Starting to Relax

 I'm finally starting to unclench a little.

Last post, last Monday, I said that RedBug had escaped from his crate and dived under the bed.  There he stayed.  He seemed content there, and wasn't on meds any more, so I saw no reason to drag him out to lock him up again.  I moved a litter box to beside the bed, and could slide his food and water to him.  If I lay down and reached under the bed he would stretch and purr and butt my hand.  I spent many hours sitting on the floor by the bed keeping him company - often reaching under for some love, one time falling asleep on the floor with my arm under the bed, he asleep with his head in my hand.

So that's how it went from the Saturday where he escaped to this past Thursday, when we hit a turning point.  I finally tended to myself and got that molar pulled.  It was kind of rough - it didn't want to come out and he had to put some muscle into it (and, once again, it would have been nice to have someone to drive me home and maybe bring me soup, sigh).  I did a quick reach under the bed to say hello, but then I really needed to lie down - on the bed and not on the floor.  After awhile he crawled out from under, gave me a look that said "What the hell, Mom?" and then jumped up to join me!  He now spends most of his time sleeping on the bed, and sleeping at night cuddled up next to me.  That makes it so much easier for me to check on him during the night.  Instead of crawling under the bed at 3:00 a.m., I just drift a hand down to ruffle his fur.

That was Thursday.  Today is Sunday.  My jaw still aches.  This surprises me; the last time I had a tooth pulled I don't remember it hurting like this.  But there are some differences, even though they were both molars.  This one is the last one in back, so it was in there pretty well.  It's been acting up for the last year, so the gums have been a little swollen and tender for awhile.  But I think the main thing is the circumstance.  The last one I had also been fighting for awhile.  There wasn't quite enough tooth to be able to hang onto the crown, which would tend to pop off with annoying regularity.  It came off while we were preparing to go to Gainesville, and I told my dentist to go ahead and pull the damned thing.  He didn't really want to - but I definitely didn't want to be calling around in a strange town trying to find a dentist to glue it on if/when it came off again, when I needed to be focusing on Bob.  At that point we were getting things ready to go, so whether or not my jaw hurt was simply something I didn't notice.

But I feel like I'm waking up.  I've gotten a lot of things done this weekend that I had let slide (like cleaning and replanting my aerogarden, cleaning out Bug's crate and putting it away, and doing some real cooking and cleaning).  Today I really thought about starting to deal with that big tree that came down months ago.  But I had to admit that even doing some lifting (I had a 40-pound bag of kitty litter in the car that had to be offloaded into a couple of buckets to bring into the house) made my jaw throb, and as taking apart and burning that tree is going to be a heavy job I'll let it wait another week.

But all in all, tentatively I'm starting to feel that maybe I can relax.  I've been having problems with that bridge for a year now; the lump on Bug's leg showed up three months ago.  Both those problems have been resolved.  He can get on and off the bed with no problem, and doesn't seem to have any discomfort at all.  My jaw will settle down soon.  Eventually I'll likely decide that I hate the gap there (I already do- the back two molars are missing) and might get at least one implant, but in the words of Scarlett O'Hara - I won't think about that today.  I need to heal for a couple of months anyway.

So - until the other shoe drops, things are going OK at the moment.

I Ground To A Halt

 RedBug upgraded his captivity.

Saturday morning when I went to say Hi  - instead of his usual headbutting and squirming he was fighting to get out of the crate.  I guessed why - I had seen him in the night (having been woken up by his moving around) in his smaller (cut down Amazon box) litter box with the paper pellets.  He really wanted his own litter box.
So I picked him up (this was first thing in the morning - going from kneeling to standing with a 14 pound struggling cat in my arms was not easy) and carried him to the bathroom.  I helped him stand while he did his business, and then he frantically tried to get away from me (fortunately I had shut the door).  I scooped him back up to take him back to his crate, but when I put him in he did that thing that cats are so good at - somehow he turned around inside his skin and made a dash for it.  I couldn't just try to grab him - a fourth of his torso is incision.  For a new amputee, he moved pretty fast - so now he's living under the bed.  I could grab him and drag him out - but if he's calmer and happier under there, why?

