I’ve been sitting on this all week, partially because I’d already posted a Friday Cat Blogging and partially because it’s still so difficult to accept. Sometimes I still find myself crying over it, like now.

Last Friday afternoon my sister called me in tears and said Chooch was at the vet’s office. We bring our cats to the same one, and even though I was already feeling the tiredness, dizziness, and nausea from the anemia/iron pills, I rousted myself from sleep, threw on clothes, and drove the mere five blocks to the vet. I was surprised to see my brother-in-law there, too, but he was on call that day. I knew things were bad when I noticed that my sister wore her sweater inside out.

Chooch got his name because when she adopted him in 1994, also the time she first moved out of the house, the five-year-old cat wouldn’t stop sneezing, probably because of a virus. He was an outdoor rescue — a four-paw declaw with eight stitches from a fight with, perhaps, a raccoon. She called him “Achoo” at first, which was shortened to “Chooch,” which evolved to “Cousin Chooch” when Brian became part of the family. The two of them even developed their own version of slapjack, which they played whenever we visited, to Chooch’s annoyance, of course.

Over the years, my sister and I happened to live in the same apartment buildings, so I took care of Chooch a few times when she was out of town. He had such a commanding presence, with his big head and long gray-and-white coat, that the first time I sat for him, I nearly forgot to feed Kurt, her turtle!

One time, she banged on my door, in tears, because Chooch found a hole in the baseboard beneath the kitchen cabinets. She was unable to coax him out, even with food. I ran to the nearest convenience store and bought a can of tuna — a surefire solution that worked, and that I learned while working as a vet assistant.

Chooch never bothered Kurt the turtle, but eventually acquired a younger brother named Kato, whom everyone calls Fatty, and immediately showed him who was boss. More recently, his mom and dad bought a saltwater tank that Fatty leaves alone, but from which they had to find ways to divert Chooch’s attention, as he loved to pop up and suddenly display that big head of his in front of the glass, making the fish hide behind the rocks and coral. Apparently, these fish can die from the stress alone.

But last Friday, it was Chooch who was in trouble. Though his symptoms came on suddenly, it turned out that he suffered from 90% kidney failure and anemia. One option was to take him to a 24-hour hospital where he’d receive roundabout care, including a blood transfusion, for four or five days, but at 17-years-old, he had only a 50% chance of recovery; and if he did recover, it wouldn’t be long before he was back to his current state due to his age. The other option was euthanasia.

The veterinarian left the tiny exam room to give my sister and brother-in-law time to make a decision. Chooch was obviously not himself. They didn’t want him to suffer any longer, so they decided on the second course of action. Because I’d been a vet assistant, and because the room was so small that I figured the fewer “strangers,” the better, I offered the doctor my help if she needed it — to hold Chooch’s back leg in place so she would have easier access to his vein to give him the injections. She didn’t think she’d need my help, but she did, an offer that I sometimes regret but that my sister assures me was one she preferred — that the room not be any more crowded and that a family member assist with the process.

Moments later, Chooch was in Kitty Heaven. But it’s OK, Cousin Chooch, because in Kitty Heaven, you’ll have all your claws back, and when Brian tries to play slapjack with you in his dreams, won’t he be in for a surprise!

post by the bloggohusband

Quick update on Barb’s health status, after another slew of doctor’s appointments (with more coming up next week):

Anemia — This is not actually a major problem for Barb right now. A blood test from the PCP on Wednesday showed that her red blood cell and hemoglobin counts were basically ok — just a bit low. In fact, the heavy load of iron supplements she has been taking has probably had more of a negative impact than the anemia has (at least that’s our hypothesis, after Barb found she felt much worse in the mornings, after taking her first iron pill). So, she’s scaling way back on her iron intake, trading three iron tablets/day for one multi-vitamin w/iron. Hopefully, this will help.

Gastro-intestinal issues — Next step, more testing and then (probably) bio-feedback to re-train Barb’s muscles. This, at least, is the advice of the colorectal surgeon we saw today, who saw nothing wrong with Barb that could be solved surgically, but felt that she was not using some of her muscles as effectively as she should be. He hypothesized that perhaps this was because of her ECT treatments the past two years, but we feel that this is more of a guess on his part, and that he’s really not sure what the cause is. Regardless, it’s a relief to know that Barb (apparently) doesn’t need surgery.

Stress — This is probably the biggest problem Barb faces right now. Between all the health issues, the financial concerns we have, my new job/travel, and some other issues (which she’ll probably blog about soon), it’s been a very stressful, uncertain, and difficult past couple of weeks, and that’s probably contributed to her feelings of fatigue, headache, and just general illness. Hopefully, things are turning around — or will soon — but it’s been tough lately (which is why I’m posting, and not Barb).

A 2-part post. Part 2 is private. See above.

1. The fact that no one on my side of the family — except for my sister — acknowledged our wedding anniversary. I’m not looking for gifts, but a phone call or a card would have been nice.
2. When I was approved for disability, I figured it was a good time to shred all of my old job applications to colleges and universities. Then I came across this letter of recommendation (click thumbnail to read) and it made me even more depressed because I’m no longer capable of writing in the different styles that I taught students, let alone teaching. And based on this professor’s letter, I was a pretty damn good teacher myself. Now I feel as though I wasted time in grad school, not just because I can no longer use what I’ve learned, but especially because I no longer keep in touch with the friends I made for various reasons — mainly envy, though that is where I met Brian.
3. What’s written below is not for the squeamish, so if you think you can handle it, click the link.
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   Because of my fecal incontinence, which has actually improved recently, I may have to have surgery to tighten my external sphincter.

   OK, it’s bad enough that I’m anemic and sometimes lose my balance while I take a shower and nearly fall out of the tub. The anemia has kept me from joining a floor hockey league that starts this week; from playing rat hockey in the mornings; from going to the gym; even from doing mat pilates and working with dumbbells at home. I’ve already signed up for the Spring Mixer that my hockey team sponsors. How the hell long will this anemia and surgery keep me from the physical activities that I enjoy and help keep away the depression? Anyway, I meet with the surgeon on Thursday.

4. My inability to finish projects that I start.
5. My inability to keep up with my blog reading.
6. The rest is discussed in a private post above.