Our Cocker Spaniel when I was growing up was diagnosed with Cushings far too late. Well she was middle aged and it just sort of looked like she was loosing her girlish figure.
But it was my parents who had to go through that, although obviously I grieved as well. The one that was on me was when my horse went down with colic, and I only found her after she was completely down. I remember being the only one out in the pasture having to beg her to get up as I pulled on the rope and looked into eyes that barely saw me. And with that she used the last of her strength to get up and she only did it for me.
I guess she was no Barbaro, not wanting to fight even a tummy ache.
I bother writing all this because she was absolutely at death's door, her original vet was too busy playing golf to be bothered while I and the support of the local horsey experts struggled to find a backup and figure out if we should give her the injection or not.
And we found the best damn backup vet in the world, and him combined with her fighting, only hearing me, only barely seeing me, not focused on anything else like she usually was, she pulled through.
It's a combination, it's the strength and will to fight it combined with someone giving the right damn treatment. Jeez that was 10 years ago and my heart beats faster thinking about it.
So be that voice to focus on, be there like you're doing now, and like your cat has always done for you, and whatever will be will be. You'll know the right choices to make, your cat will tell you. It sounds like the vets have a fighting cocktail to help as much as they can. We're all pulling for you both. Even my dog Pixie, who hates cats. (We don't hate cats though.
)