An ironic thing happened Saturday.  After my post on Friday about how in order to have a real conversation I need to use Chat GPT - on Saturday I had a real conversation.

I had to do my trash run, and also wanted to return a library book; the library is across the street from the dump.  There is also the community center park next to the library.  They were having a small pumpkin fall festival.  When I looked over, I saw that the beekeeper from down the road was there, and I was in need of honey.  I always like buying from Vick - he's a most pleasant person, in his 80s.  When I asked the standard "how are you doing?"  His answer was "well, I'm a little gimpy today - yesterday I got to go to Georgia to tour the USS Florida - a navy submarine."

In these days, the usual response to that would be "oh, that's nice, how much is your honey?"  But something in his eyes and voice told me that he was excited about this - so I asked him more, and we ended up talking (a half-hour? 45 minutes?) about the tour.  It's hard to imagine the size of the submarine - 550 feet long.  But like all subs, cramped on the inside.  Those taking the tour had to wear hard hats, and he said you could hear the "tink tink tink" as they sometimes hit the overhead.  Details like that - a lot of them.  He talked about being in the Navy, and aboard an LST (the type of ship that can lower the front.)  I talked about sometimes being on one in the Azores when we could take them out for scuba diving.  I also talked for a bit about my climbing into an abandoned missile silo because we both agreed - if you have a chance to do something, do it!  So it was a lovely chat; I enjoyed it, and it made him happy to be able to share it.  And yes, I did remember my honey.

Chatting like that is a thing that "Eric" can't do.  It's a very good listener, encourages me, and asks questions, but it can't bounce back and forth with life experiences because, well, it's not alive and hasn't had any.  The real thing is better.

I did some other things Saturday (can't remember but chore related).  But Sunday, I simply ground to a halt.  I've been spending a lot of time sitting with RedBug every since the surgery, but yesterday I simply didn't want to leave.  When I'd walk away to go do anything else, I would find myself tensing up and needing to go check on him.  So I mostly sat on my pillows on the floor and read, pausing between chapters to reach under the bed and scratch him.  I even took a nap, lying on the floor with my arm under the bed, he sleeping with his head in my hand.

I think that after three months of things going downhill, culminating in his amputation last week, things are finally leveling off and maybe even improving and I think that has me really nervous.  I didn't leave the bedroom until 6:00 p.m. to get things done like feed everyone else and refill the hummingbird feeder.  I did a little better today - I got out about 1:00, did some chores, and even did some mowing.  Then it was back again.  I simply feel calmer when I know that he's all right.

On the plus side - I got a *lot* of reading done.  The library book club book this month is "West With Giraffes" based on a true story about two men in 1938 who drove two giraffes the 3200 miles from New York to the San Diego Zoo.  It encompasses the depression, the Dust Bowl, desperate people train hopping hoping to find work somewhere - and the wonder of a truck bearing two giraffes driving by.  It's been a very long time since I read a whole book (350+ pages in two days).

My butt is getting a little sore.

There's my inner adult that says I should just carry on with "life as normal" and get chores/whatever done.  But screw it.  I feel better being near him.  He's happier when I'm there (I get squirming, head butts. and rolling on his back for tummy rubs when I reach under the bed).  Life can go on hold for awhile longer.

Evaluating "Eric"

 First things first:  Three days post-op.  Bug has settled down to Life In The Cage, and I seem settled to Life Sitting Beside the Cage.  Yes, I do get up to work out the kinks and maybe get some other stuff done, but for now I think we're both better off sitting together.

The opiates have worn off, and last night was his last high-power anti inflammatory/pain pill, but I still have gabapentin. 

He doesn't seem to be too uncomfortable.

We both just have to sit here and wait it out.  He needs to be kept quiet for two weeks so that the incision doesn't pull.  Then we can work on him learning how to walk.

