Someone explain to me how it’s easier to give my cat subcutaneous fluids than to get him to swallow a fucking pill. Just swallow the pill. I’m gonna win.
But jam a huge needle in his neck with a cup of fluids. Eh. He’s chill. He just wants his objection documented.
I has been a week. Let me tell ya. Monday I was so anxious and overwhelmed that I skipped work. I had watched 90 Day Fiance which was me and moms show. We both call each other to remind each other it is coming on and then talk about how crazy everyone is. And Natalie be CRAZY. Mom will never see how crazy she is and we cant talk about it. Who’s watching our show with me now? Just me and the cat, I guess. And he doesn’t care how crazy Natalie is, which she really is.
I’ve been hyper focused on the cat as a bit of a break from the far heavier death of mom. So of course I’m upset that even with all the changes, he’s still only got a life expectancy of 1 – 2 years. I assume that includes a lot of decline towards the end as well. So it’s difficult. I just gave him his fluids via stabby needle an hour or so ago. He’s resting in his bed next to me. With a big lump of fluid on his side. Poor guy.
Also, I’m anxious about starting vestibular physical therapy. With not having to drive much thanks to Covid, I had kinda of convinced myself I was all better. This is fine. Ya know? And acknowledging that I still get really sick driving is a hard pill to swallow. I certainly don’t want to go back to last January when I had to do my physical therapy exercises twice a day and got nausea and vertigo every time. It was miserable. So I don’t wanna. That’s basically what it boils down to. I don’t wanna.
Work’s been… bad, I guess? Honestly, I haven’t been working. I’ve been just getting though my days. I’m sorry, I’m just trying to not break down, yall. Like I said, Monday I didn’t even make it in to work. So my not-very-important task has been halted half done. But this is the last week of the sprint so my favorite coworker was assigned to help me with it. Of course DeBitch made a snarky asshole remark. DeBitch was one of the main reasons I didn’t go in Monday. I just didn’t want to deal with that shit. And of course I feel terrible.
It’s a team carry. I’m the teammate down and my team is carrying me over the finish line. It’s embarrassing and …well… embarrassing. I’m ashamed of myself. But then I also need the carry. So I’m grateful but also want to crawl up in a hole and die. Mostly the latter.
So I’ve got a lot going on that’s stressing me out. A lot. And then the check engine light in my car comes on yesterday on the way to work. God dammit, are you serious? So I have a scanner to read the codes — it’s some faulty circuit in the temperature sensor. But still, kick me when I’m down, will ya?
I just want to crawl up in a hole and die. Or to retire and crawl up on the couch and never leave the house again. That’s fine too.
1) I’m trying to get stuff for the funeral organized. We need to pick a photo for the main mom photo. But my sisters are still too distraught to look at photos. Sister I was talking to said she didn’t even leave her room yesterday. She just ate some cottage cheese she had in the fridge down there. Okay, thats not healthy.
Also, I can’t shut down. I have a job and a mortgage and a husband and a cat I had to take the the vet today. I know she’s fucked up and grieving but I kinda want to smack her. Get off your damn ass.
2) Took the cat the vet today. The good news is, all of his levels have improved! I think the vet was very impressed that I followed directions. She basically treated me like I was a good dog. I’m cool with that. Go me!
Problem is he’s still in kidney failure. I got the copies of his labs so I could look stuff up. He’s right at the bottom levels (good end) of stage 3 failure. Ugh. So I don’t think he’s going to get off the fluids and stuff. He has an average life expectancy of 2 years at this point. Let’s make ’em good.
After the bath, he was licking himself so much he had a hair ball… in the new heated cat bed. He was obsessed with it and now he wont go near it. Fuck. It’s like Mr C and grape juice. He’s traumatized now.
3) Someone was using “my” bathroom stall at work and it was surprisingly weird. There is like one bathroom per floor where I work with 6 stalls. I always use the same stall. Row 2, Stall A. It’s a good one. Row 1 Stall B runs forever. 1 A flushes too much (sensor calibration issues). I can’t use a handicapped stall so I stick with my safe 2 A. But the other day someone was in there! I had to use one of the handicapped stalls.
Am I the only one who always uses the same stall?
1) K came through with the most adorable, soft, crocheted blanket for my familiar. It’s now adding more padding and a shit ton more style to his heated cat bed. What a good friend. It’s such a sweet comforting gesture when I could REALLY use it. I wish I could show mom. I love you, K!
