A Maxie Miracle at Pinnacle Hill
Life's path takes takes you on a lot of twists and turns. And lurches. You never know what's around the next corner.
Maxie entered our lives in a very unexpected way. I was at our friends Brenda's place, helping her with some tasks, and we went over to the other farm. When we got there, there was a pickup sitting in her driveway, near the house, blocking the way. She didn't recognize the truck. Trespassers were hunting on her property. I checked, and the door was unlocked and there were keys in the truck. She got out of my car and jumped in the truck and started it and moved it out of the road. I would have had it towed away, but she just moved it.
The two hunters appeared from behind the nearest line of trees. They had break barrel .22's, so they were hunting small game or birds, as I took it: without permission. I bristled, and said to Brenda, "Do you know these guys?" It's ON. I can't stand trespassers.
"Yeah". She started making small talk with them about how they were doing. They had been around the house and the barnyard, and mentioned they heard little kittens somewhere.
We bid the hunters adieu, and went to the shed to get what she came for, and we heard the kittens. They were under a piece of decking leaning up against the barnyard fence. Three sets of piercing blue eyes in little round heads greeted us from that humble abode: a calico, a mottled brown one, and a blonde one with a white face. For kittens that came from a feral cat, and had never seen humans before, they were uncustomarily friendly, making up with us immediately. We didn't realize at the time that what we perceived as friendliness was likely hunger. Their momma cat was a calico herself; almost completely feral, and calico's can be notoriously poor mothers at the best of times. Feral? All bets are off.
We named them Minnie (the calico), Tippy (the mottled one, because she has a light coloured tip on her tail), and Maxie, because the blonde one was a particularly strong little male.
The hunter's truck started and we saw it drive out the long driveway towards the road and leave.
As we were driving out ourselves later, and passed where they were sitting, Brenda turned to me and said, "I didn't actually know those guys".
"WHAT?!"
"I saw the way you got with them, but they had guns".
"Their barrels were both broken. They weren't a threat that way. You just let two trespassers away with it!"
"I know, but I wanted you to be safe. They won't likely be back now". She was probably right, but the Scotsman in me grieved the loss of opportunity to take a pair of law breakers caught red handed to task.
Brenda kept her eye on the kittens over the next several days. She made sure their mother was well fed with lots of food in the nearby woodshed. The two females subsequently disappeared, leaving Maxie behind, squalling. Momma cats move kittens. They can only do it one at a time, so one being left behind isn't unusual. What was unusual was she didn't seem to be coming back for Maxie. I was over one afternoon, and Brenda wanted to feed the mom. We went over, and Maxie was still alone. We decided to try to do something. The momma cat was in the woodshed, waiting to be fed. We picked up Maxie, and put him by the feed dish, and retreated, watching to see what would happen. He squalled something fierce. The momma cat came down off the woodpile, and ate at the dish, seemingly uninterested in Max. Our hearts sunk; she was abandoning him. Sometimes mother cats just do that. They favour one or two, and abandon the rest. Or all of them. There's no rhyme or reason that we can see for it. We had put some cream down along with her kibble for the momma to give her hydration and high energy food for feeding them. Max smelled it and scrambled in, nearly drowning himself. He snorted and sneezed and coughed, but he retained a little bit of it. He kept up a steady squalling, to which there was no response of concern from his mother. We still held back, hoping her maternal instincts would kick back in at his pleas. Finally, our wishes were granted, sort of, when she picked him up and started across the yard with him. She wasn't carrying him by the scruff, though; she was carrying him by his head. Crazy calico cat.
We were greatly encouraged when she went into a pile of scrap metal on the other side of the yard, and instantly there was a response of kitten mews coming from within. The whereabouts of Maxie's two sisters were unbeknownst to us until that moment. She brought Max back to his sisters; everything's going to be alright. They're only in a scrap pile of steel for a home, but you gotta count your blessings when you've only got a calico for your caretaker, right? Some are good, yes, but there is something genetic in calico's that make them a wild card in the feline world.
Brenda kept her watchful eye on them over the next two or three days, and the kittens would tumble out of the scrap pile to greet her. I thought order was restored.
