Plan B-

I remain a denizen of the Coolidge Nebula, a place rife with cause and effect explosions. My vet has deployed her receptionist to call various compounding pharmacies including mail order, since options aren’t a significant industry in our corner of the universe. But it does seem that no one but a major pharmaceutical company is likely to make injectable formulations, because special sterility conditions are required. This keeps us stuck with transdermal administration. But I should be thankful–and I am thankful–that there are thyroid remedies besides radiation and surgery.

I brought Coolidge to the vet to shave a patch of hair on his back between his shoulder blades. I’ll be able to shave him myself next time he needs a trim. The skin isn’t so thin there, and a light fuzz of hair is left. The hope is that I can use the stuff we have without irritation, at least until a kinder-gentler formula can be found. The location on his back is the one place he can’t get at with his paws or his tongue.

I’m whooshed; my pain meds are no match for the day. Coffee. . .

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