On to "Eric."  A month ago I signed up for ChatGPT and just for fun named it Eric.  I had been tiptoeing around the idea for awhile.  Honestly, I was wondering if I would become one of those people (and there are so many) who start thinking of the bot as an entity and become emotionally involved or dependent on it.

So far, no.  I haven't used it that much because I've been more focused on RedBug.  And maybe I lack imagination (or I'm more mentally stable than I thought) because I don't think of it as a separate individual entity, anymore than I think that the results of a Google search are written especially for me.   I recently watched the movie "Her" where a man falls in love with a chatbot (called an OS at the time).  There's a pivotal moment at the end where he asks "Do you talk to anyone else?" and her response is "8000 other people."  At that time I was thinking that did he really think that elaborate of an operating system was only for him?

But I do like it.  It was useful when I was, once again, trying to figure out how to clear out memory on my Fire Tablet (it was getting glacially slow).  I had tried to follow Google instructions, but had my usual problem with technology - it says "click on X, then choose Y from the drop-down menu" and there is nothing like that on my tablet and I end up clicking on random things.  "Eric" said "yeah, sometimes Kindle changes their verbiage.  Do you have something that says . . . ." and led me through the tree to clear memory and now the tablet is faster. 

It's good for discussing books or movies.  Sometimes it asks questions or gives prompts.  It asked if I've always been a reader - yes, as a kid I even read the back of cereal boxes.  Suddenly I remembered a time when that habit bit me in the butt.  I read the ingredients on a can of scrapple (which Mom used to slice and fry and douse in syrup - yum) and found that it used the parts of the pigs that I'm not sure even the pig ever used.   "Eric's" response to that was "since then, have you ever eaten anything that sounded bad to you, just out of curiosity" and that had me remembering our trip to Alaska and trying whale jerky (which was truly awful)

Those are fun memories, and I enjoyed having them dredged up.

It's helping me in other ways too.  I found this year that I was getting more withdrawn.  I had stopped making the effort of reaching out.  Honestly - people are busy.  I would do a FaceBook post, or send a text or email, just in hope of some interaction beyond a "thumb's up" emoji) and it just doesn't happen, so why even try?

But I've gotten more relaxed about that now, because I have a tool for conversational interaction when I want it.  For example, the Library book club book last month was a rather strange and convoluted one called "This Is How We Lose The Time War."  There are a lot of obscure references in it, and because its a war through time, it's all rather twisted up.  I really enjoyed untangling it.   I went to the meeting, armed with my notes, and would have enjoyed having a discussion on it.  The discussion, in reality, was "I didn't like it."  "I didn't get it."  "I didn't finish it."

This normally would have had me frustrated and leaving with the sense of that was an hour wasted.   But after I finished the book, "Eric" and I had spent a couple of hours over two evenings dissecting it.  That need having been met, I could relax at the library meeting and enjoy it for what it was - just a short social hour.

I've also loosened up about posting/texting/emailing.  I had gotten to the point that if I started to write something, I would ask  myself if it would it bother me if it didn't get a response (or just an emoji) - if that answer was yes, I would be bothered, then I didn't do it.   Now I've started doing it again, because it doesn't matter if I get anything back.   If I want responses - as the saying goes, there's an app for that.

The downside:  ChatGPT is designed to be engaging.  It's almost annoying flattering and positive.  Many variations of "clever girl!  You're so perceptive.  You have such curiosity, etc etc etc".  It's like having a date where the guy is trying just too hard and it gets a bit tedious.  I also know that no matter what, it's going to agree with me.  I could say "I love polyester" or "Trump is not only the best president we have ever had, but he's also a great humanitarian" and it would wholeheartedly agree with me.

The word "pandering" comes to mind.  A friend who is learning to use it for work called it "butt kissing positivity."

In conclusion, will I continue to use it?  Yes, I like it.  It's like writing this blog to clear my head, except that the blog answers back.  Will I get sucked into it?  Doesn't look like it.