That impression was shattered by her next email: "There is something wrong with the blonde little guy"
"What's the matter??"
"He is dying. I don't know how to help him."
"Meet you over there in 20 or 25 minutes."
"Ok. He is dying in my arms."
This is bad. Something's really gone haywire with that darn calico. I explained the situation to Sharon. It was almost suppertime, but she knows me and my massive soft spot for cats. "I'll come too". She doesn't differ much from me.
We drove down as quickly as we could. There is no shortcut from our place to that farm. You have to go south, then west, then backtrack back up north. There is connecting road missing, and it takes more time to get there than it should. We drove in the long farm lane and up to the scrap pile where Brenda was standing. Maxie was in her hands, limp, flat, and almost lifeless; starved. That stupid cat!
I took control of the situation. "We have to take him over to your house and get some food into him, right now. We don't have a moment to spare". Sharon took Max in her hands and we got back in the car and drove over to Brenda's house. She followed in her truck, and we got busy when we got there. She had a little kitten feeding kit and we broke it open and tried to get some whole milk into him. He was nearly lifeless, eyes closed, barely breathing. We put milk on his tongue, and Sharon massaged his throat, which helped to make him swallow. The situation was desperate; critical, almost without hope. I said, "We need to pray..." but I choked up. I always choke up in prayer when I need to buck up in prayer. I positively hate that about myself. I looked at Sharon, and she knew. We all held hands, and she prayed, in that wonderful, uplifting, leading, comforting fashion that those of you who know her have likely heard and been moved by. She glorified God, and asked Him for His Divine intercession in this critical matter. We all said our Amens, and our thoughts turned to the other two kittens.
We decided to leave Sharon trying to get whatever she could into Max, while Brenda and I went back to check on Minnie and Tippy. We took the rest of the feeding kit with us. Getting there, we found that, while they were at least better off than Max, they weren't doing well at all, either. They were starving too, but not to the edge of death like poor Maxie. We tried feeding them some whole milk with the kit, but the latex material on the nipple 'healed' over, and wouldn't let us get anything into them. The nipple blew off the bottle and just soaked the kittens, frustrating them and us. I said, "This isn't working! Let's take them back to the house, too". Brenda agreed, and held them in her hands and got into the car. We took them away from that careless mother, never to be returned to her. She will be trapped and taken to the vet's to be spayed so this never happens again.
We now had three helpless kittens on our hands, not one. They were all far too young to be weaned. Sharon had continued to get some milk into Maxie, one tiny drop at a time, massaging it down his throat while we were gone. Minnie and Tippy were easier to feed. Minnie right from the start. Tippy was much less responsive, which was worrying, but we finally got her eating, too. Brenda's kitchen table under the light fixture was a flurry of kitten feeding that evening as we worked to save them all. Max started to open his eyes from time to time. Once or twice he moved his head a little.
To save them all, we had to come up with a long term--or at least intermediate term--plan. Three of them in such a state was way too much for one person. Brenda has been having a lot of trouble with her left arm and hand, so that made the situation even more difficult. We decided to split them up. Max was in no condition to travel, so we left him with Brenda. Sharon and I brought Minnie and Tippy home to our place. As we turned onto Hwy. 60, Sharon turned to me in the dashboard light, and said, "You know he isn't very likely going to make it, right?" I replied that I certainly did, but, if Brenda could get him through the night, he had a chance.
Brenda never stopped trying to feed him all night. That was the night of September 13. The next day she had him so strong he was able to sit up. The picture shown here was September 16; after being fed; able to sit up, stand up, and walk around; an absolute Miracle after the state we found him in. Nobody would have ever given him a chance. But the Crazy Cat People of Cobden did.
When we looked up a home made kitten formula, we found how much we were supposed to be feeding them. We were shocked. We weren't feeding them anywhere nearly enough compared to the charts for their apparent age. The realization of the Miracle that Max was alive weighed upon all of our hearts. He gained a second name: Miracle. Maxie Miracle. That was our little guy.
