Brix Comes Home
It's unbelievable
Brix Is Home
As I write this, Brix is snacking on some Tiki Cat for Kittens, chowing down on the food like there is no tomorrow. The irony is that, for a time last week, he almost didn’t have a tomorrow. Yet here he is, in our house, prowling around and yelling at me for his second supper.
I’ll do my best to break down how things changed since the last Substack post because things moved quickly in a whirlwind. Also so many new people joined, I’m just retelling the story. Also I’ve noticed my writing style is a bit loopy in places. Apologies ahead of time.
The Recap
Sunday: We noticed something was wrong with Brix. He was lethargic, I thought his breathing was off, and Kris had her Spidey-senses tingling that something wasn’t right. We brought him into the Pet Hospital late Sunday and, during intake, aside from a bit of a crackle in his breathing, nothing seemed amiss. The vet said he was healthy enough to go home, but to monitor him carefully. Out of an abundance of caution, we had bloodwork and X-rays done, just in case.
This turned out to be a huge deal because it caught two things. One was some whiteness in his abdomen (which we now know was fluid building up), and the other was surprisingly low platelets.
The vet said that, based on those findings, Brix should probably remain at the hospital for observation.
Monday: A call from the hospital was not good. Kris was in the middle of supervising an exam, so I rushed in, and Brix had taken a nosedive. He was struggling to breathe (a 4/4) and was literally on death’s door. He was also in an incubator on more than 50% oxygen.
I wrote in the previous post that the vet said that, without immediate treatment, Brix would die.
I was broken into a thousand pieces for my little cat.
We started steroid treatment because he was presenting as severely asthmatic.
Tuesday: The treatment appeared to help a bit. Brix went from a 4/4 to a 2/4 but rapidly deteriorated outside of his incubator with 50% oxygen. The vet team was also not convinced it was asthma because the steroids should have helped a bit more. However, he was improving.
Wednesday: Devastating news came with new scans. Though he was clinically stable, his whole body, chest, and abdomen were filled with fluid.
At this point, this was really bad news.
It suggested something far worse than asthma, and a chest puncture was required to collect the fluid and test it.
Wednesday Evening: The fluid was inconclusive. It wasn’t an infection, it wasn’t likely cancer, and they tested it for FIP. It wasn’t FIP based on the albumin/globulin levels.
Brix was comfortable, and with the fluid removed, he was actually feeling pretty good.
Also, the vet couldn’t remove as much fluid as she wanted because the cavities, which should have been full of fluid, were actually a mixture of fluid and fibrous proteins that were gumming up the syringe.
While we waited to see how Brix did overnight, we started FIP antivirals just in case.
Adam and his girlfriend, Annalise, drove down to see Brix, and they got to visit him that evening in fine feisty form. He wanted to wrestle with Adam, and it showed us the kitty still had some fight in him.
Thursday: Thursday was a wait-and-see day. I arrived early that morning and gave him his FIP meds because he trusted me more than the vet techs, though I’m sure they would have gotten them into him just fine.
Brix slowly improved dramatically from early morning to evening.
We decided against any further invasive diagnostic tests, like a CT scan, because he was improving and his platelets had come back up to normal. By the end of the day they had dialed his oxygen down to 38%, and he was tolerating it.
We felt more hope that night than at any time before.
Also—and this is wild—a macaw came in while we were visiting late in the evening. The poor bird was also having trouble breathing.
Guess where this huge parrot had to go?
Into the same incubator as Brix.
I honestly thought they were going to have them share because it was an emergency for the bird, and I was like, I’m pretty sure Brix and the bird are going to be great roommates. That was sarcasm.
But I’m stupid when I’m tired and stressed.
They obviously split the incubator into two and put up a divider between the bird and the cat.
You’ll just have to believe us that this happened because we didn’t take any video. The bird was someone else’s beloved pet, and we weren’t about to ask for permission.
Anyway, the bird could talk, I think, and it kept muttering, “Did you wash your hands?” and then something that sounded suspiciously like “bullshit.”
It was surreal.
The bird went home later that evening in stable condition.
This is definitely going to become a joke in Texts From Bunsen.