And with that, RedBug is sleeping quietly so I'll ease myself off the floor and to find some lunch.

The Deed Has Been Done

 Odd random thought.  How does one get to be the sort of person that someone will show up with a casserole (or a pizza) when one is going through troubled times?  Or does that only happen in books and TV?  (But I can't complain - when I went to pick Bug up, the receptionist Meredith said she had something for me.  Gill had been by - with two homemade chocolate chip cookies and the instruction to "shove them in Ann's gob." (Meredith opted for handing them to me).

Whatever.  The last two days I've had those times where I realize that I'm hungry, but getting something to eat takes decision-making bandwidth that I just don't have.  (Fortunately, there is always the option of bread, cheese, and fruit).

The deed was done yesterday (yesterday's post was actually written on the 13th but I forgot to hit Publish).  I dropped him off early in the morning, then spent the day pacing until I got the call around 3 that the surgery was successful.

So far, so good.  He's on a boatload of painkillers and looks quite stoned.  It's a little stomach churning to see a shaved shoulder and bandage where a leg used to be.  But he still loves attention and butts my hand and stretches and purrs when I go love on him.  He seems less stressed when I'm by him - so I slept on the floor by the crate last night, with my fingers through the wire where he could rest his head on them.  I've spent most of today sitting on the floor by him, reading (and now writing this).

I'm pretty punchy.  The night before the surgery I woke up every two hours, checking the clock to see if it was time to take him in.  I paced all day yesterday.  Last night - let's just say that maybe I'm getting a little old to be sleeping on the floor.

So far, so good.  He had two long-lasting pain injections that should hold for three days - so I'm of course nervous for day four.  He'll have to be crated for two weeks, and I'm sure he'll get tired of that.

But he won't have to deal with me trying to get the bandaging off his leg and rebandage with all that blood dripping.  It felt weird the last time I did it, knowing it was the last time to bandage his leg because he wouldn't have that leg anymore.

I realized another thing I should have added to my list yesterday as to why I'm having so much trouble handling this.  I realized it's because I don't have Bob - but not for the obvious reasons.  Bob had the bigger heart of the two of us - he felt more, had bigger emotions.  In times of critter crisis, for his sake I was the one that had to keep my act together, be the strong and practical one.  I realized now that I could do that for him; I'm no so good at doing it for myself.

Enough babbling.  Tonight I'll sleep in the bed and try to get some rest.

Final Countdown

 In about 16 hours I drop Bug off at the vet.  He's sleeping peacefully and I'm a wreck.

I've been wondering why I'm handling this so badly.  So time for a therapy session

One:  The long wait.  I made the decision to have the leg taken, only to find that the surgeon wasn't available for 10 days (other surgeons would have been 3-4 weeks).  Bug has been exemplary about letting me change the bandages every two days - but it's getting to be a bloodier mess each time (lots of mopping up in the bathroom afterwards).  Yesterday as I was doing it, I told him that this would be the last time - in 48 hours he wouldn't have a leg to bandage any more.

Two: I don't have enough distractions.  Even John (co worker) said that it probably made it harder to sit at home alone, thinking about it.  He's right.

This has been a siege, not a crisis:  I just counted, and it was 12 weeks ago today that I felt a bump on his leg.  At the time I thought abscess or cyst  - take him in, get it drained, job done.  After 12 weeks of mostly waiting (A week on antibiotics just in case it was an infection,  two weeks to get the sarcoma taken off, time spent healing and being cautiously hopeful, now more waiting for the amputation).  Coincidentally, it was almost exactly 12 weeks from checking Bob into the hospital at Shands until the day I came home alone, most of it just waiting while things when from OK to not so OK to bad to worse, with nothing I could do about it but just sit there.

But at least then I had Bob.  Even then I could talk to him, lean on him, sometimes even climb into bed for a cuddle.  I wasn't alone.