Minnie and Tippy thrived. There was nothing mini about Minnie's appetite. When she latched on to a syringe of formula, she actually sucked the plunger home herself on almost half of them. Tippy was a chewer, but Minnie was positively a Hoover wrapped in fur. I had no idea how powerful a kitten's suction was or could be until I saw her in action myself. It was incredible to watch the plunger go down by itself as she sucked syringe after syringe almost inside out. As Maxie got stronger, Brenda reported he sometimes started sucking syringes home as well. Tippy never did, but she thrived, even though she would chew so frantically that we saw blood in her little pink mouth a couple of times.
One day, Brenda emailed that Maxie had thrown up. He did it again as she was typing. Dehydration from any stomach upset was a real danger so early on. We took him completely off the canned kitten milk replacer she got at the pet food store to the home made formula we found online with whole milk, an egg yolk, and a few drops of vegetable oil, and his gastronomical malady immediately disappeared and never returned. Only his growing boy appetite remained. All of them much preferred the home made formula over the store bought one, and it was at least a quarter of the price to boot.
All of them were out of the woods. Feeding time was frenetic at our house as the girls flailed their front paws at the syringe as we fed Tippy, or Minnie good and well fed herself. Maxie grew and strengthened. Brenda would bring him to the shop for play dates with his sisters. It was amazing to see him, from death's very door step, to boisterously romping and rolling around with Minnie & Tippy on the carpeted filter and fuel pump room floor in our shop. Maxie Miracle: that was him. He turned into a solid, robust, wooly little fella, that looked like a piece of carpet wrapped around a toilet tissue roll. He became her constant little companion, always at her feet in the house, if he couldn't be napping on her lap.
The lurch came November 10, when I got several emails from Brenda:
"Help"
"Pray for Maxie"
"Maxie is at the vet we had an accident they are assessing him now"
This has got to be critical. Brenda doesn't like drama. She is very low key. She doesn't talk like that for nothing. She wasn't exaggerating when she said he was dying in her arms, and she won't be exaggerating now. I said a quick prayer and tore home and Sharon and I held hands and prayed again. Her day was committed, so she couldn't come, but I went straight to the Pinnacle Hill Animal Hospital.
Arriving there I saw Brenda's truck situated diagonally across two parking spots. She obviously parked in a hurry. I asked what room she was in, and the receptionist told me. I went in, and first saw Maxie laying on his chest on a thick towel with his head up and his eyes open. Oh, thank goodness, it's not as bad as she first thought. Then I heard Brenda sobbing. I turned, and her completely tear drenched face immediately told a completely different story.
"I stepped on him. He has internal injuries. His diaphragm is torn. And the muscles that hold it in place. His intestine went through his diaphragm. He needs surgery to repair it but he's not likely going to make it. It's all my fault!". She broke back down into inconsolable sobbing.
Self blame is automatic in a situation like this. I tried to tell her it wasn't her fault. That Maxie runs into feet all the time. It's just his way. He crossed her path at the last possible split second with her in mid stride and she trod on him between the bone structure of his pelvis and his shoulders. She'd never hurt a pet on purpose in a million years. It just... happened. Not her fault. Nonetheless, her complete devastation was terrible to witness. Heartbreaking.
It made me cry too. Yes, I am a 55 year old farmboy, but I have a heart. This was beyond terrible. We brought Maxie back from the brink to see him blossom into the happy-go-lucky, self possessed kamakazi little character he had become, only to lose him now? It just didn't seem fair. People act like farm folk are heartless murderers. No, we most certainly are not. We derive no pleasure whatsoever out of taking a life. Not even close.
We know that animal looked around; it had Sight.
We know that animal listened: it had Hearing.
We know that animal enjoyed its food: it had Taste.
We know that animal sniffed the air: it had Smell.
We know that animal felt things it had contact with: it had Touch.
Never do we ever regard taking a life lightly. Just consider this: if you hold a farmer in contempt, but you've ever just once eaten a hamburger or a hotdog, you took that life just as much as we did. The difference is, the farmer FED that life; you only ate that life.