Friday
Overnight, his oxygen was dialed down even further, and when I visited him in the morning to give him his FIP meds (again, I’m sure they could have done it there, but I think they felt it was good for my mental health to be part of it), he was bright and cheery.
REALLY feisty.
That morning I asked if I could hold him, and because he was doing so well, the vet tech said sure.
They opened up his incubator, and I scooped him up into my arms.
He melted into me for a hug.
A surge of warmth spread through me as I felt his soft fur, and his bare skin where he had been shaved for procedures. He purred and tucked his head into my neck.
In the soft darkness of that room in the ICU, I burst into tears.
It was a brief release of emotions, and it was only a short little snuggle.
My little cat was alive.
He was in my arms, and I felt a great heaviness fall from my body.
His oxygen was dialed down to 30%—just a bit above the atmospheric amount we all breathe.
Morning to Afternoon on Friday
My students had their final exams that day, so I had to get to school early. I fielded last-minute questions all the way up to lunch when Kris texted me.
At that point I was supervising the exam, so I stepped out (don’t worry, there were a bunch of other teachers on duty) and called her.
She said there was GREAT news.
Amazing news.
Since about 9 a.m.—shortly after Kris had left following her morning visit—they had turned his oxygen off, and he was breathing normal air.
He had been moved out of his incubator and into a normal kennel.
He did great.
No decompensation.
No struggling to breathe.
It was amazing.
Early Evening
Kris and I both went in to see Brix after school, and we were led into an exam room.
Normally we’d head back to the ICU and slip into the dark room where the incubator was, but instead we sat in a normal exam room.
This would usually be BAD news (as it was on Wednesday with the fluid situation), but we already knew the reason why.
Brix was being brought to us for snuggles in FREE AIR. (that’s an EXPANSE reference for the nerds out there).
The vet tech brought little Brix in, all wrapped up in a blanket, and placed him in Kris’ arms. The rest is some of the footage you may have seen on social media.
It was surreal.
After about twenty minutes of snuggling and cuddling, Dr. Sparrow (one of the main vets on Brix’s case) came in to talk with us.
She said she had run another ultrasound, and the fluid in Brix’s abdomen was nearly gone. His chest fluid hadn’t gotten any worse.
Everything about his case was baffling.
I should mention that Dr. Sparrow had a veterinary medicine student with her all week. In a cute, shy kind of way, the student asked if she could present Brix’s case for her final project once she returned to university.
The assignment was to find a unique case from their practicum to present to her classmates, and she said Brix’s case couldn’t have been more unique.
We had a team of about seven amazing emergency veterinarians working on Brix over the week, with something like fifty years of collective experience between them. They had trained and worked in different parts of Canada, the United States, and around the world.
Every one of them was scratching their head.
She gave Brix a pet (which he absolutely loved) and said he would get her an A.
Just kidding.
She didn’t say that.
But in the movie adaptation of this story, I’ll make sure the writers put that in.
Dr. Sparrow also said that Brix literally could have been discharged that second if we wanted.
However, she suggested one more night of observation.
And, as luck would have it, a freaking CARDIOLOGIST was coming to Cedarwood on Saturday to perform echocardiograms for patients in the Red Deer area.
He had an opening.
And...
...well...
...he kind of wanted to do one on Brix.
This was important for a couple of reasons.
Let’s back up two days.
One thing Dr. Sparrow suspected when Brix filled with fluid was that something might be wrong with his heart.
Congestive heart disease could explain the fluid, or high hydrostatic pressure, but determining whether something was wrong with Brix’s heart meant having an echocardiogram.
The problem was that Brix was far too sick to travel to Calgary, where echocardiograms are normally done.
She told us that if Brix improved—and at the time that was still a pretty big if—we should seriously consider having one done to rule out any heart issues.
Of course we said yes.
Brix was staying one more night at Hotel Cedarwood.
We came back later that evening for another visit, and Brix was allowed to walk around the exam room.
Both Kris and I got some special snuggles and cuddles.
We also discovered those squeeze tubes of salmon and tuna goo.
Brix went absolutely BANANAS for them.
We kissed him goodbye.