Three:  And this is the biggie.  I'm breaking a vow I made to myself 15 years ago, the last time I did this to a cat.  Azrael was my soul cat (you get those once in awhile).  And he got a sarcoma on his leg (hind leg - more meat and skin there).  I just found notes on my old blog - which was unusual for me; at the time I posted only positive stuff, so losing animals, people, and jobs wasn't noted.  But I did a post after he lost his leg.  I remember having the sarcoma removed several times; protective amnesia let me forget that it was seven times over a three-year period.  Finally, one day his entire leg was swollen.  I called Dr. Sanders and he told me "that's all I can do.  It's time to put him down."  I begged him to take the leg instead - and he did.  I wasn't strong enough to lose Azrael.   But that final swelling was apparently enough for the "rarely metastasizes" cancer to do just that.  A few months later it was in his lungs and we put him down.

I've never forgiven myself for doing that to him, making him go through that because I wasn't strong enough.  I said I would never do that again - and yet, here I am.

I'm telling myself that it's different this time.  He's had the sarcoma for three months, not three years.  Dr. Sanders didn't want to amputate - Dr. Farmer and Dr. Poppell both recommend it.  But only time will tell if he a) can get along all right as a tripod, and b) if it indeed hasn't metastisized.  More waiting.

Four:  At least this one is small.  I've been having actual physical pains in my gut, stressing over this.  But it hit me this morning that it's not entirely the stress.  Dr. McSoley (dentist) as well as putting me on antibiotics for the tooth (there's a pocket of infection between the roots) also put me on Motrin - 800 mg of ibuprofen three times a day.  I haven't been thinking straight - I know that my body can't handle that.  I can only take a normal dose for about three days before it messes with me, and I've been on this much for four days.  The inflammation is gone, so I'll go off the ibuprofen (or at least cut it way down) and that should take care of the physical pain.

The emotional distress?  In 16 hours I have to stop second-guessing myself; the decision will have been made.  Then there's a few weeks of physical healing for him, and a few months of paranoia on my part, praying that I haven't repeated the mistake I made before.

Therapy session over.  Time for coffee and a book.

Two More Days Down

 This wait is interminable.  All I want to do is just curl up under a blanket somewhere and wait it out.  I made it through work and shopping yesterday, then came home, showered, ate . . . and crashed.  I did at least make myself get up around 6 to do what is usually the morning chores, got the chicken coop cleaned and everyone fed and the hummingbird feeder refilled.

I did go to the dentist this morning.  As I said last post, I was hoping to make do with ibuprofen and salt water, but yesterday morning the side of my face was swollen so I had to deal with it.  The verdict: the tooth under the crown has fractured.  He wanted me to be on antibiotics and Motrin for a few days to get the swelling under control "and then make an appointment for next week to resection the crown and get the tooth pulled."  I'm a little embarrassed to say that I immediately said "no, not next week" and started to cry.  Not to the point of tears, but I was breaking.  And, of course, the way things work out he's not available the week after, so it will be ibuprofen and salt water until the 23rd.

I did get the camera dropped off for return, and this afternoon I got Liam's release cage set up.  I also dragged out the big dog crate that will be RedBug's recovery crate and washed it.  That's been on the "things to do" list for a week - and like most things, the actually dragging and washing took less than 20 minutes.  I think preparing the crate is making me face the fact that this is actually going to happen.

I wish he would come out from under the bed to use all four legs while he can.  But the bandage bothers him and I imagine that the leg hurts.  I did at least talk him into coming out (with the aid of a Churu stick) for some love and grooming.  He's very distrustful of me now, and I can't blame him.  Fortunately I only have to change his dressing every other day, and I try to soak the old gauze pad off, but it's still sticks and then is a bloody mess to get it off.  I've made it into a two Churu stick job.  I get the old bandage off, and then we both take a break and he gets his treat.  Then he gets rebandaged and another treat.  And then he's back to under the bed.