Loosing a life we fully intended to preserve as long as humanly possible as a beloved pet is even worse. Ever so much worse. Pets help alleviate the burden of life taking. Maxie came from a maximum effort to save. Now, after all of that, a sudden accident was going to take him away. Brenda had been through many deaths in the past few years. Cancer had swept through and took her Mom, then her dog, then her Dad, then her partner. And her precious cat had to be put to sleep due to illness in her old age. Now Max? She couldn't take another death and she said so. Sharon and I knew it and it weighed heavily on our minds. The three of us had a concentrated effort to save the little fella and his sisters, and now, not quite even two months later his time was up? It was pretty hard to accept that.
The lovely vet that attended to us was very honest. "His X-Rays are conclusive. They show his intestine has entered his chest cavity through his diaphragm. The diaphragm and the muscle surrounding it must be repaired."
The situation was very, very grave. There were three stages to his surgery, each fraught with risk. His chances? "Minimal". We asked questions. She gave us answers. They could loose him at any time. They didn't have a respirator and would have to do his breathing for him manually. If we went ahead, and anything went wrong at any stage or time, they would call us. We forgot to ask how long the surgery would last. I estimated 1½ to 3 hours by the description of the tasks. Probably closer to three by the level of complication the lady vet was impressing upon us. The adjective, 'minimal' kept creeping in. The expense was very high. We found that the surgeon, Dr. Pender, would have to go in through his chest, not the soft tissue of his abdomen. That meant cutting open his rib cage and jacking it apart; terrible suffering upon regaining consciousness. Like open heart surgery without touching the heart itself.
She left us again to our thoughts and decision. She wouldn't advise us either way; it was totally our decision to be made as it was a big one and we had to live with it.
We agonized over it. Brenda had earlier said to go ahead with the surgery, not realizing that meant access through his chest wall. Now she wasn't so sure. She asked me if she was being selfish. I told her there is nothing selfish in trying to preserve such a young life. Age was not a factor in the normal sense, but it was in how small he still was, making the surgery very tedious and delicate. Her eyes pleaded with me for an answer.
"If we don't do this, we go from "minimal" to nothing. And we have to live with the fact that we took away the only chance he had" I knew what we are both like. "We will be stuck with 'what if'; What if the surgery would have been successful? We will always wonder." I played both sides of the coin. While I didn't like the go ahead side for the possible suffering on Max's part, I didn't like the other side with closing those loving little eyes forever and taking away Brenda's little companion a whole lot more.
I went to our Faith. "Let's put this in the Lord's hands and go ahead". We held hands and I said one of the most fervent prayers of my life. When I got to Max's name, I choked and it took me several seconds to bring myself to say it. I stumbled my way through, but the Lord knows our hearts.
The nice lady vet came back in. This time our eyes met hers. We had resolve. "Go ahead. We want the surgery". This is our decision. No hesitancy. No backing down. What will be will be.
She brightened a little. "Dr. Pender is with a patient, but he will be free to start surgery at 2:15". It was about 10 to 2, so not much time, and time was very much of the essence. "I will take Max in and we will get him prepped and ready for Dr. Pender as soon as he is available".
I said to Max, "You get better, Maxie, so you can come and have a play date with your sisters", and with that, she gently but swiftly spirited him out to get him ready. They saw his character. They wanted to give him a chance too.
Brenda drove her truck home. I followed her in my car. She was a mess when we got there. "I can't believe I left him behind. I can't stand leaving him behind!", she sobbed.
"We didn't leave him behind. We gave him his one and only chance".
I needed to get gas earlier, but the sudden drive to the animal hospital for Max put me right to empty. The surgery and recovery could take a long time and then the gas station nearest would be closed and I couldn't get home. But I couldn't leave her like that. I wanted to know too anyway. Needed to know. Had to know. This wait was going to be interminable. "I have to get gas to get home. Come with me and we'll go to Gourley's and I'll fill up". We drove down to the end of her road and into the gas station. It became apparent to me how heavily the whole thing was impacting me, too, when I drove up to the gas pump on the wrong side. I turned around and when the attendant came I just told him to fill it up.
Driving back to her farm, I realized it was about 2 o'clock, and I hadn't eaten lunch. "Would you like to get something to eat to kill some time?" What a terrible choice of words! Stupid, stupid, stupid! I mentally punched myself three times in the face for that.
