Stan's at the new vet's clinic. What an experience that was. The doctor is a young dude, and he's not a lot of fluff, but not abrasive, either. He looked at his butt, but didn't even consider sticking a finger up there, and was a little .....shocked?.... that a finger-up-the-butt was the route to a diagnosis. But that's neither here nor there at this point, but he did say that he was going to use his own methodology and not take someone else's finger up the butt as the Word. That made me laugh. A little.
We had two options. Option One was a six thousand dollar option. That involved a visit to a soft-tissue specialist who is more experienced with this type of situation.
We asked about Option Two.
Option Two was that he could put Stanley under right then and there, and sort of turn his butt inside out by magic, and then see what's what up there and if it was a polydactly tumor - some sort of tumor that started with a "p." Tomato, Butt Tumor. Same difference.
We chose this option. The vet sedated the cat while Kenny went to get beverages from the 7-11 across the street (stress and tears make me thirsty), and the vet had that tumor laid out on the table (still attached to the butt lining) for me to see before Kenny was back. It took about 5 minutes - I was duly impressed with the speed of it all.
The vet really wanted me to go back with him and see what we were dealing with. He must know that just describing these types of situations doesn't get the point across, and people expect him to be magic, just because he can turn a butthole inside out. Earlier, I had tried to pressure him into a confidence level prior to the exam and he wouldn't commit to a number at all. He's not falling for the Provide False Hope trick, apparently.
At first I said, "No way, Pal, I'm good not seeing any of that," but then I knew that the analyst part of me would want to what was going on back there to make a decision with all the facts. I just wished Kenny was back to see it, too. And that I had the foresight to bring a fucking camera in with me, because seriously, when was I going to get a chance for this shot again? And then, Reader, I could have been providing you with a visual education instead of just trying to verbally describe an inside-out asshole with a cauliflower-shaped tumor.
Stan was sedated, but his eyes were wide open and glassy and it was freaky as shit. He had a little blood pressure clip on his ear.
And, yes, there was a giant cauliflower-shaped tumor flopped out on the table, attached to the lining of his inner-asshole.
Wow. Talk about a missed photo op. I'm sad again. I know you are, too.
The good news? There IS good news. It's right at the edge, and doesn't seem to have a long base at all. They can lop most of it off with a laser. It will grow back. But it may not grow back for a year, or two years...there's no telling. It could be a couple of months, but even then at least I will know we tried.
The only other options are Option One Six Thousand Dollars, which we are not doing. Even that is not a guarantee and could just as likely grow back, even if they were able to get all of it (which is the benefit of Option One vs. Option Two - with Two, they know they are not going to be able to get all of it, just the majority of it). Option Three is Do Nothing, and let the cat die. So that's the cheapest, but not the most cat-friendliest.
So Stan's in the hospital and will have the surgery in the morning, if it hasn't been done already tonight. Those were the two time lines, and I'm guessing (could be wrong) that if he had it done tonight they would have called.
Option Two? A thousand large. But we had agreed we'd spend a vacation on the cat's butt, and really a thousand is not even a really good vacation.
I'm optimistic. And when this is all said and done, I am kicking the Universe right in the snatch for even THINKING of fucking with me this hard so early into our deal. A one-sided deal, but a deal nonetheless.
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