Tucker endured his first curve this weekend. I started poking him in the ear with a needle at 5.30, Saturday morning, and repeated the procedure every two hours until 5.30 in the afternoon, from one insulin injection to the other. The blood from each stab wound was read by the glucometer, but his numbers did not descend below 20. This was a bit disappointing to me, but the information the veterinarian required has been sent to her, and I will hear from her tomorrow.
What a good cat Tucker was through the whole day. It was an ordeal for him, I know. More than half the time, I could not draw blood immediately, which necessitated poking him a second or even third time. When I did produce blood, I brought forth too much of it. By the penultimate stabbing session, he was moving his head away from the needle; he had had enough. But I don’t know who was more relieved at 5.30 p.m., Tucker or myself.
Though his ears must have felt like he had traversed the Canadian Shield in the late spring of a heavy mosquito season, my roly poly one was in good spirits Saturday. He is weaker in the rear now, though this should improve once his insulin is regulated. The surprising thing is that he is using the steps at the bottom of the bed at least once every weekend morning. That’s when we sleep in (after first getting up for his 5.30 insulin shot then going back to bed.) Tucker likes to come up on the bed, and I would know if he were jumping or trying to jump onto it. One feels sixteen pounds of cat when it lands. But instead, I notice that he is softly stepping into a place at the end of the comforter. He is learning.
I am learning, as well. Tomorrow, I will know what the next step is in fighting Tucker’s diabetes. Each day brings me more knowledge and experience in the battle, and soon, each day, Tucker will feel better.