Tag: grief

A St Patty’s Day Miracle!

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So I found myself looking for four-leaf clovers today. I needed to wait outside, and I like to find them. Plus, Saint Patrick’s Day! I did well. Once I found five, I was like well, fuck, I gotta make it seven for the holiday. So I scoured. Number seven was elusive. I had left number one on the steps and was sure it would have blown away before I got the seventh.

I was in my PJs in the front yard on a main road. So I wasn’t comfortable leaving my yard to be the crazy lady on the side of a four-lane main road in her pajamas looking creepily at the ground. I mean, my own yard is enough already. I’m still the insanely weird lady — but like, on a leash. “She’s keeping to her own yard” – ya know? Even though there are MASSIVE patches of huge clovers over there. So like, my hunting area was limited.

I was thinking to myself how I can only do this because I’m really good at patterns. I think others could if they cared to. It’s like those picture puzzles online with a ton of 8’s or something and you have to find the 9. People love those, but they don’t apply it to real life. Don’t look at the clover patch as plants. They’re all equilateral triangles. They’re all perfect 120 angles between the leaves. Just a bunch of triangles. Now find the square. It’s quite simple. I’ve spotted them from the second story of a building before, no lie. Find the 90 degree angles. With practice, they stand out as abominations.

I’m quite good with patterns. I’ve always been focused on pinning the repeats in wall paper, fabrics, carpets. How small is the repeat. It’s quite elegant how some of them work the repeats. Very interesting to break it down to the square they are repeating. You have to break images across the square to hide it well. I’ve never created my own patterns, so there’s still a bit of mystery in how they do it. Anyway, it interests me. And after a few decades of practice, you get very good. Hence my magic power of four-leaf clover spotting.

I was about to give up with my six clovers. I was thinking how I could never find any of the more elusive clovers. The fives, the sixes, the seven leaves — they wouldn’t be as obvious in the way I find them. No squares, no 90 degree angles. And then…

There she was. My seventh. With five leaves.

Amazing. In my 41 years I’ve never found one above four. Ever. And I look. This one met my pattern — it looks like a four leaf from the top — but there’s a little baby runt leaf sticking straight out of the top. I had husband come look immediately. How special! I took a video to capture it. These are actually stills from the video.

You know, it was a bit sentimental. I haven’t done a lot since mom died. I mean, I’ve done a TON – but there are things I didn’t care to do. I used to decorate for EVERY holiday — I haven’t decorated for Easter in 4 years. Back in 2020, I actually bought a very cute leather journal to keep my four leaf clovers in. I put Jack’s foot print in it. I kept my clovers in it. There’s butterfly wings. There’s even one clover that mom found after searching with me. I made her sign it. I didn’t stop right after her death. There are clovers from 2021. But nothing from 2022 or 2023. Well, I had found a few and stuck them in my little tiny notepad to dry, but I hadn’t bothered to mark the dates or put them in the leather bound journal. It wasn’t fun anymore. My happy book wasn’t happy anymore.

This year I went out and found four a week or two ago. That’s when I noticed the lack of two years in my leather book. I put the clovers I had pressed in, but obviously I could not date them. I think what caused the resurgence was Louie’s one year adopt-aversary coming up. It’s time to add his foot print. It made me think of the leather bound journal. It inspired me to go find some clovers. And today I had thought about it but wasn’t going to. But then K needed to pick up something she’d loaned me. So I was out in the yard waiting as to give it back quickly. No need for them to have to come in and get it — they did loan it to me back in October and I hadn’t returned it yet. So I decided — why not — I’ll look while I’m waiting. Then I got to the must-find-seven.

And I did. But there’s more than JUST the five leaf. I needed a new book to press them. I’ve been using a tiny 3-inch composition notebook I got for free at some convention or training or something. The pages are too marked with dates and wrinkly now. They did a horrible job of pressing the four I found earlier this month. So I thought of a journal. I’ve had it for almost 4 years. I’ve kept it as it was sentimental, but never had a use for it. I knew it was a gift from my aunt-in-law. But I’d forgotten the circumstances. Just that it was thoughtful of her to buy it for me because it’s Star Trek and she knows I like Star Trek. Well, it’s hard backed and I needed a journal to press clovers so I grabbed it.

The card she included was tucked inside. Ahhh. It was a gift from when mom died. She had been thinking about me and saw this journal and thought I could use it. That’s why I’d kept it. It was so sweet and thoughtful of her to buy it and mail it. She wanted me to know I was in her thoughts. The time wasn’t right to use it when I got it. But now the time is right. I think of moms clover when I hunt now. She was so proud to find one. And today I was so proud to find my first five-leaf.

