Wednesday, February 12, 2020

Thank you.

This was a week after he got here.
I want something to do with my heart. I need to find a way to lift it, spice it....something. I can't handle the bleakness of grief. I can't handle the short journey from my porch through my door, because there is no Spartacus Jones waiting for me. It's the worst part of my day. So, I'm writing another grief blog. I've said so much, but I feel like I haven't said enough.

By the way, thanks for ignoring my punctuation, grammar, sentence structure and  other screw ups a writer knows better than to publish. I've been told my words were beautiful but they are the ramblings of a half-plastered cat lady that didn't know how else to express herself.

Honestly? This hurts every bit as bad as losing my father. Yes, really. It's a different kind of pain, but it's still monstrously painful.

There are two kinds of people in this world. There are pet owners and generally kind people who, upon hearing of the death of anyone's pet will express meaningful, empathetic or at least sympathetic condolences. Then there are the others. The ones whose eyes will glaze over as they excuse themselves from the irritation and discomfort of a grieving pet owner. It's just a cat. 
This was the day he arrived.

But eventually, everyone will tire of it. They have lives to live, and while this is all very sad, it's not their shit to hold.

So right now, I'm avoiding humans. Everyone. First, I'd like to thank all of you in my real world and the world of social media for all the sweet messages. I often wonder why I write whiny blogs and post them on all my social media accounts, but I think I understand why I do it.

Right before I leave my garage, right before I take the short walk to my back door, I sit in my vehicle and cry. I shriek, I howl, I sob and let rivers of tears and snot drip down my face. I scream as loud as I can, inside the SUV. Then I straighten up, lock up, and check my mail. I unlock my back door, and feed Freya.

This blog, and the one before it, are the writer's version of screaming into silence. I can be truthful with myself in that I announced the death of Spartacus Jones on social media and wrote the blog for attention. My heart broke, and the world continued without him.
It's my scream in the garage, but I needed you to care. I'm a little ashamed to admit, I needed all your likes, hearts, sad icons and comments. Dan and I feel somewhat isolated right now, and I drank your comments and icons up. Now I know why they call it 'Thirsty'. Still doesn't stop me from doing it.

It's like, "I don't want to see or talk to anyone, but I still need you to comfort me." Weird, eh?  But whatever. It's working.

It actually helps.I may look like a crazy cat lady and a fool, but I know I needed this. So I just wanted to say Thank You.

Friday, February 7, 2020

Goodnight, Sweet Spartacus Jones

This is going to be a long, hard blog. Am I feeling sorry for myself? Absolutely. But as all blogs I write of my pain, I am hoping someone else can learn from them. Like a friend pointed out, she lost her dog due to kidney failure, and she would have liked to know what she should have looked for.

We put Spartacus Jones down today. This is where I purge my grieving heart and tell you what to look for when your pet starts suffering kidney failure, and what you can expect when you have to put them down.

I think it was a week ago, that he started vomiting a little. Not a big deal...maybe a hairball? But there was nothing in it. I happened twice more in two days. I still wasn't alarmed, but I started keeping an eye on it.
Suddenly, my little piggy, the cat that ate everything and asked for more wasn't eating. He was still excited at dinner time, but he would sniff at his wet food, and walk away, prefering to lap at the water dish.

This set off alarm bells. My cousin had a Siamese who died from kidney failure. The first thing she noticed was that he drank A LOT of water. Spartacus was good about drinking water, but he never missed a meal. And he most certainly didn't prefer water to food. Off to the vet.
They weighed him, did some tests. Showed us some scary numbers. Something was definitely wrong. Funny thing we hadn't noticed....He'd lost an entire pound since December. That's bad.  But we'd been told to put him on a diet, and we limited his food supply. We thought our efforts were working. I can't pretend that I understand all of the stats, but I quickly figured out that if a BUN should be at ten or twelve then a FORTY TWO was not good! There were other numbers--Creatine was at 710, when it should be at 212 at the most. Phosphorus was at 4.75 when it should have been around 2.65.

I didn't want to take him to the south end clinic over the weekend. That clinic has a shitty reputation for putting pets down regardless. Thankfully, they gave us another option, and my husband and I stepped up.