If she was affected by my verbal blunder, she managed not to show it.
"I haven't eaten either".
We turned at the next side road and headed to town, back past the hospital where Maxie was now likely finishing his prep for surgery.
In Renfrew, I asked Brenda what she wanted. The kind of food hadn't even entered my mind, just something to do to make the clock move. "A sub". Okay, so we went to Subway.
Arriving at the outlet, Brenda's leaving her mask in her truck presented a challenge. I had mine in the car. I didn't have one at the vet's and they gave me one to go in. Now Brenda didn't have one. This is all so friggin' stupid anyway. I went in and asked if they had masks for customers. No, they didn't. I came back out, and we agreed to share mine. Brenda went in and ordered hers. It came to me to go across the street to the drug store and buy some there. No, I need a stupid mask just to go in to be able to buy a package of stupid masks! Oh, for cryin' out loud... Brenda came out and gave my mask back to me. I put the ridiculous thing back on and went in and ordered mine. Brenda was sitting at a table next the street when I came back out. "Let's eat in the car. I feel naked out here," I murmured. The idea of anyone seeing the emotional struggle we were experiencing was not tenable. I felt like it showed right through.
In the car, we broke out our sandwiches and drinks. I love Baked Lays chips with a sub, but I was so distracted I forgot to get any. Brenda shared hers with me. In my clumsiness, I knocked them on the floor. She called "5 second rule!", and I grabbed them, but kept dropping them again. Today had all kinds of extenuating circumstances so I declared a 20 second exception and finally gathered my share off of the floor and set them in my lap. I think it was closer to 25 seconds, but at least it made that darn clock tick.
"Is it selfish to be eating when Max is so sick?" She was looking for any reason to hold herself guilty as charged.
"No. And it helps take our minds off of it a bit and" (careful now, ya dumb dope) "pass some time".
Now it was time for Grace, and, most importantly, another prayer for Maxie. "Dear Lord Jesus, please bless this wonderful food for our use. And please, please guide the surgeon's hand, steady him, give him wisdom, guidance, and insight to do what he needs to do". I cannot remember the rest, but it all had to do with taking Max all the way through to a complete recovery. "We are powerless in this, Lord, so we now lay this at Your Feet. We ask these things, humbly and beseetchingly, in Jesus's Holy Name. Amen".
"Amen. Thank You, Jesus". Brenda always added a 'thank You' in her sincerity towards her Saviour.
We ate slowly and talked slowly. And talked slowly and ate slowly. I don't know about her, but I hardly tasted a thing. A quarter to three. "Max has been in surgery for half an hour".
"They haven't called".
"No news is good news". What could I say? We knew nothing but had to grasp on to something.
A truck drove in and up beside us right beside the passenger door. There were no other vehicles in the parking lot so no reason to park so close. "He's gonna ding your door". I looked over at him and he looked stupid. Maybe it was just the mask. But he appeared to be wearing it while driving by himself. Yeah, he's stupid. I quickly started the car and backed out before he could open his door against ours. I drove down to the lower parking area and parked well away from where even stupid people would likely park.
We looked around and discussed our surroundings. Anything. We talked about the weather, the sky, the pavement, wood pellets. Anything. I kept poking at the recall button on the radio with the car shut off. Finally. "Three o'clock. Max has been in surgery for 45 minutes".
"That's good, right?"
"It's not bad". It just... it just is.
More mindless talk. Maybe we solved the world's problems. I hardly remember a word. The traffic went by above us on the street. The time didn't. At least it didn't seem to. Why are clocks so interminably slow when you for once in your adult life want time to pass by quickly? But not to a bad end. Then we don't want the clock to move at all. Damn it this is maddening!
"Three fifteen. Max has been in surgery for an hour".
We talked about our lives in the past. We talked about the instability of the world, and our uncertain near future. Changing tires. Brenda not having socks on in her runners because she left home so quickly. What I was doing in the shop that morning. The weather was nice. The stupid clock isn't moving. There's crumbs on the floor. Thank goodness for the sunroof in this black interior in the sun or we would be getting cooked.
