July 9, 2019 - July 9, 2020

OK, been sitting here for an hour, playing online solitaire, and wondering what to write.

Because I feel I should write.

Because it's July 9.

July 9, 2019 was the watershed day.  We had spent a few weeks being confused and concerned because Bob's "routine" checkup showed oddities in his blood count.  He stopped taking his gout medication (which can cause a disruption in his blood count) and had the tests taken again.  Still weird.  We had met with an oncologist, who had looked at his count, looked at his eyes and fingernails and gums, looked at me and said "doesn't he look pale to you?"  and in that light, well, yes, he did.  But I always thought of Bob as ruddy.  And he was acting normal--we had even been swimming on a regular basis.  But we ended up staying there another 6 hours because Dr. Nair decided he needed an emergency transfusion.

A few days later there was the bone marrow biopsy.

And we had an appointment on the morning of July 9 to see the results.

Fiona had not been feeling well for a few days.  This happened periodically; she had kidney problems for several years but usually responded to having fluids infused.  This time she hadn't.  And we got up that morning and looked at her--and her face was puffy, and she couldn't eat or drink, and we knew the kidneys had finally quit and the old cat was suffering.  Bob said he would have to call and reschedule his appointment; I put my foot down and said no, this appointment was important.  We called the vet and they agreed to slide us in as soon as we got there.  We held her while the doctor put her down, then left her tiny body there for cremation.  We sat in the car for awhile and cried.  Then we drove to the clinic.

We sat in Dr. Nair's office, trying to keep our act together, grieving for the loss of a 20 year old furry friend, wondering how such a small animal could leave such a big hole in our lives.

Dr. Nair came in, pulled his chair close to us.  Sat down, holding papers.  Looked us in the eye and said "I'm sorry.  It is leukemia."  Not "it's".  Each word separate.  A Pronouncement:  It. Is. Leukemia.

I can't remember how we reacted.  I remember that we tried to explain that we were in grief, that we had lost a friend an hour before.  I think he was confused and wondering why we were talking about a cat.

And I remember nothing about the rest of the day.   I remember being at the vet, and I remember being in Dr. Nair's office, and I don't remember anything else.

July 9.