Adventures in hamcare
Jun. 15th, 2009 03:24 amThe saga begins when I noticed a rather large, flesh-colored lump on Pipkin's belly. I took hm to Bright Eyes, Bushy Tails, where a vet divined through the dark arts of modern medicine that the lump was, in fact, a tumor. We scheduled a lumpectomy, and I went to Chicago for less than a week, and when I returned it was to find to my horror that the lump had grown visibly. I don't have any photos of Tyrannolumpus Rex, because Pipkin is a squirmy bastard. But it was easily the size of my thumbnail.
So off we went--that is, Kara, who ought to be nominated for sainthood for driving Pipkin and me at the ass-o'-clock in the morning to get a little hammy operation.
Here he is in his ad hoc ambulance, with the special purple bedding that![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sai12 bought for him a couple months ago.
And here with a delicious Yogie, also supplied bysai12, and an apple treat.
At one point he bumped his head on the water spout and was liberally dampened. I plopped him on the roof of his hambulance so he could show off his punky 'do.
We left him at the vet's for a few hours, then were called back at around noon to pick him up. The incredibly reassuring, delightful folks at BE,BT called my ornery little friend "sweet." I kind of wish I could have seen him all zonked out and deceptively docile, but alas. He was still recovering from the anesthetic, I think, because he protested less than usual when the kindly vetlady picked him up to show me his stitches.
( Mildly gory stitchery within. )
I took him home with a baggie of pain meds and instructions to keep him separated from Gulliver. Poor Gully--he's never been alone this long in his entire life!
In protest of this isolation, or perhaps to feign additional occupancy of his cage, Gulliver built a nest up on the platform.
Then, in a fit of pique, he shoved some bedding through the bars, and ontofloraldeoderant's brand new EeePC.
Meanwhile, Pipkin spent most of his days sleeping and gnawing on giant foodstuffs--sometimes, as it appears in this photo, simultaneously.
While I tried to squirt painkillers into his mouth every 12 hours. The little jerk fastidiously avoided drinking most of it, but he didn't seem especially pain-y.
The good folks at BE,BT called recently to check up on Pipkin's progress. I'll know in a few days if the tumor was malignant or benign. Fingers crossed that this crotchety little fellow still has a good year on him.
So off we went--that is, Kara, who ought to be nominated for sainthood for driving Pipkin and me at the ass-o'-clock in the morning to get a little hammy operation.
Here he is in his ad hoc ambulance, with the special purple bedding that
sai12 bought for him a couple months ago.And here with a delicious Yogie, also supplied by
sai12, and an apple treat.At one point he bumped his head on the water spout and was liberally dampened. I plopped him on the roof of his hambulance so he could show off his punky 'do.
We left him at the vet's for a few hours, then were called back at around noon to pick him up. The incredibly reassuring, delightful folks at BE,BT called my ornery little friend "sweet." I kind of wish I could have seen him all zonked out and deceptively docile, but alas. He was still recovering from the anesthetic, I think, because he protested less than usual when the kindly vetlady picked him up to show me his stitches.
( Mildly gory stitchery within. )
I took him home with a baggie of pain meds and instructions to keep him separated from Gulliver. Poor Gully--he's never been alone this long in his entire life!
In protest of this isolation, or perhaps to feign additional occupancy of his cage, Gulliver built a nest up on the platform.
Then, in a fit of pique, he shoved some bedding through the bars, and onto
floraldeoderant's brand new EeePC.Meanwhile, Pipkin spent most of his days sleeping and gnawing on giant foodstuffs--sometimes, as it appears in this photo, simultaneously.
While I tried to squirt painkillers into his mouth every 12 hours. The little jerk fastidiously avoided drinking most of it, but he didn't seem especially pain-y.
The good folks at BE,BT called recently to check up on Pipkin's progress. I'll know in a few days if the tumor was malignant or benign. Fingers crossed that this crotchety little fellow still has a good year on him.