This meant six different ways to the cure. It meant two different probiotic powders to be delivered by food, two doses,-24 hours apart of a digestive half of a pill that he fought tooth and nail and wouldn't eat even via treats, a syringe of digestive painkiller that he also managed to fight off, eye drops that pissed him off that he also fought vigorously against, and lastly, the saline treatment. He was great about those, and didn't fight them, but I had to learn immediately how to poke a needle into his flaps of skin and we had to keep him calm while 150 milliliters of saline solution went in. Twice a day. We got up early to do it before work, and did it again around dinner time. For three days. I can tell you that was not fun, but we would do anything to help him, and he was a really good boy about that. I'm proud of myself and my husband and Spartacus too. It was awful, but we did whatever it took. Back to the vet for another treatment.

     The worst part of this? I did this all to make Spartacus well. I know full well that TRUST is everything to a cat. Trust is equal to love. When a cat gives you that slow blink? It means, "I trust/love you so much. I can take my eyes off you and know you'll never hurt me." He no longer trusted me. I did all of this to heal him, and he started to dread my presence.

Vet calls for another treatment., with a urinalysis.We agree to bring him in again, as early as possible.

     But in the time between getting Spartacus home, and the appointment, Spartacus started to breathe very heavily. It started by him still not eating. I watched him, and noted that I could actually see his pulse rippling over his skin. This looks bad. What do I do? They're closed, and the only vet hospital open in the one I fear, the one I'm afraid to trust. I camp in the basement with Spartacus Jones and watch. He eats a tiny bit, and retreats to pulsate. I wake Dan, and he thinks we should wait. Maybe it's just because he has so much saline in his skin that it's just his body processing so much solution? He'll go to vet soon. He'll be okay.

     His appointment is at 8:40, but I don't care. I've been up for a few hours, and I need them to check him out NOW. Then I leave for work, secure in the knowledge that they'll fix my boy.

     Our vet, Dr, Kelly called me at work around eleven a.m. She needed to speak to me about 'options'. Luckily, I had few jobs to do that day, and I could be there by 12:30.
     There were no options. She'd spoken to as many specialists she knew of, and the result was the same. There was talk of cancer. If we kept treating the kidneys, his lungs will fill with fluid, because he had heart congestion. If we treated the heart and lungs, it would destroy his kidneys. Spartacus would die, no matter what happened , no matter what we did now.

     Maybe I should have had him put down then. Dan was already on his way, after talking to Dr. Kelly. Maybe I should have saved Spartacus some suffering, but I didn't want him to die there, in a place that had caused him so much pain and aggravation. He hated that place and had made at least three escapes from the cat carrier. My vet gave me numbers, so that I could arrange for Spartacus to die at home.

     Only 'Wellnes's had the time to do it within 48 hours. We made an appointment for 11 a.m. today, and they were sweet and sympathetic. Even at the very end, Spartacus approached the stranger, with her gear of medicine and needles, with sweet eyes and a hope for cuddles. Kelsey pet him, and told him he was a beautiful cat. She told him she especially loved his adorable nose spots.

I held Spartacus in my arms, while Dan looked him in the eyes an told him what a pleasure it was to love him. Spartacus died with his eyes open. From the time she administered the injection, I felt three heartbeats thump through his body, and then he was still. I didn't let go yet. It was the last time I would ever hold him, so I wanted to make it last.

We brought his body upstairs to tell Freya. They told us we need to make her understand what was happening, but while Spartacus was dying, she was trying to get outside. We brought him upstairs, and let her smell him. Her eyes went wide, and she recoiled. It looked like "What the fuck?!"  Dan went to pet her and she hissed at him. I don't blame her. Now she's trying to comfort us with cuddles and purrs, but she doesn't look at either of us. She's wearing a strange look that looks like a human version of shock. I think it's occurred to her that her pain in the ass is gone, and she's the only cat in the house. I'm not sure she's comfortable with that after all, even though she wasn't fond of him.

As painful as this is. It was the right thing to do. I suppose I'll we'll always wonder if we could have done more, but according to my vet, we really did do everything. I don't regret the cost. I just regret that Spartacus suffered and all of that time and money was pointless.

As I'm writing this, Dan and I are talking about how guilty we feel....we're relieved that he's not suffering, and that he went without strife, no foaming at the nose and mouth, leaking from the anus, twitching or any other kinds of ickiness
death things that one could have expected.. He simply relaxed and found the sleep he so desperately needed. We think he was relieved.

