Divine Ms Grace

[attractivegeekery]

It started last Wednesday. My cat had a sour belly. It happens. We're in the midst of Summer in Boston and she's 15 years old. Which, for those of you playing at home who aren't Cat people, roughly makes her about 84 years young.

But still...there wasn't something right, and I knew it.
Then I knew it again at 2am, and 4am, and 7am.
So I did what I usually did during times like this: I pulled her food and put out more water.
Was it the food? had it gone rancid? I threw out the freshly opened can, and gave the bag of dry stuff a once over.

Thursday went into Friday and I kept finding "gifts" around the house. No where near as bad as early Thursday, but still not great. So...bland diet it was. It took some wandering to find a place in Brighton that sold chicken puree baby food, but it was well worth it to watch her devour the stuff.

Stuff she kept down...for the most part.
When I got home Friday night and found the least parts. That wasn't the straw that broke the camel's back though, it was the fact that she spent the majority of that evening curled up in a loaf at the end of my bed. In an otherwise empty room.

No, that wasn't normal, and so Saturday morning I called the Vet.
She suggested I take her to the Big 24 Hour Animal hospital, but so as to save me some money, she'd call ahead and get me an appointment with an internist she knows there.

So now my Saturday, which was supposed to be couch-sitting, a box of wine, and "When Harry Met Sally;" was now hanging out at the animal hospital for two and a half hours. The bulk of which I spent crying, because...that's how I roll.

Grace is old.
She, like her mother, has bad kidneys. In fact, she's got chronic kidney disease, an ailment I'm told gets most house-cats eventually. One kidney is the size of a lima bean, the other..a peach pit. The latter is the preferred food-size equivalent.
The more you know!

They did some quick blood work, and decided that the best way to monitor was to keep her overnight.
When they came to collect her they did so with a metal cage, the likes of which I'd expect someone to remove a wayward raccoon from their yard. At this point I was just leaking tears an trying ever so hard to keep my shit together.

The Doctor's said they'd call me when they had results, and would keep me posted.

So we left. Went to the liquor store. Bought a bottle of Rose, and a box of red. Then came sushi, and couch sitting.

Here's the point where I praise people, because...seriously, this weekend I was held together by love, friendship, booze/hangover.

Sam, who I had plans with that day, cut her errands short to drive me and my stupid cat to the hospital. Then she sat with me to two hours, on an empty stomach, while I freaked out in an animal hospital.
Then...THEN we bought and drank booze, shot the shit, and watched a movie. She kept me so distracted that I didn't obsess over the phone or hit the internet to see if I could Worse Case Scenario my cat's health.

Sam is a mother fucking rockstar.
It took us four hours to get through "When Harry Met Sally" because we kept getting distracted.
It was awesome.

Becca, Alissa, and Steve are also rock stars.
Not only did they graciously put up with Drunk!Karen...who is loud, so very loud, but they also brought her frozen custard and Cheez-its. There is no greater expression of love than the delivery of ice cream and Cheez-its. Anyone in the Family Bing will say as much. These are our lifeblood, which might explain why so many of us have The Diabetus, but I digress.

Joe's canonization is still in progress, but that's mostly an issue of paperwork at this point. He showed up quasi-announced, drank with us, laughed with us, and then the next day hand delivered a burrito.

Tenille. Tenille is the best kind of friend. She's the sort who when you drunkenly text her at 9pm on a Saturday to come watch "The Mummy" says, "I'll be right there."

Which is how, out of the blue, on a Saturday night following the day when I would burst into tears at the drop of a hat, my living room was full of my favorite people watching movies and helping me drink a box of red wine. It was the best of all possible distractions. Especially since the house was extra empty otherwise, with every shadow not being a crankly old lady black cat.

The next morning came, and I waited by the phone. Until I didn't. And of course that's when the call came.
It wasn't an obstruction that caused the vomiting, or her kidneys, but apparently her pancreas. They wanted to do some more blood work, but most of the big expensive things they wanted to run, they now said weren't necessary, and that I could come and get her around 6.

So I futzed around the house. I went, line by line, in my checkbook and fixed the errors that caused my monthly balances to come out wrong. I learned that audioediting doesn't provide one with enough fidget to distract and so...I fell behind there. I did go into the basement to see if I could turn on the second outdoor spigot, but...there's something there I'm missing.

No literally. When I turned the valve I found myself doused with water. It was probably really funny to watch, but mostly just soggy from where I was standing...dripping.

Six rolled around and Brooke was the newest name to be enshrined on the Rock Star Wall of Fame. She who drove me back to the hospital. Who stood up to ask: Seriously. What's the hold up? We've been here a half hour! when I didn't...couldn't.

I had this crippling fear that maybe something had happened in the time it took for us to get there.
Then there was this woman who just...broke in the waiting room after what I can only imagine was the worst of all possible news.

Hospitals are tense.
I have to remember to be more kind and smile that more when I return to work tomorrow.

Eventually, Grace was returned to us...wailing all the way home.
Hey, it was a sign of life, and I was in no position to argue.

She's resting now, a bit more comfortably than she was when she first got home. The ankle of her front left paw is shaved all the way around, and I can only imagine tender after all the IV fluids. She's moving slower, which I assume is due to all the poking and prodding and drugs. She's eating, which is good, and as far as I can tell keeping it all down...which is awesome. She just...looks so tiny now, and not just because she's barely 7 pounds, though that's part of it too.

When I think about it too much...or at all, my eyes automatically well up with tears.
So I'm trying to keep busy. I've taken the day off so that I'm not far from the house, and I'm finally getting around to that editing that's due today. And all my laundry. And the kitchen. And...what ever else I can find to keep moving.

Sometimes I find myself outside of my own head telling me that this is just a cat. That she's fifteen years old. That this sort of thing happens.

But then I'm overtaken by weight of it. Like my emotional house is one stiff breeze from collapsing. Or worse yet, from having the ground beneath its foundation giving way unexpectedly.

So yeah...how was your weekend?

Comments

[varadia]

I'm sorry, sweets. That is awful. I am glad Grace is home and eating, though.

*hugs very tight*