2) I saw a Lysol commercial today. We’re still smack in the middle of Covid (for future reference). Has ANYONE seen a bottle of Lysol since February last year? Why are they spending money on advertising? It’s not an old commercial either – it said it kills the Covid virus in the commercial. We fucking KNOW, Lysol. Put your money into getting that shit on the shelves. You think you need to advertise your product right now? It’s aerosol gold.
Wait. Let me check something.
There is literally an 8 pack on ebay for $129.99 plus $19.99 shipping right now. People are scalping Lysol. And they’re advertising.
3) I’m using wool dryer balls now. How hippie is that? We finally ran out of dryer sheets and these things are supposed to last forever without all the chemicals. Do they really prevent static? We shall see… free-trade, ethically sourced-from Nepal, hand-felted by little old hippie ladies, happy sheep dryer balls. We shall see.
Mr C has been letting me go HAM** on the cat. Between moms death and my fuzzy familiar’s terminal illness, he might just be handling me with kid gloves. That means not saying no to my outpouring of everything for the cat. I mean I was, just last night, crying on the floor because I couldn’t call mom and I didn’t know what was best for the cat.
So now the cat has a heated cat bed that he very much actually loves. Mr C said he was even sleeping in it while I was at work. I was about to type that the only reason I have a clear lap right now is that he is on that heated bed. However, right as I began to type that he decided to get up and come see what I’m doing. Now I’m awkwardly typing with his head resting on my wrist.
Mr C hasn’t complained about all the money I spent at the vet and on his medicine and special diet food. I also got the old guy some stairs to get up on our bed. And I cleaned off my night stand so he could have a heated pallet of blankets there.
He took his fluids like a champ tonight. He’s loaded up with fluids and electrolytes now. I hope this stuff makes him feel better. I wish I could ask mom what she thinks is best. I’m sure I’ve gone overkill on the arthritis. And I don’t mind giving him the liquid pain killer. However shoving pills down his throat twice a day and giving him subcutaneous fluids seems so invasive. I don’t want him to be miserable. He doesn’t like taking the pills. Is it really for his own good or just for me, so he’ll live longer? That is what triggered my melt down last night. I gave him his medicine and told him I hope he’d feel better. And I wanted to tell mom that I hope they make him feel better. But… …I couldn’t. So I had a melt down instead.
**Interesting note. I only learned exactly what HAM stood for recently. “Hard As A Motherfucker.” And now we know.
So when mom died I freaked out. Oh shit, no one else is dying. I told Mr C I was taking the cat to the vet. He’s only ever been to the vet for emergencies. Which hey, I grew up poor, animals didn’t go to the vet. Hell, he’s already been to the vet more in his short life than I’ve been to the dentist. But I have money now so I’m taking the cat to the vet.
I had them do everything. Full work up. Six hundred dollars of work up. This cat is my soul. I got him when I was agoraphobic in college and he’s all I had. We’ve come a long way. I’m married, I graduated college, and even more importantly: I’m medicated now. But this cat is still my soul outside of my body. No one fucks with my cat. No one. When he had an abscessed open wound and Mr C wouldn’t let him sleep on our bed, I slept on the couch for two months. Not because I was mad at Mr C. No, but I’m not shutting my soul away from me because he might get blood on the bed. Especially when he’s in pain! I’m sleeping with the cat. Goodnight.
Anyway, so his first ever vet checkup – at the grand old age of 15. He has mild renal failure and arthritis. My poor familiar! He’s never more than 10 feet from me when I’m home and now he’s gonna die? I just assumed he was immortal. Aren’t witches familiars immortal? I didn’t see myself living another 15 years when I got him, this shit just wasn’t considered.
Oh… what if Satan showed up and offered me my cats life for my soul? That’d be fucked up.
Anyway. Now he takes medicine twice a day and I have to give him fluids through an IV under his skin twice a week. Poor little guy. I gave him fluids for the first time today. They went all lopsided and now he has like 200ccs of liquid on one side. Sorry buddy. That can’t be comfortable. With that and the pain meds for your arthritis, maybe you should just lay down.
Well. I didn’t get to tell mom about any of this. So now I feel better. It’s out there. I did order him a heated cat bed. I got out the heated blanket in the meantime. He likes it very much. And I ordered him a staircase to get up on the bed. And he has to switch to a new diet so I ordered three different kinds of kidney food so he can pick his favorite. He has options. Is there anything else I can get you? Beer? More stinky wet food? Blood sacrifice? TELL ME WHAT YOU NEED.