There’s a warmth there. A time to move on a little bit more. Kinda like a sign, if you believe in those things as I do. Louie has been helping to heal my heart of my loss of Jack. And now he’s brought back my clovers and a sweet memory of my mom. And the cherry on the cake is the journal given to me to try to ease my grief a bit making a simultaneous appearance.

Maybe it’s God. Maybe it’s mom being impressed with my overwintering of last summers plants, rescuing plants I normally would have let die to nurse them back to health, and now seeding my own plants for this summer.

I’m stepping into my destiny. Not some awesome destiny where I get a sword and a birth right. Just a tedious one where I stop letting plants die every year only to replace them. One where I nurture the sick plants back to health. One that has me out in my yard in my PJs looking for plants. Maybe one were I grow my own Halloween pumpkins.

I’d kinda rather have a sword.

Death and Dreariness

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I need to post here more. I need to set up and email account that will auto post for me. I have things to say, just not easy to get them here. And when I get off work, I just want to zone the fuck out.

Tonight, I checked on the GoFundMe for Aric and Samantha “Sam” Hutchinson. A little over a week ago, they were in an accident right after their wedding. They were on a golf cart driving away from the wedding when a drunk driver hit them. She died at the scene in her wedding dress. To be honest, i was checking to see if he died too. Last I checked, he was in critical condition. Looks like he is home recovering. Abso-fucking-lutly tragic. If I were him, I’d never have wanted to survive.

Death has been on my mind. Obviously reading something like that just kills you. But I had a better death-related happenstance last week. I’ve always been bothered by Robin William’s suicide. Not just a little, severely bothered. I’ve been suicidal. I had an excellent plan. Thankfully, I decided to give psychiatric medication a shot before I called it. But I was there. As they say in the Princess Bride “at worst I’ll kill you in the morning.”

So like I know that darkness depth of loneliness. I’ve always been so troubled that Robin freaking Williams killed himself. Like that happy man who everyone loved — if he couldn’t make it, what chance have we? He could have called ANYONE and we’d have been there for him. So it’s just always weighed heavy on my heart.

By happenstance, I came across this article by his wife (link). He was dying. He had Lewy body disease, not that he knew the name of it at the time. It had taken away his mental health. It had taken away his genius. His activeness. It had taken everything from him. He knew he was dying and quickly at that. He had a lucid Saturday with his wife and they had a wonderful day. She thought he might be getting better and then he killed himself on Monday. Tragic, of course. But he went out on his own terms. The state he was in was tragic.

But finding out that he wasn’t alone. He had his wife with him until the very end. And that it wasn’t a pit of loneliness. He was just speeding up the dying process. He was diagnosed by his brain. One of the worst cases of the disease ever seen. Half his dopamine receptors were completely gone. His entire brain was infected. He knew it was time.

And that lifted a heaviness I had. I know thats weird. But it did. I always mourned how he must have felt to do that. But knowing it wasn’t like that — it brightens my heart. He knew how loved he was. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t depression that took him. And he wasn’t alone.

RIP, Robin Williams. You are missed by many.

Also, K2’s mom was talking about how her mom had morbidly completely planned out her funeral to a tee 20 years before she died. So I’m about to post about that. I have a funeral plan. I think. Gotta run it by the husband. How much are life sized weeping angel statues?

Black Hole

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I still miss Jack more than anything. You see all these bittersweet comics like this one where your pet is still with you:

But they’re not. They’re gone. I WISH I could imagine he was still around. I would love to see movement in the corner of my eye and think it was him. Or feel a ruffle on the bed and think it was him. I don’t get that though. I haven’t got that at all. I would absolutely love to be the bat shit crazy cat lady that thinks her dead cat is still around. I wanna be that crazy person.

It would be so much better than the emptiness. Just the void. Today I left a hamburger bun on the counter and had the reflex that Jack might get it. But before I even finished the thought I just was filled with the emptiness that no, he won’t.

Delusions of happy thoughts

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Today was my last day at my shitty job. They read me out a little early so I got home around 3:45. Mr C took a nap, but I had to stay “up” for the AC repair guy. After he left, I decided I wanted a nap too. I set my alarm for an hour and a half so I wouldn’t sleep too long. I ignored my alarm. Mr C got up to go fetch him some dinner and I stayed in bed kinda 75% asleep and 25% awake. Maybe 80/20. I miss Jack. Obviously, sometimes I think about getting another cat when I’m ready. So I was thinking about looking at cats. I have a long weekend between jobs as I have Friday off and Monday is a government holiday. I thought maybe mom could come up and we could look at cats together.

