Tick Tock.

Tick Tock.

Tick Tock.

Vet #6 seemed to think that my cat had Feline Aids. He was tested (negative) before he ever came home with us and then again at our vet's office. He was an indoor cat and didn't have exposure to other cats in the neighborhood. I'm racking my brain trying to figure out how and if this is even possible. We should know the test results by Thursday.

In the meantime, I'm eyeing my other cats and wondering what the future holds in store for them.

Do I even need to utter the words outloud: How the hell can a person go to 6 different vets and have umpteen visits over a year and a half with no mention of Feline Aids prior to the vet telling me it's time to end his suffering? My frustration is palpable, i.e. it's throbbing in my forehead and making my eyes bulge a bit.

My incessant crying has finally become sporadic. I know in my heart that I did everything humanly possible to find a cure...short of taking him to Mayo. But that doesn't help the hurt in my heart or the knowledge that I will never be able to replace him. I've lost something truly unique and precious, and I miss him and his naggy little cat howl.

I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised that it was my favorite cat that got sick and passed away. My life seems to have been unraveling over these last 4 years and this latest incident just seems to fall into place.


My grief is profound and it's been deepening for at least 6 months. That's how long I've known that my cat was not going to be able to beat this thing and eventually succumb. He was a fighter and gave it his very best to the very end. The last few nights, I held him close to me in bed and told him how much I love him. By then, his awareness was gone. He was moving awkwardly, barely able to eat and drink. Somehow, I had convinced myself that he had low blood sugar and that all I needed the doctor to do was tell me how much more insulin to administer.


No, they said. It's Neurological.

And in that split second, I knew it was over. The hope. The struggle to find the answer. The regimen of drugs. The belief that we would get back to normal.


But normal is gone forever. And my remaining threads of hope seem to be unraveling. Hope that I'll lose weight. Hope that I'll get a great job. Hope that my house is going to turn out to be OK. Hope that I am going to be happy again one day.

I don't expect people to fully understand the significance of this loss. It sounds callous for me to say that this cat was so much more special than our other three cats, but it's true. A lot of it has to do with our connection. We were soul mates. His personality transcended that of the typical cat in every way imaginable. He would rest in my arms with the side of his faced pressed against mine for hours. I was his Chosen One, no doubt about it. The others are aloof and cautious and uncommitted. Not my Sweet Boy. He demanded his cuddle time and rightfully took his place on my lap whenever there was an opportunity. He just loved being attached.


Losing my favorite cat is a major blow. I believe that I am now completely beaten and unable to get up. And why should I? So many of the things and people I have loved are gone, and I have no idea how to rebuild and recoup from this latest devastation.

In Memoriam

June 27, 2008

You shared your life with us for just over ten years.

You were the Special One, the cat I loved unconditionally.

Today, I lost you.

My heart will never be the same.

"If you do that again, I will snap you like a twig."

I didn't actually mutter those words, but the anger inside of me certainly prompted the desire.

I was at a backyard picnic with the baby and a group of kids ranging from 1 to 6 years old. Six of the older kids were sitting at a picnic table under a tree, and my son toddled over there to see what they were doing. Suddenly, they all started to chant...in a bullyish tone: "Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk." It took me about 20 seconds to realize what was going on and see that they were doing the chant at my son. He just stood there, utterly confused.

My heart stopped and I wasn't sure what to do. I said to the mom next to me, "I think I need to do an intervention." Two of the kids at the table were hers, so she yelled at them to stop. About ten seconds later, the group started at it again. My son just stared at them wide-eyed. The other mom went over to the table and broke the group up, as I just stood there with my eyes brimming with tears and thinking that my son is going to have to deal with this plus a whole lot worse as he grows up. As a preemie, he is going to be the smallest and probably the least developed for a long time. And my heart just broke.

Then I became a She-Bear and was ready protect my baby. I swear, I could feel my teeth spontaneously sharpen.

Egads.

I am going to need to toughen up and learn how to deal with kids. The group was certainly ganging up on my boy, but they weren't trying to hurt him. I just immediately crumbled like blue cheese because I am already so worried about his growth, his cognitive abilities...pretty much his everything...and then I swung over to the other end of the pendulum.