The plan for the next day was the echocardiogram, which could diagnose everything from a minor heart problem to a major one.
I didn’t sleep very well that night.
Saturday
Brix had his appointment at 11:30 with Dr. Dave (sorry, I forget his last name), and they shaved him a little more. Kris and I helped hold him still for the scan.
He had electrodes placed on his skin, and then an ultrasound probe slathered in jelly was pressed against his chest.
We got to see his FREAKING HEART.
You may ask...how does one hold down a cat for thirty minutes while his heart gets scanned from a million different angles?
Well, one might remember we had just discovered those goo tubes.
Brix was more than happy to lie on his side while a stranger poked at his chest and he was gently pinned in place by me and the vet tech...provided Kris kept feeding him tube after tube of salmon goo.
Dr. Dave was pretty convinced there was something wrong with Brix’s heart based on his symptoms. He told us that whatever he found, because Brix was so young, there was a good chance it could be treated with medication or surgery.
That was a bit spooky.
So yeah...
Brix’s heart was perfect.
Nothing wrong.
Oh, and all of the fluid left in his chest was GONE.
Completely gone.
When Dr. Dave told Dr. Sparrow the fluid was gone, she said, “Bullshit,” and checked for herself.
It was gone.
Brix came home with us an hour later.
So Going Forward...
Brix has no official diagnosis.
He’s on the FIP treatment protocol for forty-two days, just in case it is FIP. The fact that he got rapidly better and the fluid disappeared certainly leans toward FIP.
Obviously, we’ve now ruled out heart disease.
He could still have something wrong with his liver instead of FIP...or something else entirely.
But unless we do a full-body CT scan—which may not even show anything—we simply don’t know.
Dr. Sparrow said that sometimes they never find out why patients get better.
They just do.
Sometimes, tragically, patients get worse and die, and they never know why that happened either.
The dogs were so excited to see Brix when we got him home.
Bernoulli especially.
Brix prowled around the house, getting sniffed and licked by everyone.
He was kissed and cuddled by us about a million times.
He’s now sleeping in his favourite spot (besides on our necks): high up on the wall in his hammock.
The very place where this whole story started late last Sunday.
In Closing...
I’d like to say just two things.
Brix’s stay in the hospital on oxygen for nearly a week was outrageously expensive (the oxygen was really what drove the cost), but we have pet insurance that should cover 80–90% of it.
A lot of folks have asked if we have a GoFundMe or something similar.
The answer is no.
We do have ways you can support us if you’d like, but most of them let you get something in return while helping us.
Subscribe to us here on Substack, follow us on social media, or join our community, The Paw Pack Plus.
Check out our store. We have some really fun things coming soon now that, hopefully, this nightmare is behind us and I can get back to working on them.
Or simply continue interacting with us on social media and listening to our podcast. Your comments over the past week have meant the world to us.
Kris and I are okay financially, and we’re able to cover Brix’s medical expenses.
I mentioned this in our last Substack, but the support from this community has been overwhelming. If you subscribed to us on social media, joined The Paw Pack, or picked something up from our store...Thank you. Thank you.
Finally, Brix is alive because of the veterinary team at Cedarwood.
They did everything they could to keep him alive early on Monday, and they worked through what was essentially a complete mystery, day after day.
They listened when we brought them ideas from the incredible crowd-sourcing of suggestions all of you sent us, which led to starting the FIP antivirals earlier than we otherwise might have.
They let us come see our little man whenever we wanted, quietly slipping us into the back of the ICU while chaos and heartbreak unfolded around us.
Working in veterinary medicine must be a profession filled with incredible stress and incredible sorrow.
If you know someone who works in that field, please tell them how much we appreciate what they do.
They are the first line of defense when something goes wrong with the creatures we love.
The four-legged creatures we call family.
They—and their colleagues—are the reason Bunsen is alive.
And now...
...so is Brix.
Until next week.
Let’s hope it’s a little less eventful, but hug and kiss your pets way more anyway just in case.
So, after what Bunsen went through, did Brix say "hold my catnip"?
It's not lost on me that the beloved cat of teachers taught a vet student who will use his case to teach others. Bunsen and Brix educating vets the world over. It's poetic.