Thong and a tap into cyberspace
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How searching on the Internet can throw up a lot of wrong answer
WITH ALL the problems Thong has been having recently, perhaps I’ve started to expect the worst.
Thong, one of my two “semi-resident” soi cats, is really pretty, but he’s also really clumsy, the only cat I know with four left feet.
During one of his many recent trips to the clinic, the vet finds a mass behind one of his shoulders. It looks like muscle that has hardened under his skin, and because it’s so large and so firm, poor Thong can’t walk without pain.
When the vet removes the mass, she cuts off a piece and sends it to the lab for further examination.
It takes over 10 days to get the results back. The lab guys have to run tests on it, make conclusions and then wait for an expert from Chulalongkorn to review their findings.
Meanwhile, Thong has a few more health problems, ending with a meeting with a spider. I almost forget about that lab test until my vet emails me the results.
Ordinarily, she’d phone me, to tell me if Thong needs further treatment, but it’s a very busy time at the clinic. I know she’ll phone me later, but I can’t wait. I don’t understand the lab’s technical wording, and my bad feelings are growing. I turn to the vast resources of the Internet.
When you need information, the Internet is full of explanations to help you. Besides, it’s good to get a second opinion, I think.
I type the lab’s conclusions into the search engine, and dozens of results appear on the screen, mainly from researchers, not from pet clinics or vets. I call up one entry, and words pop up at me: “cancer”, “tissue overgrowth”, “limited lifespan after symptoms appear”, “early death”.
This entry is a summary of a scientific study on one aspect of Thong’s diagnosis, not really an explanation for someone like me, who doesn’t have a full understanding of the technical terms in the lab report.
In growing panic, I call up other entries, but they’re technical papers too, and the key words are equally bad.
Thong is three or four years old, much too young for such frightening health problems. No one wants to watch a beloved pet die slowly, fading away despite anything you can do. You feel so bad for your pet, but how terrible you feel too, even after it’s all over, and there’s no more pain.
With my imagination running wild, I run to my vet. I’ll sit in the clinic until she’s free, I think, and then we can talk about how to make Thong’s last days as comfortable as possible.
At the clinic, I don’t have to wait at all. My vet takes one look at my face and sits down with me.
I start to babble about cancer and uncontrollable cell growth, when she stops me.
“Laurie,” she says, “Thong’s mass is just inflamed tissue. With medicine to reduce the inflammation, he’ll be all right.”
I tell her about the reports I saw on the Internet, and she shakes her head. “I’ve already told you,” she says severely, “to stop going to the Internet. It doesn’t always tell the truth.”
Thong is back home now, perfectly healthy. His one overwhelming desire is to be out in the soi. I want to keep him safe, but despite all I can do, he slips outside and won’t even come home that night.
The next morning, he returns for breakfast. One side of his face is all scratched and bleeding, as if he had an encounter with some tree or fencing.
How can one little animal have so many accidents? I doubt if there’s any answer on the Internet.