That would be nice. She could help and it’d be something we could do together. Maybe hit up a few Saturday adoption events. I wasn’t decided or anything, just a thought I probably wouldn’t act on. I decided to get up when a strand of Christmas lights went out on the bedroom tree changing the general cast of the ceiling from a warm red to more of a green shade – then that strand must have completely died and returned the walls to the warm red. When my feet hit the ground I remembered mom’s dead.

I saw a gently sweeping stripe of dead lights on the tree confirming my suspicions.

Wouldn’t have been as good as Jack anyway.

Gingerbread Houses Through the Years

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This is a post about gingerbread houses. And Mom. And Jack. And how Mom got her groove back through gingerbread. Just go with it.

So back in 2006, I had just moved into my own place on Golf Road. Lovely shitty apartment of my own. $545 a month. Just me and Jack. And mom visited a lot. I worked at the police department as a dispatcher and was less than a year away from starting my career (though 5 years from graduating — not the point). It was Christmas! My first Christmas in my OWN place. This called for something special. This called for … a gingerbread house!

So mom came to visit and help me make my very own gingerbread house. There were issues. We couldn’t find any gingerbread mix. So it was really a sugar cookie house. It counts, OK? It had windows! Mom showed me how to crush up jolly ranchers and melt them to make stained glass windows! We had a peppermint roof and a full length chocolate chip chimney. I cut up gum drops and made a wreath. It was glorious. This was before cheap battery-powered lights, but if we had had those, it would have glowed gloriously through my translucent blue and purple sugar windows.

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Then the next few years we’d always do something special for Christmas. Usually treats. Like chocolate dipped Oreos, or chocolate covered Ritz Crackers with peanut butter, or those fancy treats where you melt a Rolo on top of a pretzel and smush it with a peanut M&M — or if you’re going somewhere fancy — a half a pecan. Sometimes we even did gingerbread cookies and decorated them with icing.

Then, in 2009, I was feeling adventurous. I was in a much nicer apartment with a guest room and dating a cute guy who would become my husband. It was time for another gingerbread house. We had to outdo our previous effort. This had to be magnificent. We would do something with more grandeur. We would make a church.

How does one make a gingerbread church? Well, you just make the front and back taller so the roof is steeper and put a steeple on top. We’re not on the Food Network here, aint nobody got time to make templates and stuff. But don’t you worry, we got this. It would have even more jolly rancher windows! More icing! The M&Ms would be Christmas colors to look like Christmas lights! And best of all: Shingles. We would use Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal and put individual shingles on that shit. Boo-yeah!

Now, I would like to say, we kept improving on our gingerbread game. We got so good we could do competitions! But we didn’t. The church was actually the pinnacle of my gingerbread greatness. Sad, I know. But that’s not where the story ends. Those were merely flights-of-fancy in the gingerbread game of my own. Mom would take gingerbread houses and flip the script.

So take a step back. I moved away from my text-book codependent family in 2003 and got a shit ton of therapy. In my evolution of self, I turned from my father. Fuck that asshole. No, not God, my real father. THAT asshole. Sometimes the pendulum has to swing really far to right itself. Now my beloved mother had been beaten down by that motherfucker for decades. And you can be damn straight I turned my pot-stirring self to getting her to realize it. And she was really coming around by the time she kicked the bucket. I think she might have had the gumption to skip Christmas by the time she died. I’m sad I never got to see that and sneak her a wink and a high five. OK, back to the early 2000s:

So dad always controlled every holiday. Though they divorced when I was two, dad always controlled everything. Holidays were at his house. We’d go over the weekend before and scrub it clean cause he’s kinda a hoarder. Mom would make every single dish and we’d go over to dads and pretend to be happy. Even after he got a girlfriend — who thankfully took over the cleaning part. Mom would still cook for a week and haul it all over to that bastards house so he could have his happy family holiday (yes, with his girlfriend and my step brother — the kid he had while he was still married to my mother). Every Thanksgiving and every Christmas — even Easter.

At some point, she started making extra to “hide.” Is it hiding if you make it yourself, in your own house, and just don’t take it over? Not really, but in my codependent family it was rebellion. I think this started when the girlfriend would start making to-go meals for her friends and for my step brother (the affair child). We stopped having leftovers left. Mom stopped having food to eat off of for the next week after she’d spent all week cooking for everyone. No more turkey casserole! You know, where you shred the turkey and mix it with the dressing and cream-of-chicken soup? None. So mom started making extra dressings and extra mac & cheese and keeping it at her house. Come 2014 something had changed.

