“Green-eyed lady, windswept lady
Moves the night, the waves, the sand
Green-eyed lady, lovely lady
Child of nature, friend of man”
Lyrics from “Green-Eyed Lady” by Jerry Corbetta, J.C. Phillips
and David Riordan, sung by Sugarloaf
Samantha’s left eye is back to being a lovely shade of celadon. The gloppy grey and blood-streaked scar tissue covering most of her eye formed after a simple corneal ulcer, resistant to antibiotic eye drop treatments, became infected. The bacteria melted thirty percent of her cornea, which I learned at her first visit to Eye Care Specialists for Animals. My heartbeat quickened when the vet cringed while examining Samantha’s eye. The diagnosis was grave, but the injury was curable with an aggressive treatment plan of two antibiotic eye drops, a healing serum, and one antiviral eye drop four to six times a day for four days, an oral antibiotic twice a day and gabapentin (painkiller) once or twice a day.
Scan reveals ulcer, the green patch, which is where the scar tissue formed.
I told the vet six times a day would be impossible. I work. It takes two people; my guy works. My nerves were already frazzled from a two-month roller coaster of giving eye drops, trips to the vet, her eye slowly healing then regressing. Over a weekend in late April, I found Samantha curled up in the closet and her eye crimson and swollen. She could barely open it. I rushed her to the vet. A different antibiotic and anti-inflammatory/pain killer was prescribed. These did nothing. I got her into the eye care vet later that week.
John and I attempted the first round of eye drops and could only get three of the four into her eye. After each drop we had to wait five minutes before giving the next. The stinging of the drops added to her misery and she let us know with cries and wriggling. I broke down. Through tears I tried to work with thoughts of Samantha facing surgery if I couldn’t administer the treatments. The pressure of needing to be vet tech extraordinaire and witnessing Samantha’s agony was devastating. Then I had an epiphany: Ya gotta know when to fold. That Friday afternoon, I boarded her at Laguna Hills Animal Hospital so their staff could administer the treatments. I learned that I couldn’t do it all, and being a good cat mama means knowing my limitations.
A little loopy on gabapentin.
Samantha adapted to the cone, which she gracefully wore for a month. I took it off for short spells so she could groom.
Samantha has had three follow-up visits, and with each visit, showed progress in healing. At her exam three weeks ago, the eye scan revealed that she was almost fully healed. The rigorous treatment plan was reduced to what John and I can handle; one drop and ointment twice a day. And I learned that the scar tissue would dissolve, but could take several months. Yet, it’s already a shadow of what it was back then. I’m hopeful that Samantha’s July 3rd check up will be the last.
Samantha’s most recent vet visit–she’s clearly feeling better!
Juxtaposed to this trauma was the excitement of seeing my story, “Samantha” in Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from My Cat, released on May 20th, which can be purchased in bookstores and online. Since the ‘90s, I’ve had several of the books in this award-wining series. Turning to Page 224 of the latest edition about the feline-human bond and seeing the story of how Samantha and I came to be is beyond belief.
And what better way to help heal a weary soul than with a little chicken soup?
