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The demand for advanced medical procedures demonstrates how people will pay any price for their own health. But is there a financial limit when it comes to treating family pets? For Professor of Government Fred Lynch, it seemed no sum was too high for saving the life of his 11-year-old cat Fritz. Over the course of a year, Lynch spent $11,000 on veterinary bills for his furry friend, a process he recounted in an essay for the July 30 issue of Newsweek.
"It was really a policy piece," Lynch says of his My Turn submission. "I wanted to raise issues about the affordability and accessibility of veterinary medical care, and to address the moral question: How far do you go?"
Lynch, who teaches a course on health-care policy at CMC, was surprised to discover just how many issues surrounding healthcare costs in the United States also apply to veterinary medicine—with many of the same pricey treatments for people also available to four-legged friends. Today, dogs with weak hearts can be fitted with pacemakers, elderly cats undergo kidney transplants, and chemotherapy is commonly prescribed for four-legged pals.
Fritz, an orange tabby, wandered into Lynch's life shortly after the death of the professor's 16-year-old Himalayan cat. The stray was huddling beneath the hood of a neighbor's truck. Hardly ready to adopt another cat, Lynch found himself at the mercy of the animal's charming personality—a disposition aptly described by Lynch's longtime vet as "a dog in a cat suit."
Fritz was healthy for nine years. Then he developed a rare soft-tissue cancer associated with the vaccine for feline leukemia. A local vet removed the tumor but was perplexed about next steps. Lynch turned to a friend, a USC geneticist, and found a Web site for vaccine-associated cancer. The prognosis was bleak: a 600-day survival period and recommended leg amputation—a forecast confirmed by a veterinary oncology specialist.
After extensive testing, Fritz's rear left leg was amputated, to the tune of $4,300. Two months later, the recovering feline developed severe pancreatitis, adding $3,250 for diagnostic testing, a week in intensive care, and numerous medications. When Fritz suffered a second attack shortly after, the bill grew another $1,250 for hospital care, plus $2,200 for follow-up visits and prescriptions.
The resulting lump sum was both gradual and unintentional, Lynch says. "I just didn't want to see him die of cancer. Fritz was still so perky, even though he was getting sick," he says.
The bills were manageable, but Lynch cut back in other ways—postponing home improvements and incorporating more peanut butter into his daily diet. It left Lynch wondering how lower-income families dealt with ailing pets.
Middle-income families, he notes, are driving today's high demand for advanced veterinary medicine.
Lynch says his Newsweek essay sparked dozens of e-mails from other like-minded pet owners—stories about maxing out credit cards, taking time off work, and giving up Christmas presents to help beloved pets. Today, many veterinary hospitals offer payment plans for families that cannot afford costly veterinary procedures, Lynch says, and organizations including PALS sponsor pets (through donor programs) to help others pay for veterinary care.
With an endless selection of healthcare possibilities, Lynch says the question still remains: Is there a limit?
"A lot of it depends on the personality of the pet," says Lynch, who prefers a case by case basis. "Fritz was a very good patient."
One more complicating matter is that animals, unlike humans, do not have a sense of death, he says, making it difficult to judge whether a pet would want to endure the same life-prolonging treatments.
But Lynch says he hopes his article will prompt discussion about advanced veterinary medicine and also inform pet owners about the dangers associated with feline vaccinations.
Oh, and one more thing: Fritz has been healthy since his last surgery on Dec. 1, 2005—more than 600 days ago.
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