Now I’m not sure what triggered the change. And I wouldn’t dare say “something snapped” — nay, something clicked into place is what happened. Maybe that was after dad started putting rules on presents — how much we could spend, and then one year declaring we weren’t allowed to give gifts at all (yeah no, fuck him — yall know I didn’t listen to his shit). But 2014 was a new era. In 2014, mom decided to have her own Christmas.

Now don’t get me wrong, it was still a secret. It didn’t replace dads Christmas. Mom would just have her own Christmas on a different weekend with only her own children and we’d ACTUALLY be happy for real. There were kinks. Bitch sister banned pictures so there are no photographic memories to look back on with my blessed mother. Because god-forbid dad find out and get his wittle-feewings-huwt. So I’m a bit bitter that moms gone and I can’t go back and look at those non-existent-photos, but it happened. And I have the gingerbread houses to prove it. Recently, I took an internet deep dive to find them.

2014 was a learning year. What would we do for moms Christmas? She’d make a big meal but what should we do? Gingerbread houses! But we’re not going to be all difficult about it. This was before gingerbread house kits were a thing, mind you. Mom decided we’d make cardboard houses and decorate them! And we’d use hot glue and caulk because ain’t nobody eating these anyway. So we made cardboard houses in advance. And even one Pringles can which became a rocket of sorts. Then, when the night came, we exchanged presents and ate food and laughed and made merry in my sisters tiny house where mom lived. And after dinner, we gingerbreaded! We had tons of cheap candies and graham crackers, pretzels and cereals, all sorts of shit to glue to your box house!

I chose the biggest box house because I’m ambitious. I did not anticipate the sheer amount of time it would take to cover such a large house with graham crackers, cookies, and smarties. Much less how much time it would take me to caulk to entire roof and lay it with pretzels. It was all I could do to get a Twizzler door and butterscotch windows before the night was over. But it was a wonderful Christmas party! And mom was beaming.

I returned home with my house and eventually, I had to spiff that shit up. I had run out of time! So one night while my husband was playing D&D at the table with friends, I sat in the living room with hot glue gun and made that shit SPIFFY. Look at this. M&M Christmas lights! Lined windows! My signature gumdrop wreath — and Christmas tree Peeps. Fuck Yeah. Much better.

Oh now we had a tradition. And the next year, we found gingerbread house kits! 2015 brought a cookie roof and a ice-cream-cone tree (pretty sure mom made me that). We even started saving all the leftover candies because, again, nobody is eating this stuff. And we got better. Caulk is great for cookies and cereal, but don’t use it on the sugar candy — it melts it. Like, it never dries and the candy melts off it. Some kind of chemical reaction. I don’t know. Eventually we gave up on caulk anyway.

In 2016, I bought a whole stash of PREBUILT gingerbread houses. All we had to do was decorate. I went with a Chex roof.

By 2017, gingerbread house kits were becoming a thing. Not only were they easy to find, they started making weird shit. Mom bought me this sweet Mario castle kit! For some reason it didn’t come with a roof or second-story walls. But I’m an engineer so I hot-glued some wooden-skewer beams for supports and filled in with graham crackers. Fuck yeah. Add some Peep trees. Magnificent.

I should also point out that it started to become clear that this tradition was spreading in the family. And by family, I mean Jack. It became very clear that he was sneaking on the counter at night to eat the icing and marshmallows. I let him have at it. It was Christmas, after all. It was pretty evident on that red mushroom though.

In 2018, I brought back my cereal shingle technique. Notice the Mario-Coins saved from the previous year.

In 2019 mom really went all out. Sister had moved into a bigger house so we could set up in the downstairs game room. Multiple tables were set up and everyone was gifted an adorable little spruce tree in a gingerbread box. I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember this year much. I had some pretty bad brain trauma and I probably barely made it there. That might also explain why the hell there is so damn much icing on the roof. Not my best showing.