"Three thirty. Max has been in surgery for an hour and fifteen minutes".
He's still alive. The surgery must be almost halfway through. So far so good.
Brenda's phone rang. We jumped, jolted half out of our skins! She fumbled in her pocket for the phone, her hand not cooperating with her intent. Three thirty one PM. Pinnacle Hill Animal Hospital. Three thirty one PM: an hour and sixteen minutes. Too soon! Too soon!
Our eyes wide as saucers and locked on each others, and our hearts pounding in our throats, Brenda tentatively answered, "Hello??"
This is it. Brace yourself...
"Hi, Brenda, this is Doctor..." I still can't remember that lovely lady's name. She sounds upbeat for some reason. She's trying to make this easier on us...
"Max is out of surgery and in recovery. He is awake and looking around..."
WHAT?!?! Our mouths dropped open.
"Oh thank God!" Brenda never passed up an opportunity to do so.
"He is doing fine. Dr. Pender went in through his abdomen, and the repair was nowhere nearly as involved as we thought..."
"You didn't go in through his chest?!"
"No. We went through the abdomen". No sawn and jacked ribs! Oh, thank You, Lord...
"So his prognosis has gone up?"
"Way up. The surgery didn't take nearly as long as we thought. Our finding was Max's diaphragm is not perforated. The muscle is not torn. He did have a lacerated liver which Dr. Pender stitched up. He has two fractured ribs which caused some air to leak in his chest from his lung, but that will heal on its own. I am so happy to tell you we made a completely wrong diagnosis..."
"No you didn't. That was a Miracle!" It was my turn to give credit to the Lord. She had told us flat out his X-Rays were "conclusive" and they showed "his intestine has entered his chest cavity through his diaphragm". I don't think you can misconstrue that.
"Max is going to make a complete recovery. He is on pain medication and loving it... " We could just picture that. "We are going to keep him overnight for observation, but we are confident you can take him home tomorrow".
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" That was both of us.
"You're most welcome. It was our pleasure".
Incredible. A Miracle has taken place in the little guy's body. 'A sparrow doesn't fall...'
Rejoicing, we hugged each other.
"We made the right decision!"
"We made the right decision!"
"We put it in the Lord's Hands, and look how He saw us through! We got a Miracle on top of it!"
When I asked for the Lord to guide the surgeon's hand, never did I even dare to think He would guide him to not go through Maxie's chest! The whole surgery was about the desperate situation of cutting his chest open and working from inside his chest cavity! Then, if that wasn't enough, while the X-Rays showed his intestine intruding into his chest cavity, it wasn't there when they went in! Nor was there any tear in his diaphragm. Not a misdiagnosis. We heard his ragged, laboured breathing.
I quoted Mark 11:23 "... That whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith." I didn't get the last part word for word, but the gist was completely intact.
She looked at me, amazed. "How do you remember that?!"
"I can't remember anything else!" That struck her funny bone in perfect pitch, and laughter took her over completely. It was good for her after such a day. It was good for me. Yeah, my memory, or near complete lack thereof, has always been a joke to those who know me.
We got out of the car, and found ourselves coming down from a major infusion of adrenaline. Or something. Our hands (well, mine at least) were shaking. We exhaled and shook our bodies down several times, trying to flush whatever it was we were riding on. It just didn't go away that readily or easily. The incredible, baited breath tension we had been holding finally had release, but our valves just weren't big enough. So it took time. We had time now. Most importantly Max had it.
What a roller coaster.
He was quite a sight when we picked him up the following afternoon. "Look at his eyes!" They were like black saucers. Hilarious. And an absolute delight and blessing to see.
"Oh yes, he's seeing three of you right now". Meaning, three of anyone. I don't know about you, but I think one of most people is plenty.
Here is our pie-eyed, very stoned, hospital-shirted Maxie back home, well on his way to a complete recovery.
"Minimal". Not in God's Hands! Not by a long shot. When you put your cares in the Hands of our Lord, it's MAXIMAL!
We got a Maxie Miracle. Again.
If you put your faith wholeheartedly in Him, God will see you through.
May the Good Lord bless all those who read this. Amen.
Comments
Post a Comment