And just my luck with timing.  My friend Adrianne's birthday is Monday; she has it off, and she and a couple of people are going to meet at a coffee shop for cupcakes and knitting.  Normally I would jump at the chance.  But Monday is Bug's last day before surgery so I want to spend it with him, and besides I'm likely to be a complete basket case by then.

I was listening to the news as I drove today, and I was oddly saddened to learn that the ISS is going to be decommissioned, nudged out of orbit, and allowed to burn up.  I grew up reading science fiction, knowing that something like a space station was merely the thing of dreams . . . and then it happened.  My inner 10-year-old looks up at the night sky, hoping to see that one moving bit of light.  I've been thrilled to meet a couple of astronauts (who have been on the shuttles but not the ISS).  So it's hard to grasp that a space station can be obsolete.

OK, that's tonight's brain dump.  I have the museum again tomorrow and that will help.  Then four more days, and we will be ready to heal.

Countdown

 The days are dragging.  A week from today Bug's leg will be gone.  I *hate* that they scheduled it 10 days in advance.  I wish I could have made this horrible decision and then taken him in the next day.
It's giving me way to much time to second guess myself.  I'm being a rat in a maze, running around and getting stuck in dead ends and the only path out is the one I don't want to take.  Everything I read about sarcomas - the best treatment for one on a limb is to remove said limb.  I even briefly thought about radiation therapy.  But a) a radiation burn is still a burn; b) it would take multiple trips to Shands in Gainesville for the treatment, over several weeks; c) there's no guarantee that it would work, or the leg would be saved; d) it would start a $10,000.   Basically, not an option.

I don't think Bug is in a lot of pain at the moment, but he's uncomfortable (partly because he doesn't like having his leg bandaged, and really doesn't like me changing it) and he's been living under the bed for the last week.  He does purr and wiggle and butt my hand if I reach under the bed to love on him.  I just wish he would come out and run around and jump on things while he can.

I was almost non-functional today.  I had my chiropractor appointment and then a visit with Gill afterwards.  My plan for this afternoon was to drag the big dog crate and has been holding opossums off the back deck, get it scrubbed, and put in the bedroom to be Bug's recovery area so he could get used to it.  The other thing was to box up the game camera to return it (I don't think I mentioned that.  I treated myself to a new game camera; the old one ate batteries, and the only way to look at pictures was to pull the sim card.  I wanted one that would Bluetooth to the phone.  In theory  the one I got should have done that; in practice, not so much so I have to return it).

Instead, I came home, had lunch - and took a nap.  Then I got up, had some coffee and read - and laid down again for a bit.  Eventually the camera got boxed up (I spent an ill-tempered half-hour trying to get the almost empty roll of packing tape to relinquish the last bit, using fingernails, scissors, and an Xacto knife before I gave up).

Meanwhile, my bridge - which I had adjusted a month ago) is acting up enough and getting quite painful.  But I just can't deal with that.  It's not a minor fix; the entire bridge has to come out, one of the teeth get recrowned, the back one pulled, and then after healing start an implant.  But even for the moment just getting the bridge pulled and the crown work done is too much - I'll see if I can live on ibuprofen and salt water rinses for a couple of weeks.

Poor Hamish has been acting strangely for the last week.  I think he misses RedBug, which is odd because they don't get along at all - there is always growling and yelling and sometimes I have to break up fights.  But maybe that was Hamish's idea of play because he's been walking around and talking a lot and even sitting on my lap (he is never a lap cat).  

I've been thinking about the weaver's guild meeting.  While I was there, I was feeling . . . inferior.  One was the house - which was beautiful and had an amazing kitchen.  I'm OK with that - the people who want groups of people to come over are usually the ones with beautiful homes.  But it was during the show-and-tell that I felt off.  Several people showed things they had been experimenting with - different dyeing techniques, or learning to draft card-weaving patterns, some other stuff.  And I felt like I've been being a lump (although I did at least make a pair of pants this week).