2020 was one hell of a year. The party almost didn’t happen because — well, Covid. My husband wasn’t about to leave our house and he really didn’t want anyone here. But I begged and God was on my side. Everyone promised to quarantine and come up here for the party so I wouldn’t have to travel (I was still recovering). God really made that year special for us. Everyone came up. And everyone spent the night! It was so much fun. We had a full house. And mom had got us all matching PJs! We took one of the family’s most cherished photos that night. A family photo with us in our matching PJs and mom up front. Who knew it would be the last family photo we ever took? We didn’t even hardly have any family photos — maybe just my wedding photos, actually. I’m still so sad my sweet husband took the photo because that means he’s not in it. If only I had thought to ask CB to take one with him in it…

Well, we didn’t actually do houses that year. We decorated cookies to make things easier. J had bought an ugly sweater cookie kit and me and mom baked hand-cut gingerbread cookies before everyone got up here. I think it was December 19th? Just a week before she died on Christmas day. Fucking Covid.

The next year, 2021, not everyone was in much of a celebrating mood. But my sister-in-law and brother agreed to host. I found these spiffy fondant penguins at Target. My sisters didn’t come. But we kept the tradition alive. Hey, I even did a damn fine showing with a frosted miniwheats roof. And that was the last Christmas with my precious Jack. And damned if he didn’t go after that house in those dark mid-night hours. He nearly ate a whole damned Peep tree! And look how his tongue sanded down the wreath candies and the fondant door. And is that a Super-Mario star I spy from years before atop the tree?

This year, 2022 was a little better. My sisters still weren’t feeling the joy so I said I would host. And I bought us all fun kits from Publix! I honestly didn’t expect my sisters to come, but last minute they did! Not only did they come, but they stopped at the store and picked up their own gingerbread kits to make! Since I didn’t expect my sisters and I’ve been insanely depressed about Jack, I invited K2 to join us. She made her first gingerbread house in the form of a Publix. I made a moose lodge with a pretzel roof. Apparently, my husband doubted my pretzel roof. SHAME on you, husband! My pretzel roof is fantastic — I mean, there’s a lot of glue strands but whatever.

It’s not very traditional Christmas-look, but it’s there. I wasn’t feeling it as much this year without Jack. Last year we didn’t have mom, but it was still a tradition for me to make a house for Jack to eat in “secret.” This year was harder for me without mom and without Jack. But we kept the tradition alive. We KEEP the tradition alive. Long live mom and her rebellious Chirstmas parties!

I miss my Jack Jack

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I miss my Jack Jack. This past few days have been a new wave of sadness. I suppose it started with one day this week when I got home. You know how, when you get a new pet, you realize all the stuff you have to change? No more toilets left up, no open doors, no leaving food out — stuff like that. Well, I’m trained for Jack. So I came home and was careful not to swing open the door because he’s always right there waiting for me to open it. But… he’s not anymore. Like for that little minute I forgot he died and expected him to be behind the door.

Then, I had to read all the “The Loving Reaper” comics. Link here on WEBTOON. They’re PSA comics that are beautifully drawn and depressing AS FUCK. And a lot of them involve pets and terrible human beings, and obviously, death. So that didn’t help. I know.

Then, I went saving off old photos. This wasn’t related to Jack. We did our annual gingerbread tradition and I wanted to look at past gingerbread parties. I’ll get into it in another post — but it led me to going through all of Facebook and even back to Flickr for photos. So I also took the time to download all of these old photos (yes, you can request a zip file of every photo you’ve ever uploaded to Facebook). I saved them to my google photos for good future keeping.

LOOK AT MY SWEET BABY! Look how little he was! Those cheeks!

And here, he’s being all curious and adorable.

And I miss his little foot prints.

I just miss him so much. He loved when I’d come home and scoop him up like a baby and rub his belly and talk to him. He’d turn on that fake hamming-it up purr that sounded like a motor while I rubbed his “polka dots” (belly) and stuck my finger between his toe beans so he could squeeze it. He was such a good boy. He loved me so much. I really miss him a lot.

The past few nights (maybe 4ish?) I’ve been getting terrible anxiety at bed time. I’ll get anxiety tummy and then a tight chest.

I also started following this local cat place on Facebook and so that’s had adopting another cat on my mind. I think it’s just upsetting me though. I want JACK. I want Jack back. I want my biggun’

I’ll hide that cat page for now. I’m just upset all over again. Now I’m getting anxiety attacks every night. Ugh.

He’s Gone

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Yesterday we said goodbye to my fuzzy soulmate. I had spent all week thinking of the million things that could go wrong and stressing out. But it went well. He had a good death. I had second guessed myself — he was doing so good and happy, maybe we should wait? But he was on 5 different medications plus IV fluids and two of those medications were for pain. You’d think it would have been the kidney disease we treated for two years or the cancer we discovered a month ago. Nope. Just an old cat with arthritis. He was just in too much pain between those miracle shots. So we chose to let him go before the second shot wore off. I couldn’t let him be in so much pain again.

