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The last three days have been horrific. This is a catch up post, and I am in absolute emotional turmoil, so don't be alarmed if I sound like a lunatic. I'm okay. I'm just overwhelmed and extremely depressed by recent events.
Wednesday, February 26
Stewie made it through the night. I expected him to be lying on the afghan behind the chair in the living room, lifeless this morning. He really wants to stay with me, I think, but he is losing the battle. I called the vet and talked to her at length, sobbing through the call. I want him to live. But he looks so miserable. She said I needed to consider his quality of life. I asked if there was any chance that hooking him up to an IV for a couple of days would help. She was willing to try it, but she told me she was pretty sure he had an "underlying cancer" since nothing was slowing down his deteriorating condition.
My social security did get deposited into my account, so I can afford to do more for Stewie if there is anything to be done.
I called the billing office at the Clinic and asked them to send me a summary of my medical payments for 2019. I'm pretty sure I've paid close to $10,000 in medical bills. I am hoping that I can get more money back from taxes if I itemize. I usually do not.
It was a beautiful sunny day today--but my soul is dark. I know I need to have Stewie put down. I know he is miserable and has no quality of life. But I do not want to do it.
Thursday, February 27
I prayed last night that Stewie would pass peacefully in his sleep overnight. This would spare me from the horrible anguish of putting him down. He was alive but incredibly weak and thin this morning. He has spent the last three days hiding behind the chair in the living room, curled up in his afghan near the heat vent. Weak and sick as he is, he crawled out from behind the chair and hobbled to the litterbox. He wouldn't think of peeing on Momma's floor.
I called the vet and made an appointment to have him put down. She couldn't take him until 1:45 pm. About an hour before I had to take him, he went into the bedroom and curled up on the fuzzy pink blanket that he loves on my bed. I almost decided to let him stay there and take him tomorrow instead, but I knew that was just me being a coward. He cried piteously when I put him in the cat carrier. He knows that means going to the vet, where he will be afraid and hurt.
He cried all the way to Owatonna. So did I.
I held him while they prepared the paper work. The vet briefly examined him and told me his liver had completely shut down. "You've made the right decision," she told me. "You are doing the kind thing."
They had already laid out all the stuff they needed to do the deed. I told him, "I love you. You were the best cat ever. I love you so much. I am so sorry that I can't help you be better again. I love you. I love you. Go find Tyggy in the Happy Lands. We will be together again eventually. I love you." I kissed him repeatedly and he snuggled into my chest. He didn't like having the needle stuck in his vein, but once they injected him, he was gone almost at once. His head dropped against my shoulder; the vet checked his heart and told me, "He's gone."
They let me hold him for as long as I wanted while I cried and kept telling him how much I loved him and thanking him for ten years of wonderful love. I paid for the procedure and his cremation. I hated to let the assistant take him from me and kissed him several times before I could leave him. I had the irrational desire to take his body home with me and hold him all night, but I knew that would be insane. Even sick and scrawny, he was still the most beautiful boy.
It is so unfair that, on top of everything else that has engulfed me during the last year, I have to lose my sweet baby boy.
But at least I know he is at peace and is not suffering any more. I hope his sister Tyggy met him in the other world and that he knows that I loved him more than I could ever say.
When I left the vet clinic there were two absolutely adorable half-grown pups in the waiting room--super fuzzy little bumblers who were leaping and hopping and head butting an older gentleman who might have been their human grandpa. I couldn't help but smile at their antics, even as I tried to hold in the sobs. It was pointless to try to hold in the tears.
My throat was so dry that I went through the Taco John drive through and got a lemonade. It tasted bitter to me. Like my life.
When I got home, I was so emotionally exhausted that I could barely think. My aunt cried when she called me. I had texted her that Stewie was gone. My cousin Kari called and told me about two kittens that were at the Steele County Humane Society--but my brother had been looking at them, two very fuzzy little darlings--one black and white, the other calico. I knew they had already been adopted. It is too soon for me to get another cat any how. I will. Probably in the summer. But right now, I have to grieve my Stewie. Then my sister Tammy called. Then my mother. Even my mother cried when I told her Stewie was gone--Probably because I was crying so hard when I told her. Maybe she does love me just a little.