He's done so well and come so far. I don't want him to face ridicule or rejection or shame, and I know that I can't stop that from happening. And it would be an injustice to his spirit if I were to try.

But still.

The She-Bear may withdraw but she never really goes away, does she?

I have walked around with a chip on my shoulder for the last several years.

I've been hyper-focused on all of the bad/negative things happening in my life and kept adding to my bag of discontent with every situation that "didn't go my way." Silently, I've been lamenting that God has forsaken me, refusing to answer my prayers and leaving me astray.

I'm such an idiot.

I finally got the Aha! moment when I realized that two of my most desperate prayers had been answered. The Siamese has rebounded and is doing well. He's still congested, but he is now up and around to spend time out on the deck basking in the Colorado sunshine. Secondly, my husband's job is really starting to kick-in and he's finally earning more than he earned (in the same job) on an hourly basis (it recently converted to commission only).

My negative attitude has left me feeling shaken, spiritually bereft and angry. And frankly, I'm tired of it. Partially because it's left me drained of energy and optimism. Also partially because I believe in the concepts of The Secret - that we reap (attract) what we sow (put out there).

I need to grow up and realize that people die every day, and I was extremely lucky to have my sister and parents in my life up into my mid-forties. Somehow, I'm still shocked by those 2 years but I'm feeling that it's time for me to rebound and get back to the Old Jill.

It's going to be a long road to hoe - in many ways. But I need to do it and finally, finally I have some internal motivation to get the process started.

My Big-H surgery was originally scheduled for later this week - but my lungs are still in pretty bad shape, so I had to cancel. The good news is that my mother in law is still flying in for 5 days which will give me a much needed break to finally, finally get back in to see my MD and get over this bug.

The baby has rebounded really well, and I'm happy to report that he is on his 4th day of non-vomiting. I have to say that May, 08 was undoubtedly one of my toughest most difficult months ever. Husband's dad passing away, me being home alone with the baby with both of us sick-sick-sick. Which leads me to ask, How the heck do single moms do this?! I mean really.

How. Do. You. Do. This?

Up several times a night to change him/the bedsheets. Trying to soothe him to sleep when he's lying in your arms moaning. Cleaning the throw-up off the couch, the floor, the table, your clothes, his clothes, the pillows, the rug, the stroller, the car seat, your hair....ugh. Taking him to the doctor's office and trying to hold him through his fussiness and hollering. Holding him steady for the eardrops, nebulizer, oral antibiotics, Prevacid, Benedryl, Tylenol.

All while you are horribly sick yourself!?

Oy Vey!

I realize that all parents do this stuff, but man oh man. I have a profound respect for single moms who do it alone.

I am gearing myself up to go back on the Blood Type diet and start seeing my naturopathic doctor again. My stomach hasn't been "normal" for years and it's gotten especially fussy since I had my gallbladder removed.

This type of "medical care" is a really cool process. First, they analyze a hair sample to look at the body's chemical levels, then the MD inspects an eye to see how all of the organs are functioning. Apparently the eye exam is very telling and reveals most all of what is going on with the body. This process is all very non-Western and involves the regimented consumption of lots of enzymes and other non-prescription pills.

The Blood Type diet will basically eliminate all of the foods that I eat every day. Wheat/bread, milk and most cheeses except goat cheese, oranges, mushrooms, cantaloupe, black pepper. Corn. Yup, everything that I crave that is keeping my digestive system in a constant state of disruption.

I am also preparing for the baby's Swallow Study which is a barium x-ray. He's going to have to ingest 1/2 a cup of gloopy stuff to be able to do the exam...and this is going to be a Challenge. The kid hates solid food. Period.

I'm off to go give the Siamese his new meds. We spent 3 hours at the cat hospital last night (10pm - 1am) because he went into respiratory distress. He kept putting his little paws over his head and just cried and cried. I seriously thought I was going to lose him, and I'm just devastated. I love this cat so much, he's been such a dear sweet cuddly love.

It's hard to let go.

Thank you for your comments and email. We are alive and mostly well. Gettin' Better Each Day.