He had a good week. No pain. He cleaned his plate every day. We had cake every day. We celebrated his birthday. He ate at the table with us. K even brought him his own Arby’s sandwich. I let him go outside. He wasn’t interested, but he went out and nommed a leaf in the back and a fern in the front. He had the option. I gave him tons of kisses. We took a family selfie. I camped out on the couch so he could sleep in his heated bed and still be able to see me without having to go upstairs. He woke me up every morning and wished me sweet dreams every night. Just like always.

When Friday came, I did what was right by him. We took him to the vet at 8:00am. Mr C drove us. They gassed him and put in a catheter and handed him back — still groggy and in a cone. Lord help, that cone was a bit of levity we needed. When he woke up half-way to home, he was looking around like the Pixar light. And lord, the lemons. Why lemons? We laughed.

I didn’t make him wear the cone all morning. It was only 3 hours so I figured I’d keep a close eye on him. We snuggled. We had more cake. He couldn’t rest with his foot all bandaged up as it was bothering him. So an hour before they came, I gave him a big dose or gabapentin as they told me to. He fell asleep in his heated cat bed for the last hour. When the vet arrived, Mr C let them in while I woke him up gently. He was a sleepy kitty. We sat on the couch and I held him like a baby with his head draped sleepily over my arm. There was only a brief interruption where they unwrapped his cath. But he quickly forgave them. I hugged him and stroked his head while he fell asleep for the last time. He had the faintest bit of a purr right before he fell asleep.

I had held it together pretty well. But as he curled into a limp ball in my arms and they confirmed he was gone… I lost it. I ugly cried and wailed like a terrible movie actress clutching a dead cat. My beloved Jack was gone.

God bless and be with the sweet vets who have to see people go through that every day.

He was so much more than a pet to me. I hate to say he was my everything because I have to move on without him. I have Mr C and family and friends. But when I got Jack, for a long time he was my everything. There were times I only willed to live because who would take care of my Jack? We lived alone when I had no friends or family relationships to speak of. He was with me through all my therapy. I got him in 2005 when I still lived in the college dorms! I got reported for having a cat daily, but I had my therapist declare him a therapy cat so it was allowed. Man that really got under peoples skin. Ha.

He was with me through every date I ever had. I told him all my secrets. I loved him as much if not more than he loved me. We were a part of each other. I’ve always loved coming home. Some people dally at work or hang out at the gym or go to the bar to avoid home, but not me. No screaming kids here. Just my beautiful house, Mr C and my sweet Jack. He was always so happy to see me and I to see him. We’d hug and tell each other about our days. He was always a talker. (His name was Screamer when he was adopted as a little kitten.) And we’d settle in to mindlessly relax and watch TV and wile away the hours on the internet while he purred in my lap.

At some point he stopped sleeping with me all night. But he’d still wish me goodnight and make sure I wasn’t going anywhere before he left. I made sure to get a picture of our last goodnight on Thursday…

Sweet dreams, Jack

God I loved that cat more than you can imagine. He wasn’t a cat to me. And last night I bawled again as the only prayer I could get manage to get out through the tears was to please take care of my Jack.

I’ll get a cat again. But there will never be another Jack. He knew me before I knew myself. He took care of me by giving me a reason to get up and keep going. He was the best friend I could have wished for.

It is scheduled.

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Jack is scheduled for at home euthanasia next Friday, the 14th. I would appreciate your prayers during this tough time for me and for him. Losing him and mom is just… *sigh* too much to bear.

For the cat owners out there, I’d like to point out two medications that have been amazing for him. First, the Porus One for his kidneys. It’s a powder to sprinkle on their wet food daily and it actually has his kidney levels looking better than when he was diagnosed with kidney failure two years ago. And he doesn’t even notice it. So much better than the pill I was giving him before.

The second is the Solensia shot for arthritis. This one is a miracle in a monthly shot. I took him to the vet almost three weeks ago and he was in so much pain he wasn’t eating. They gave him this shot and by the time we got home, he went straight to his food and his old younger self. Amazing game changer.

Unfortunately for Jack, the shot wore off quicker than a month. Yesterday he took a very sudden and unexpected turn. He didn’t touch his breakfast and was in so much pain he didn’t want to leave his heated cat bed. So today we went back for another. He’s already obviously feeling better. He’s eating again and just hopped up on the couch with me. So with hope and prayers, I hope we will have a good pain free last week.

