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!

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.

(click on thumbnail to view album)

For those of you who don’t know the story, Brian and I were married four years ago because my student health insurance was about to run out and I was scheduled for surgery in the near future. Plus, because of the bipolar, I couldn’t go without insurance for very long because then it would become a pre-existing condition. Ironically, all of this happened in March, so we were married on the Ides of March, as we were English majors, after all.

At the time, I was applying for tenure-track positions at universities all over the country. While I did that, I worked as an adjunct (part-time) professor at maybe six different community colleges and universities? But that’s a story for another time.

Anyway, we already knew we would get married some day, but we didn’t expect it to be when it happened; we only had about a week to decide, which is why the rest of our families weren’t there. You can see my sister, who actually made my bouquet and her now-husband in the background. My mother was the photographer, and part of why I so hated this occasion was because when she would take pictures, she would actually tell me how to hold the bouquet! There’s one picture that I can’t find — she took us out to lunch afterwards and asked the waitress to take our picture. However, the way we were seated looked like it was either Mother’s Day or my mom’s birthday.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the type of wedding I imagined we would have — that’s why I call it a civil ceremony because to me, it was not a wedding. Not that I knew what we would have planned, but certainly not this. Well, obviously I would have wanted a dress and I would have really liked to have a traditional Filipino wedding with the men wearing Barong Tagalogs instead of tuxes.

I have to admit that this whole thing has made me “not do weddings.” That is, I avoid them like the plague, no matter whose it is. I didn’t even go to my own sister’s (Filipino) wedding, but she understood. Anyway, it was in Las Vegas, where our family lives, and we couldn’t afford to go. Plus, I was in the hospital.

After she and her husband came back from their honeymoon, Brian and I took them out to dinner. I asked something, can’t remember what now, but they both agreed that they would have preferred something much simpler — maybe even something like our civil ceremony. And if I thought my mom was bad when we got married. Heh. She was way worse at my sister’s.

Today’s our anniversary. (l) The lump sum was deposited a month early — like a great anniversary present! I can’t believe it came in on our anniversary. I swear, that Maneki Neko in the sidebar works!

So guess what we got??? Take a look below. They look kind of goldish in the picture, but they’re actually platinum and…from Tiffany’s. But I figure they still cost less than a wedding would have.

I’ll write more about our “wedding” and post pictures tomorrow, if I can find them!