If you have questions, I'm happy to answer them. I want my experience to be helpful. For example: Someone on my Facebook page suggested pumpkin, among other things, and I'd like to pass on the information if I can.

Please be kind. I've lost the love of my life, and my husband has lost his best friend.
Thanks for letting me purge. I don't know if this blog will help anyone, but I feel a bit better. Not that this is not exceptionally painful, but I need you to know we adored him. That we exhausted all means to save him, and we still lost him. It was my birthday two days ago, and I wished for a healthy cat. Too bad the universe doesn't care what day it is when death is the plan.

I have one regret...As hard as it was for us to let Spartacus Jones go...I wish we would have saved him the suffering and done it sooner. I wish he didn't have to heave and struggle to breathe overnight. I should have realized he just needed it to end.

Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Happy New Year 2020

I have to admit...2019 was actually pretty good to me.

I brought my Mom and sister home to Edmonton, got a new job, great little paid-for SUV, and we paid off our house.

I even got to spend Christmas with both my Mom and sister for the first time in eleven years.

The only thing that didn't work out was writing.

That is something I intend to fix in 2020. Not just because I have work to publish, but because I want that part of my life back. 2019 was kinda crazy, but certain stressors have been erased now, because of everything this past year. There should be more time to embrace and take joy in writing once again.

You know what else I resolve to do in 2020? I'm going to read those books Dad left me on basic home maintenance. Now that the house is paid off, wouldn't it be cool to be able to fix my own plumbing? Install my own floor maybe? At the very least, it should help me know what needs to be done around here, and maybe we can either DIY or get it done without getting ripped off. Maybe we can figure out the problem and repair it before costs get unmanageable.

I resolve to be gentler with myself. Now that I make my own hours, I don't have to push myself as hard. I don't have to get all the jobs done in one day. A little at a time will do. I have a new plan of action. A little bit of work/exercise a day will leave a little energy for other things too. No more work till I drop with major crash afterwards.

I am also going to eat more vegetables. I mean it this time. There has to be a way of making them satisfying and filling. Damn it, I just made myself hungry and all I want is more garlic sausage.

What about you? What are your resolutions? Do you make any? How was 2019 to you?

Friday, December 27, 2019

Strange Days.

What a chaotic year it's been! I'm full of gratitude for it though. Sometimes I've been sad and depressed, but looking back, I've been fortunate.

I got a new job in March. It's got the usual stresses, but there's so many cool things about it. I'm never running late, because I make my own hours. I decide how many hours I work in a day. Some jobs are easier than others, but the more I work at it, the better I understand it, and the better I get at it. (Shout out to Colleen, Marie and Tracy. Heartfelt thanks for your help.) I'm making a decent wage. It beats kitchen work all to Hell, and not just because I can take a break when I need to. I can stop and think, and I can just take a day off when I need one.

Like when my Uncle Duane and I talked my mother into finally moving to Edmonton. We finally got her to agree, and I was tasked with finding her and my sister an apartment. I grabbed a free periodical and found the perfect place in three days. They love it! I'm still patting myself on the back about it.

May came on like a race. Myself, Duane and other family mobilized to move Mom and Jody, and while we did so, Mom signed the paperwork to sell her house. It happened that fast!  I didn't need to beg for days off, because I make my own hours!!

Summer came and went with the warped speed of Canadian weather. That's no typo, the weather here is warped. It rained too much to get a good garden, which is something else I struggled to keep up with, as I got the west end territory for my job. BLISS! I only have to drive five minutes on a good day to get to work, twelve maximum. It's more intense, and more hours, but that means more money.

In September, Mom decided I needed a new used vehicle, because having just our rickety old Dakota for my job wasn't going to cut it. I CAVED. I let her give me the money to buy my SUV. My friend and neighbor named it 'Sophie'. She has personality glitches I've learned to deal with. When I have more time, I'll deal with those, but in the meantime, I love her. We own her free and clear. Shout out to my husband Dan, who talked me into said SUV. After all, if Mom is paying for the vehicle, shouldn't it work for her too? Dad would have been proud.

Then winter came, and with it, a notice from the bank. Would we like to pay our mortgage off? What?! We can just DO that? I had been tracking our mortgage through my phone, and I expected to be finished in the spring, but we can do it now? No penalty?

