Hello? – or – Trials of a Cat Caregiver

Today I visited my veterinary clinic to pick up thyroid medication for our cat Tilly. For several years now she’s been on 2.5 mg of felimazole twice a day.

"I'm old, what do you want?"

After bloodwork done yesterday it was discovered we need to up the dosage. I expected to hear she would go onto 5 mg twice a day like our girl Luna did many years ago.

No.

Instead, the woman instructed us to administer two pills in the morning and one in the evening. Great. I shove Tilly’s pills down with my thumb. Now I have to do it to the poor old gal twice in the mornings?

Then it dawned on me to see if I could request one bottle of 2.5 mg tablets and another of 5. So I did. One is bright pink, the 5 mg bright orange, so even if I’m sleepy it’s unlikely I’ll mix them up. As added insurance, I’m storing the evening dose’s bottle near the alarm clock set up as daily reminder (engrossed in some show or movie, I tend to lose track of time).

This afternoon it took three tries to explain what I wanted. At one point the receptionist actually agreed to have the prescription changed from the 2.5, adding, “But then you’ll have to cut them in half for the evening dose.”

It took an effort not to roll my eyes. Meanwhile, cutting those tiny, slick things in half is near impossible. I started over.

Not a young woman, she didn’t even have the sense to be embarrassed. At least I got what I wanted. And I saved money.

One hundred tablets of the lower dose costs way more than half what is charged for the five milligram pills. I could spend $74.28 every fifty days versus $61.06.

That isn’t a lot. But when you live on a severely restricted income, you tend to notice how fast those dollars add up. And I would have needed to pick up a bottle every darn month. Time is even more valuable. I’m so glad I made the effort now to get this squared away.

Do you think most people blindly follow doctors’ instructions without question?

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