Next Thursday I will take him to the vet one last time for some happy gas and a catheter placement. Then on Friday they will come here and be able to give him the medications through the already-placed catheter. So Thursday night, I’ll blow up an air mattress and we’ll have a slumber party in the living room. I hope he will be pain-free enough to enjoy some treats he’s not been allowed to have in a long time.

Jack

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on Jack

My precious little soul-shard is approaching the end of his life.  The past two weeks he’s been eating less and less to the point where he was only taking two bites of his food and then never going back for more.  I couldn’t even sway him with cheese!  His food looked like refried beans with cheese – even microwaved to melt the cheese – but no dice.  He wouldn’t eat it.  So I took him to the Vet on Monday.  I wanted an update on his kidneys and to adjust his pain meds anyway.  So away we went. 

It did not go well.  He screamed like a banshee as they tried to draw blood.  I could hear him and I was horrified.  I wanted to run to him and help them.  He’s better with me.  But it continued.  I called Mr C to keep from crying.  Finally, the vet came in and asked if they could sedate him to draw his blood.  Of course, I agreed.  Please dear God let him sleep.  I know that cats hide pain well, but I knew Jack was in pain.  I thought I was just attuned to him.  I had no idea the amount of pain he was really in. 

I knew when I trimmed his nails he was much more sensitive than usual.  And He took a lot longer to get comfortable laying down.  But apparently, I only saw the tip of the iceburg.  His lack of eating might very well have been that he was just miserable and in pain.  He gets gabapentin twice a day for pain.  However, they gave him a brand new arthritis medicine at the vet.  It’s a shot they get monthly.  And while he was out, they took X-Rays to try and understand what was wrong with him while the blood tests processed.   I was much calmer knowing he was asleep and I no longer heard his wails of anguish so I waited to hear what the vet thought. 

Surprisingly, his kidney function is actually better than when he was diagnosed with kidney failure.  The vet commended me on my obvious work to get him healthy.  We had both expected him to have taken a turn for the worse and that was what was happening.   But no.  The X-rays showed a far worse problem.  He has a large mass in his abdomen.  It already almost fills his entire abdominal cavity.  She was surprised he didn’t suffer from shortness of breath.  The only thing I’ve noticed is more pain and the lack of eating.  I’d have never known.  

So this is much more dire than kidney failure.  Without knowing what kind of mass it is, we don’t know how aggressive it is.  It could be weeks, it could be months – but this mass will choke out his lungs and heart.  She talked to me about the options.  She made clear the emphasize that we needed to consider “to what end.”  She could send me to a veterinary oncologist who could do a soft tissue biopsy and find out what kind of cancer or growth it is.  Then we could possibly treat it with radiation or chemo.  But to what end?  He’ll be 17 next month.  He’s already outlived his kidney diagnosis.  And he absolutely HATES the vet.  Jack does not want to leave the house.  It pains me to take him to the vet at all.  He’s an old man cat.  He doesn’t need that stress.  And a surgery at another vet just to diagnose?  And for what?  Another month or two with him?  Weeks of cancer treatments and vet visits?  A life in a cone to keep him from opening his wounds? 

No. 

I just watched my sister take her senior dog to another state for cancer treatment.  Only to have to put her down a week later.  And the dog suffered because she wouldn’t let her go.  I won’t do that to Jack. 

I explained to the vet that money was not the issue.  Jack is my everything.  I cried.  He’s my little familiar.  My fuzzy soul mate.  But what would she do with her own cat?  Would she pursue it to no end?  No.  I will not do anything invasive.  I want him to have the best quality of life with what he has left.  So we decided on hospice – palliative care.  We’ll treat his pain and try to get him eating.  In 3 weeks we’ll check him out again and do a quality of life assessment.  And when the time comes, I will have someone come to the house.  I don’t want his final moments to be terror at the vets office.  We’ll have cake icing and oreo cream and Arbys sandwiches and he’ll fall asleep at home with me. So we decided on ramped up pain medication via the monthly shot.  We’ll do a appetite stimulant that gets rubbed in his cute little ear.  And potassium as his levels were low and it might put a little more pep in his step.  I’m pleased to say that when we got home he went to his food bowl and took a bite.  Not much, but progress!  He didn’t even notice that I gave him his appetite stimulant as I love petting his fuzzy little ears.  I put his potassium gel in a butter cup and he slowly lapped it up.  That cat loves cream.  Throughout the evening he ate more and more.  I felt terrible that it must have been the pain that was causing him not to eat.  As the shot took effect, he was much happier to nom on his leftover breakfast. This morning I can happily say that he cleaned his dinner plate for the first time in weeks!  And I told him what a good boy he was via some ear rubs with a little appetite stimulant snuck in.