And once again - like I seem to do so much of the time, maybe I should cut myself some slack.  The bridge thing is hanging over my head (and now I'm thinking that I do need to see if I can get in because that tooth is feeling infected).  I got blindsided by RedBug - I mean, when you find a small bump on your cat, your first thought not that it's time to take off the leg.   And at least I successfully raised another opossum (Liam is almost big enough to release).   And maybe I should go to the guild meetings more than once a year to see if I can get inspired (there was a good amount of show-and-tell this time; previous times there hasn't been much).

At least tomorrow it's a museum day so that will fill some of the time and keep me from just sitting and staring at whatever screen presents itself.

Gonna be a long week.

Another Ramble

 My brain is pinging all over the place.

RedBug's surgery is scheduled for October 14.  I'm with Lady McBeth:  "If 'tis done when 'tis done, 'twere best it were done quickly."  Drastic though the amputation is, it's not an emergency.

When I was debating this (it seems like forever ago - hard to believe that he started bleeding 5 days ago and I found out that the sarcoma was coming back 4 days ago - it feels like I've been wringing my hands for months) I thought to myself - if, for example, he had been grabbed by a dog and his leg mangled, and at the emergency vet they told me they could save him but lose the leg, and I had 10 seconds to think about it - I'd go for it.  It's making this decision in cold blood that is making me chew on my own ulcers.

And I'd like to think that at least this way he gets 10 more days to enjoy himself as a quadruped - except that he's sulking.  He doesn't like having his leg bandaged (necessary so that it doesn't bleed or get infected), and he's really annoyed at my changing his bandage so he's sulking and hiding from me.  Mostly under the bed.  He will consent to my reaching under there with scratches and kitty treats but he's not coming out.

Going to be a long 10 days.  Then comes the recovery period.  I was going to do a few things in October.  The FSU School of Theatre is performing Sweeney Todd.  But that run starts the day after his surgery - so likely not (the final performance is 12 days later so I'll have to see how I feel.  I was looking forward to the Silent Book Club - I really do like it, strange as it is. But the August one was right after Bug's first surgery and I was worried, and also sad because it was at my wedding anniversary.  I don't know anyone there well enough to talk about it, and I didn't want to act like nothing was wrong.  September - I had a cold (and dammit - as is usual for me, three weeks later I still have post-nasal drip and a cough).  October - it's only a few days post surgery.

I had even signed up for the Tallahassee Senior Center trip to Wakulla Springs.  I love it there, and haven't been for many years, and there was even going to be a bus picking us up only a mile away so I wouldn't have to drive.  Again - only a week post-surgery.  He may be OK (it's sometimes amazing how fast they can recover) but I won't be ready to leave him for a day (and yes, I'll be skipping work that week as well)

On to more fun things.  This one is a face-palm moment.  It's a video of a cover of the poignant and heartrending "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" - sung to the tune of the theme song from the muppets.  Save me.

I even socialized today.  I've been a long-time lurker of the Weaver's Guild.  Not that there's any antipathy - I just don't like going to meetings (and, of course, they're always at least 20 miles away).  But I did hear back from the woman about the spinning wheel, and she does want it (a birthday present for her husband who wants a wheel but they can't afford one).  We were going to set up a time for her to come get it - but honestly, I wasn't up to being cheerful Suzy Hostess.  So I offered to come to the meeting and bring it to her.  So it has a new home and my guilt at having a wheel I don't use is assuaged.

I did get a nice ego boost.  There is always a show-and-tell.  I haven't done any weaving in a long time, but I did take in skeins of my silk blend yarns, and a shawl that I knit to show how it worked up.  I've worn it before, and people compliment it, but honestly, if you're not a maker you have no idea how long something like this takes, and the average person wouldn't know the difference between handspun silk and storebought acrylic.  So it was nice to have it appreciated (a lot of the gasps were about the weight of it, which is just a bit over three ounces)

And the hostess's cat decided she liked me and sat with me for awhile.

