I woke at 5:00 AM to the sound of Milk's having a seizure. At first, I didn't realize what was happening. It's been quite a while, and things have been going so well with him. I thought last night that it was amazing how much back to normal he is with the reduced phenobarbital, except for the continued anorexia. He's been getting the compounded capsules instead of the awful grape liquid Keppra for four days. I can't imagine that he's getting any less Keppra from the pills than from the uncertain amounts I was squirting into his mouth three times a day.
It was dark when the first seizure started, and I didn't want to turn on the light or move him. There was the usual jerking body movements and foaming. When it stopped, after probably less than a minute - I don't know how long it was going on before I woke up - he didn't do his usual pacing. He just sat and let me wipe his chest and face. Then he snuggled up against me. I thought that it was over, and was wondering why he didn't want food like he did after previous seizures. And then, he sort of looked over my shoulder with a kind of haunted look in his eyes - hard to describe, but it was like he saw something unpleasant coming. And then saliva started to drip from the corner of his mouth. He looked scared, and his eyes got real pink around the outside edges. I thought, like a dope, that maybe I could interrupt the seizure before it started by talking to him and stroking him. Didn't work. He collapsed on his side and the jerking and foaming started again. It seemed shorter this time than the previous time. I cleaned him up again, and then he wanted to get down. I gave him a can of food, and he ate almost all of it. There was still none of the ritualistic pacing.
I went back to the living room with the phone and called the emergency hospital. (Dr. L. had left me valium and catheters there, but I didn't get them picked up.) Short of bringing him in for them to look at, the emergency people didn't have anything to offer. The receptionist said to call the regular number for Dr. L and they'd leave a message in her voicemail. Which I did. The 2nd receptionist took the information and I thought she said that she'd have the doctor on call return my call. When the phone rang, I had to ask who it was - it's now 5:45 AM - and it turned out to be a very sleepy Dr. L, who had been awakened for my call. Apparently, there isn't a doctor on call, exactly. She asked how long Milk had been at the reduced phenobarb dosage of 8mg bid, and I wasn't sure - I thought it had been two weeks - then I looked on here, and it's only been 11 days. She said I could bring him to the emergency hospital if I thought it was necessary. Othewise, I should watch him and see if there are more seizures, and that I could make a "technician appointment" for blood work next week. Which I guess I will do. And I need to pick up the stupid valium, too.
This is very upsetting. Things were going so well. He is - except for the still very diminished appetite - pretty much totally himself again. I can't remember the last time he fell. He looks alert and aware. He's hopping and jumping all over the place, and snuggling with the other cats just like before. I wanted it all to be over with.
To make things even worse, while I was mopping up Milk from the second seizure, Burble jumped on Scruffy, who dragged himself and the orange pain-in-the-neck toward the kitchen. When Scruffy came out - apparently having eaten some of the food that Milk didn't finish from his second can - he was noticeably limping on his right front foot. He let me pick him up and test him, and touch his foot. I didn't see anything wrong with it - no blood or anything. He didn't fuss about my lightly squeezing it. I put him down and he limped over to the tv stand and tried to crawl behind it. I don't need TWO of them to be dragging to the emergency hospital.
My mother wanted me to come down and take pictures of her hundred year old mulberry tree, or whatever it is, today. Now I'm afraid to leave both Scruffy and Milk. This was NOT supposed to happen.
