Kinda Eyore-ish

Okay so you're not in my head (and wouldn't a therapist love to scrutinize that!) so you wouldn't know that the reason I haven't been writing is pure depression. I did feel like I was getting kind of hackneyed in the blogosphere, but that was just the tip of the iceberg that I slid off into the arctic sea of Fuckitall.

The kids are both in middle school now, so I have my mornings to myself again, which kind of makes me feel like I'm not pulling my weight, and of course I'm not feeling any inspiration to paint, which adds to that feeling of uselessness, though I have kicked up the home-made goodness as a result, which nobody is complaining about, except maybe my ever-expanding gut.

I find myself still mourning Mrs. Puff, probably because it was so unexpected and horrific, the way she died. I know there was nothing we could have done in the face of an avalanche of hemorrhagic strokes, and maybe that's what haunts me - that sense of complete futility.

I'm having the old recurring issue with living in this part of the world; being a yankee by birth (I have lived in the south for over 40 years, but I'm still a yankee - how about that shit?) and not christian (and I refuse to capitalize such a travesty of a word) is two humongously indelible marks against me in this small, backward-thinking town. Apparently all you have to do for social acceptance is give lip service to being the same religion as everyone else and talk through a mouth full of marbles. I kid you not. It doesn't matter if you're committing adultery, are an abusive parent or abusive spouse, or a dead-beat parent who leaves their kids to fend for themselves - if you profess your faith loudly enough, no one will care what you do behind closed doors (and these aren't stereotypes; every example I listed is someone I know, in all their sanctimonious hypocrisy, who treats me and my family like lepers). Being a kind and decent human being doesn't count for doodly without that "got jesus" lobotomized seal of approval. (Please note: I have nothing against Jesus himself, or what he had to say. My problem is with the trash that insists on using his name to legitimize their petty fear and hatred of anything that doesn't fit into their limited awareness.) I know there are people who are truly good christians - I know 2 personally, but there are so many of the other kind. Aren't they calling themselves the "Tea Party" these days?

So, on top of those delectable tidbits from the fantastic pile of shit that is permeating my existence on a daily basis, I have a trip to make, starting tomorrow. I'm headed up to Buffalo, with my dad. He's going to see his sister and an old friend, both of whom are in very frail health. He hates death, is even kind of phobic about it, so this isn't going to be a pleasure jaunt. I'm a little amazed that he's even going. I have to confess, I'm not sure I'm up to this myself, treading water in my own murky sea of personal bullshit, but I said I'd go. I'm going to take a composition book and try to do some journalling - angst is good for writing, right? I'm also going to try and carpe diem; to take it one day at a time and try, TRY to find some good in there amongst the craptastic chaff.

And at the least there will be apples - lovely crisp New York apples and cider to look forward to, right?

Demise

After watching and waiting for some sort of improvement for most of last week, the inevitable has occurred. Puffin Anne, aka Mrs. Puff, has passed into the shadows and drawn a pall over the hearts of those who loved her. Rest in peace, sweet Puff.

Day Three of My Karmic Payback

Thank you all for your support yesterday - I was really in a bad place and it helped to know you were holding my virtual hand.

Puff came home from the local vet yesterday, with a saline IV and a couple of cans of AD (high calorie wet food). We found the kids'old playpen and set it up in the living room for her, to keep her contained and safe, especially when we're not with her. She had a brief moment yesterday when she actually turned to the right, as opposed the the perpetual left she's been circling on, and walked straight across the room. She also is able to swallow food, which is a plus to keeping her strong.

It occurred to me today that the local vet didn't send home any medication for Puff, though she had been given a dose of some kind of steroid before she left. I was reading online today that many vets prescribe cortizone, antibiotics, and even baby aspirin as part of the supportive care for a cat who's suffered a stroke. Yeah, well they weren't the vet in my town, but don't let me get on that rant right now - I knew when I took Puff to them it would cost a lot and there would be no definitive diagnosis - that's how they roll every time I've been there. So I called Doc, who is my personal veterinary hero, and he also pegged Puff's condition as a stroke over the phone, based on the symptoms, so I asked if there was anything I could give her to help with her recovery. He recommended Decadron, the miracle steroid for cats, and children's Motrin if she seemed to be in pain. He also verified what I had thought; that the enlarged spleen was due to the stroke and was working to process the blood from the rupture in her brain.

Apparently there are two kinds of strokes in cats - Ischemic and Hemorrhagic (and I'm pretty sure I've misspelled at least one of those)- Ischemic is when the blood supply to the brain is cut off and the brain basically suffocates, Hemorrhagic is when there is a rupture of a blood vessel in the brain. Based on the blood found in her ear, and the presence of blood behind her eyes, I'm thinking it was the Hemorrhagic one.

She is ambulatory today, albeit still circling to the left; she is agitated, which is also to be expected, but she can eat, she does sleep and wake up, and sometimes she responds to our voices. Doc seemed to think she might well recover, but that she would need to be on Decadron permanently to avoid further strokes (it's no guarantee, but what in this is?)

Bea came over last night to see her beloved Mrs. Puff, and offer support. I told her, half-jokingly, I thought this might be my karmic payback for talking her into adopting Bella, a polydactyl Siamese with a cancer of the mouth tissue. It does seem sometimes like I've become the geriatric guru of cats.

Did this ramble much? So sorry, I just needed to purge. Thanks again to all of you for your support - it really did help.

Evening Addendum - I should have thought about what the hell hemorrhagic really means, because as I sit here this evening, knowing that Puff suffered yet another stroke this afternoon, she isn't going to make it out of this. It is my hope for her, and probably for myself as well, that at this point, she goes quickly. We're going to keep her hydrated and comfortable, and try to ease her out of this world in as loving a manner as possible. And now I'm going to go blow my nose again and eat some damn chocolate.