I got the sweetest text messages from my nephew Caleb and my niece Cora. Caleb called Stewie "sweet and regal." So true. My heart was really touched.
Then I begged off from everyone and went to bed where I tried so hard to sleep. I wanted to dream of Stewie alive and healthy and hold and love him in my dreams. Didn't happen because I didn't sleep. At least not much. Poor little Peach cried a lot in the night--I think she was looking for Stewie. She knew he was sick and I think she knows he is never coming back. My poor little Peach. She has been very clingy lately. I found her curled up on the pink fuzzy blanket where Stewie had been before I took him in.
I am so very thankful for each of the ten years that I got to spend with my sweet boy. I am so very thankful that God or whatever angels hover around me brought him to me to begin with. I just wish I could have had him longer.
Friday, February 28
I gave up trying to sleep at about 7:30 am. I had an appointment with the social worker at the clinic at 9:45. I took a shower and got dressed. I left a little early because I wanted to give myself plenty of time in order to make it to my appointment. I am trying to walk to my appointments under my own power (with my walker of course) instead of asking for a wheel chair and escourt. I couldn't get a close parking spot, so I had to walk nearly a block to get into the entrance. I had to sit for about 5 minutes on the bench right inside the door. Then I got as far as the lab before I had to sit again. And then I got to the West Desk where they needed my new medicare card. I don't even remember getting a new card, but it was in my billfold. I had to sit on a bench to dig it out because my knees just won't tolerate extended standing.
I had brought my embroidery project with me, but Michelle, the social worker, came and got me almost right away. She commented on the fact that I was using the walker instead of the wheel chair and I told her that I was getting stronger. She must not have had another appointment after mine, because I was in there for almost two sessions worth of time. I talked about Stewie's passing first, and I cried buckets. I almost used up her whole box of tissues.
She told me she had had to put down her little dog a year ago so she knew how I felt.
Then I talked about my experiences at Methodist Hospital and how they lied to me and about me and treated me like absolute shit. I told her how I am afraid that whatever they drugged me with has damaged my brain. I didn't cry when I told this story, which is a first. I did start to gag when I told her how it viserally affects me when I talk about what happened to me there. Just thinking about that place makes me feel like I am going to throw up and triggers an anxiety issue. I don't think it is really an anxiety attack any more, but it makes me feel very anxious and angry whenever I talk about it.
It doesn't really help to talk about it, but I am hoping that she will help me find help that will be effective. I told her how losing Stewie was so very hard mainly because my cats are all I have. I used to be the most popular teacher in the school. My kids loved me. I don't have my career anymore. I had friends that I did stuff with all the time. Now I have no friends locally. I have absolutely no social life. None. My mother has always been a bit of a shit to me, but she and my sister Kim and I did a lot together. Now they basically hate me. My other siblings don't want to be involved in this shit, so I have basically lost them as well since they don't want to talk about any of this stuff. They don't want to take sides because they don't want the drama. My two best friends live far away from me--one in San Diego, one over two hours away. Basically I have no close support system except my cats. Now Stewie is gone.
My head feels like it is going to explode. I have cried so much that I feel like I have no moisture left in my body. If it were not for the fact that Peach needs me, I almost feel like I could lie down and will myself to be dead. But I have to stay here to love and care for my Peaches.
I asked Michelle if she thought I'd survive, and she said I would survive. I don't know what the point of that survival is, but I keep hoping there is some hope that life will get better.
I told her I would stay alive just to piss off the people who have been shits to me.
She told me I had a great sense of humor and that she really enjoyed my personality. Even though I both wept and raged with her today, I still managed to be amusing. I guess that's a talent.
I didn't have the emotional stamina to do anything else while I was in town, so I went through the DQ drive through and got myself a banana malt. I forgot to tell them to hold the disgusting fake whipped cream, sigh. But it was still mostly good. That was my lunch.
When I got back to Ellendale, I took my mother to the post office to get her mail, then headed home. I had to pee too bad to stop and get my own mail, but I got it yesterday on my way home from the vet's office.
