so life seems good to me! You might even say I have an appetite for life! It's been five months since I was here last and I've gained a rat's worth of weight and they say I'm good. Of course, I know I'm good. Hell, I'm good when I'm bad! HA! I'm going out and hunt lizards now! Sweeet!