Some Things 5/2

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on Some Things 5/2

1) It’s so hard to tell the difference between “I’m balding and I like naps” and hypothyroidism. Like yeah, OK, I guess you could describe me as “tired, lethargic, and losing hair.” I’m literally balding, and lazy though. So like, I don’t know. Give me more thyroid hormones. Sure, I’ll come back and let you test me again in a month. Why not?

2) Tomorrow, I have a skype interview for a configuration management (CM) position. It’s with the same company. They just really need a CM person and my software boss knows I have experience in both so she said I should apply and I could maybe do half and half. Well, as long as the pay is the same, I’m in! I’ve stayed the software route because it has higher earning potential long term. However, I’m happy with my currently salary. So if they can match it in CM, bring it on. I can do all the paperwork you bitches want. And I’m so unhappy with how uncertain I am with the job right now. I’m so out of my element. It’d be nice to have some easy wins.

3) In the past two weeks, I’ve seen my psychiatrist, my plastic surgeon, my primary care doctor, and my neurologist. Does it count that I had to go by Jack’s vet to get his meds today too? So much time shuffling!

4) My sister is mad at me. She wanted access to moms Facebook and it locked her out. She was accessing it through moms old phone that she never should have had access to as it belonged to me and I had specified it be given to my other sister who needed a new phone as that’s what mom would have wanted. Other sister never got the phone. Sister1 kept it and has been using it to access her Facebook and pictures and I’m sure her private messages too. So…

Facebook locked her out. So she tried to recover the password with moms email that she’s also been accessing. But gmail locked her out. So she contacted me. I’m the recovery email for all of moms accounts. Why? Because I would set shit up for her when she asked, not give her shit or half jail-broken hand-me-down-equipment, and not berate her when she forgot her passwords. (Hence the reason the phone was MY property. I bought the phone and I paid the phone bill.) Anyway, Sister1 contacts me because I’m the recovery email and she “needs” access to moms Facebook.

I wouldn’t give it to her. I say that like I’m confident about it. First, I asked Mr C- holy shit what do I do? I don’t want her to have access, she has no right. And it’s weird. And invasive. And mom died over a year ago. Then I asked K. Then I asked moms bestest best friend. All informed me that I didn’t have to give her that info. In fact, moms bestie informed me that she hoped Sister1 hadn’t read moms private messages where she often poured out her heart and frustrations about living with my sisters to her best friends in confidence.

Well… I’ll bet you a million dollars sister1 has read all of that. All the text messages. All the emails. All the Facebook messages. She’s seen my mom describe her in her worst light. And I can’t imagine the unbearable pain that must have brought her. It explains a lot though. She’s been absolutely obsessed with mom since she passed. Moms hobbies have become sister1’s obsessions. She can’t and won’t let mom go. So hearing me tell her I wouldn’t reset the accounts kinda pissed her off.

To ensure that I held to moms honor and let her accounts be silenced, I went as far as to disconnect my email from her recoveries. Her accounts are now lost to the ether. It was like saying goodbye again. Letting the flowers drift into the ocean. Google asked if I wanted to disconnect ME@gmail.com from MOM@gmail.com as this was permanent and could not be undone. Well… I cried and I clicked it. Bye momma.

Not that Sister1 would accept that I can no longer rest the accounts. She became furious and said that I should never have made my self the recovery account if I wasn’t willing to recover them. She said she needed important financial information because she’d be left to deal with all of moms accounts.

Well, what the fuck kind of financial information do you need off of Facebook? And mom died over a year ago. I told her I’d be happy to handle any of mothers personal affairs that they had not just been left to her. She could forward me any correspondence and I’d get a copy of her death certificate from brother and take care of it. No responses after that.

All of the family has been their usual radio silence. No answering the phone or text messages. Oh well.

I do feel terrible for Sister1. Realizing she probably read mom talking shit about her and how much she hated living with her. God, that’s heart breaking. But sister1 brought it on herself by invading moms privacy. And I feel terrible that sister1 has now kinda become sister2s custodian. I do feel bad about that. But again, she let sister2 move in. Sister 2 tried to get me and Mr C to take in her cats. We said fuck no. Sister1 is more codependent and took her in. And it was only supposed to be 2 months… over 2 years ago. I’m sorry sister1. I really am. but I still won’t help you violate moms privacy over and over again.

It’s a terrible situation.