The doctor said, basically, that we were down to two choices. We could either have him put to sleep, or they could give him a transfusion and send him home, where we could keep medicating him in the hope that he'd improve.
Well, we thought about it. But he seemed a lot brighter and he was playful. If he'd just been lying there in distress it would have been different, but we asked the doctor to arrange the transfusion.
He had the transfusion on thursday evening, and we went up there yesterday afternoon to pick him up.
And he's in pretty good shape, as might have been expected with billions of fresh red cells hurtling around his body. He's been shaved in a lot more places, including around the eye that was swollen up, and now he looks a bit like Bill the Cat. He's a little wobbly on his feet still, but he's been in a cage at the RVC for almost a fortnight and, while the cages up there are really roomy, I might be a bit wobbly under those circumstances.
Now. Things are still very serious. At the moment the red cells he got from the transfusion are still there. Presumably they're being attacked by his white cells, though, and the count will be going down. His survival is predicated on blitzing his immune system, which has its own dangers. The hospital have given us a big bag of medications. He gets more steroids. He gets antibiotics. He also gets an immunosuppressant that we have to keep in the fridge and give to him while wearing gloves.
We are conscious that this really is the last throw of the dice, and if it doesn't work he's basically come home to die. The doctor says the effects of the transfusion should last until the middle of next week, and he has to have a blood test towards the end of the week. If the immunosuppressants don't work, there really is nothing else we can do.