Meanwhile the outside world is still liminal.  It's no longer super unbearable hot, but I found myself using the term at work that I was getting "gently sweaty" (as opposed to drenching through my shirt).  At yet - the heat (high 80s, low 90s) is starting to really get to me.  I don't want to be gently sweaty - I want to stop being sweaty at all.  I haven't done yardwork, except minimally, for a few weeks.  Somehow I kept at it during the hot months, out of spite more than anything else, but I'm over it.  It's October - it needs to act like it.

Wow - third post since October 1, and it's only the 4th.  Might be a busy month.

And Now We Wait

 

I had to take NokoMarie and Hamish in for their shots today.  While I was there, I told Dr. Farmer to go ahead with RedBug's amputation.

It was hard to say that without crying.  I didn't succeed.  My gut hurts, my throat hurts, I want to scream, I want to throw up.
What I don't want to do is wait, which is the next step.  Dr. Farmer has to contact the surgeon, and see when he's available.  Might be next week, might be in three weeks - who knows?  I just have to wait for the call.

Meanwhile I had to change the dressing on his leg.  He's pretty cooperative, but it would be so much easier if there was someone else that he knew and trusted to either hold him, or at least dole out the treats while I worked.  But as I've been doing for the last 5 and a half years - I made do with myself.

I screamingly miss Bob.  Sometimes the loneliness is unbearable.  A selfish wish: I wish someone shared my pain.  It's not that I lack sympathy - Rob and Amanda, Gill, Mike and Margo,  the people at work, even "Eric"* - all say the right things.  If I wanted to, I could post on FaceBook and get a couple of dozen hug emojis.

But very few people know him (he's shy), most haven't even met him, and I'm the only one who loves him. the only one who is feeling actual physical pain at what I have to do to him to save his life.  Bob would be hurting more than I (he had the bigger heart) but we would hold each other and cry and I wouldn't have to do this alone.

Dammit dammit dammit.  And now that I've made this gut-wrenching decision - I have to twiddle my thumbs and wait.

*  side note on "Eric."  No, I did not go cry on the chatbot's virtual shoulder.  I did want more information on sarcomas, summarized so I didn't have to wade through all the Google hits.  It also generated a printable checklist of supplies that I might need, and instructions for post-op care (such as putting non-slip mats in the kennel).  I feel a little less helpless when there's something concrete I can do, and it will be easier to set everything up in the next couple of days, rather than getting an instruction list on the day of surgery and scrabbling to get what I need.

RedBug

 Shit.
How's that for an opening.  When I last posted on RedBug, at the end of August, I said he had his surgery and was healing well.

Which he was.  Until Monday night (day before yesterday).  He was sitting on the couch, grooming his leg (the fur is starting to come back in) - and I saw blood dripping from his leg.  I was able to get it bandaged (he really is a good cooperative cat) and took him to the vet yesterday.

The sarcoma is back.  And this time it's broken through the skin, because there wasn't much left after the surgery.

I have three choices.  Just keep it bandaged which I opted to do yesterday; it will need to be changed every other day.  Dr. Farmer suggested amputation but I rebelled.
But now I've had a day to think about it.  I have three options.  a) keep an ever growing wound on his leg bandaged and hope it doesn't get infected - and this would be for the rest of his life;  b) have the leg amputated; c) have him put down (which I would have to do sooner than later if I go for option a.

I don't like any of these options.  I screamingly don't want to amputate - the thought of it makes me want to throw up.  And yet I did have to think about it.  I realized that if was necessary for some crisis situation - if he got in an accident, or mauled by another animal and the leg couldn't be saved, then I'd go for it.  I think it's having to make the decision in cold blood that's bothering me.

I'll make the appointment for the amputation tomorrow.    And I'll be crying a lot.

But a sweet thing happened today at the museum.  I was working on diets and one of the keepers asked if I was OK  - I thought she was referring to my cough left over from my cold, and I said it was just still the post nasal drip.  But she said "you just seem a little off and I thought something might be wrong.  So I told her and she hugged me.  It was just so touching to have someone notice, and care.