We went in, wrote a check, and it was done in twenty minutes. Shout out to Scotiabank for making this easy from beginning to end. Shout out to Tracey Morgan who approved us fifteen years ago, and approved us for fifty thousand more than we asked for because she said that people without debts like us would not be happy with a home in the price range we asked for. (We had no idea how much houses cost.)

We are going into 2020 without any debts at all, and in a time and recession like this, I can't tell you how happy I am that we will not have any mortgage payments. I know just how lucky we are, and that we made all the right decisions. Not everyone has that privilege, and I feel strangely arrogant right now, but...

Cherry on top? A friend of mine has a kidney, just in time. It means someone else lost someone before Christmas, but I am eternally grateful for their organ donation. My friend really needed it. She has a huge family and many friends who got another Christmas with 'M', and more time. Yes, I am an organ donor. If something happened to me tomorrow, I'd like to give someone else such a gift.

Where Is my writing is all of this? Hopefully more so in the new year. I'm in a calmer place now that the house is paid off. I no longer feel like I'm in such a rush. Our shelter belongs to us, and everything else, I can work with. Maybe that's all I needed. I'm optimistic, about everything.

I wish, for you and yours, the same kind of confidence I feel now. Please, have a Happy New Year.

Friday, November 8, 2019

Dear Santa,

I had a bad day. So I'm writing, and cuddling cats. I took some vitamin D because it's winter, and a lack of sunshine always seems to make things worse.

Writing gives me a nice escape that also makes me feel better just because I feel productive. I always feel better when I'm productive. I love writing. I cherish it. It makes me feel good to create.

But I can't write like I used to. I miss it terribly. There are two holes in my heart--one for Dad and one for writing.

When my father died, my writing became a source of pain. I'm not even sure why. Apparently, he thought Thoeba was really good. All I know is when I opened a page, and began to type words, I would cry. I couldn't stop. Maybe it was because of the words he'd never see. Maybe...I can say that tears are threatening to surface now.

My Christmas wish is to write again, free of sadness and lingering doubts. No, not the usual doubts--every writer has those, just the 'I miss my father' kind of doubts. The doubts I don't understand.

Used to be, when a bad day happened, I could immerse myself in my writing. It was joyful work, for the most part, and I miss it.

I used to write every spare moment I had. Now I stare at Facebook and cuddle my cats between work, sleep, and eating crap I order in because now I don't cook much either.  Not that cat cuddles are a bad thing.

I'm spending Christmas with my Mom and my sister this year. They're easy to buy for. Dad became easier after I met my husband. I learned what a man wants for gifts.

Favored memory: One year, I bought my father a Navigator Saw. I saw it on TV, and the selling point, was that it was such a small, but powerful thing, it could cut through pipe. I'll never forget the look on his face when he opened it. The first thing he said was, "Did you know these things can cut through pipe?"

Years later: I open a large box. It's a couple of Tide boxes cobbled together by my mom, and it holds a strange black carrying case. I open it to find a Navigator Saw. I look at Dad, who is beaming smuggly. "I liked it so much I thought you should have one of your own. Since you're a homeowner now..."
I've digressed, but it feels right.

So Dear Santa/God/ The Universe...can I have the freedom to write again? Can I have the ability to type without sadness? It's my Christmas wish... since I can't have my father back.

Saturday, October 5, 2019

Practicing Gratitude

I often use this blog to vent my hurts, but I'm actually a lucky person. I have a good husband, good friends, a cool sister, cool family, two awesome cats, a pretty cool job I love more and more the better I get at it, and a really generous mom. I'm pretty grateful.

Speaking of which, here's my new baby.
It's a 2009 Dodge Journey
Mom paid for it. Why? Because she doesn't think we should wait for our inheritance when it was clear I needed a vehicle of my own to do my job effectively. Thank you, Mom. You were right, and the universe agrees, because I'm getting really busy.

Have you ever had your instincts kick in so hard, you couldn't ignore them? It happened on a Thursday. That was when I realized I could no longer resist my mother's tempting offer, winter is on it's way. Time to let her buy me the damned vehicle.

I managed to find a car dealership website that didn't ask me personal financial questions before they let me see their stock. Sweetheart Motors.

It was on the south end. I hate driving the south end, but my gut told me to check it out. I wanted another little Dodge Dakota, but my husband talked me out of it. Since my mother was buying, shouldn't we get something that works for her? Good idea, and there was a Dodge Journey that was in our price range that looked good.

I went and was DELIGHTED to find out that Sweetheart Motors was owned and operated by women. Whew! If you're a woman who has ever bought a car from a dealership, you know why I was relieved.

Long story short- I ended up buying the exact Journey I was eyeballing on the website, and I am SO HAPPY. It was an easy experience. My SUV is named Sophie and she's better than I imagined. Definitely practicing gratitude here. I thought about my father all the way home--how he would have been proud of me, following my instincts and getting something kinda perfect. The whole process took about three hours.

Then a week later, something happened. I did a job, and came out to the parking lot to find that my key fob didn't work.  'Don't Panic.'  Good advice Mr. Adams. (Author of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.)

My jacket and purse were in the vehicle. All I had on me was the dead key fob and my cell phone. I called my husband. He was home from work, but he never has his ringer on. He just happened to be next to his phone, and HADN'T begun to mow the lawn yet. (An hour long affair at our house.) So it was lucky he got my call. Also lucky? He was less than five minutes away. Here is where I mention how grateful I was that I no longer work the east end opposite from where I live.

I get in the truck and say, "We need to go to Battery World." Where is it? Right across the street from where your buddy owned his computer store. And Thank God, they were already open and easy to find. Traffic was minimal.

Guess what? My key fob has a key in it. Who knew? Certainly not me. Sophie is the newest thing I've ever owned.  (Thanks Mom) Anyway, we went back, and discovered that, yes, that was the only problem. I went back to work at the next job, and Dan went home to mow the lawn. Something that could have been a huge problem, turned out to be a minor setback. I am grateful, especially since I can see how it could have gone sideways.

The moral of the story: Being positive all the time isn't always possible. But I believe that practicing gratitude leads to more positive outcomes. If you CAN practice gratitude, do it. It works for me, maybe it can work for you.

Also practice kindness. You might be the only reason someone has to think of something positive. It's hard to practice gratitude if you can't be positive. It's not a switch you can just turn on and off.

Having said all this....I hope this is a refreshing change from me venting on the blog ;) 

Monday, August 12, 2019

The Gift of a Lawnmower

It's my late father's birthday, so he's been on my mind. But especially last week when my lawnmower died. I had a bite sized patch left on my front lawn when it began to putter and hesitate. I held still, thinking it just needed a few beats. The grass was thick and maybe damp, because we've had so much rain this year. Instead of rallying, like it normally does, my mower quit. Long story short. It couldn't be revived.

Hot Rod on the left. Muscle on the right.
I went inside and called my uncle. "Hey Arnie. You know that mower you've been trying to give me for months? Looks like we're going to take it after all."

Then I sat at my computer and cried. Part of me feels silly about that. A larger part of me shoves that notion aside and cries harder for the cherished memory of choosing that mower with my father. He gave it to us as a housewarming gift and there is where I learned how to shop for the correct lawnmower for my needs.

But I didn't give up. Facebook friends offered some phone numbers, business names and endless support. (Thank you!) I just happen to live in shouting distance from mechanics.

Brandon replaced the spark plug and adjusted the float. It seems my mower wasn't getting any gas. I told everyone there that this lawnmower was important to me. Brandon and Chris nodded. Of COURSE it was! It was a beauty. Four and a half horsepower? Hell yeah! Check out the gold sticker, etc, etc.
See the special edition sticker?

I remember the day we bought my mower. I chose the cheapest model, because my parents were paying for it. It was electric, and my father explained exactly why I didn't want one of those. So I chose the least expensive gas powered one. "I know what you're doing," Dad said, "But just because we're paying for it, doesn't mean you should cheap out. You're on a corner lot, and you want something that will last and stand up to a big yard."

It happened to be the second most expensive model, a Yardworks, and I've loved it from day one. It's been reliable and hardworking, and until last Thursday it hadn't ever let me down. But in fifteen years I don't think I really understood that Dad bought me a lawncare muscle car. It makes me a little sad. My father knew that I didn't realize just how 'cool' my mower really was.

I think it's kind of funny. I've learned so much about the qualities of lawnmowers, but it looks like I'll never need to buy one. The men on the paternal side of my family seem to express love by giving lawn equipment.

And I still love my Yardworks. I still miss my dad. I'm also grateful to my Uncle Arnie for another pretty great Lawnboy with Turbo action. Every time I mow my lawn I think of my father. If you're listening Dad? I always always check the oil. I will never forget.
Extra horse for all that speed.