I sat in my recliner and stared at the TV most of the afternoon, aborbing very little. I have never downloaded the pictures from my phone onto my laptop as I didn't know how. I decided today was the day to learn. It was absolutely nothing to do it. I don't know why I have been so afraid to attempt it in the past.
Of course, my phone was loaded with images of Stewie in better days, so I cried for another hour or two, looking at all of them. It is shocking to me how good he looked a relatively short time ago. He looked like a skeleton at the end. It's so unfair.
He should have lived to be 36 or so. He was such a perfect cat.
Well, he is gone now. I have to live with it. I have to feel this way until I don't feel this way any more. Who knows how long that will be.
I'm tired. I hope I can sleep tonight. I hope I am more sane tomorrow so I can reach out to people whom I know are worried about me or at least feel compassion for me and want to know that I am okay...
I am not okay right now, but I will be. I will be....
Wednesday, February 26
Stewie made it through the night. I expected him to be lying on the afghan behind the chair in the living room, lifeless this morning. He really wants to stay with me, I think, but he is losing the battle. I called the vet and talked to her at length, sobbing through the call. I want him to live. But he looks so miserable. She said I needed to consider his quality of life. I asked if there was any chance that hooking him up to an IV for a couple of days would help. She was willing to try it, but she told me she was pretty sure he had an "underlying cancer" since nothing was slowing down his deteriorating condition.
My social security did get deposited into my account, so I can afford to do more for Stewie if there is anything to be done.
I called the billing office at the Clinic and asked them to send me a summary of my medical payments for 2019. I'm pretty sure I've paid close to $10,000 in medical bills. I am hoping that I can get more money back from taxes if I itemize. I usually do not.
It was a beautiful sunny day today--but my soul is dark. I know I need to have Stewie put down. I know he is miserable and has no quality of life. But I do not want to do it.
Thursday, February 27
I prayed last night that Stewie would pass peacefully in his sleep overnight. This would spare me from the horrible anguish of putting him down. He was alive but incredibly weak and thin this morning. He has spent the last three days hiding behind the chair in the living room, curled up in his afghan near the heat vent. Weak and sick as he is, he crawled out from behind the chair and hobbled to the litterbox. He wouldn't think of peeing on Momma's floor.
I called the vet and made an appointment to have him put down. She couldn't take him until 1:45 pm. About an hour before I had to take him, he went into the bedroom and curled up on the fuzzy pink blanket that he loves on my bed. I almost decided to let him stay there and take him tomorrow instead, but I knew that was just me being a coward. He cried piteously when I put him in the cat carrier. He knows that means going to the vet, where he will be afraid and hurt.
He cried all the way to Owatonna. So did I.
I held him while they prepared the paper work. The vet briefly examined him and told me his liver had completely shut down. "You've made the right decision," she told me. "You are doing the kind thing."
They had already laid out all the stuff they needed to do the deed. I told him, "I love you. You were the best cat ever. I love you so much. I am so sorry that I can't help you be better again. I love you. I love you. Go find Tyggy in the Happy Lands. We will be together again eventually. I love you." I kissed him repeatedly and he snuggled into my chest. He didn't like having the needle stuck in his vein, but once they injected him, he was gone almost at once. His head dropped against my shoulder; the vet checked his heart and told me, "He's gone."
They let me hold him for as long as I wanted while I cried and kept telling him how much I loved him and thanking him for ten years of wonderful love. I paid for the procedure and his cremation. I hated to let the assistant take him from me and kissed him several times before I could leave him. I had the irrational desire to take his body home with me and hold him all night, but I knew that would be insane. Even sick and scrawny, he was still the most beautiful boy.
It is so unfair that, on top of everything else that has engulfed me during the last year, I have to lose my sweet baby boy.
But at least I know he is at peace and is not suffering any more. I hope his sister Tyggy met him in the other world and that he knows that I loved him more than I could ever say.
When I left the vet clinic there were two absolutely adorable half-grown pups in the waiting room--super fuzzy little bumblers who were leaping and hopping and head butting an older gentleman who might have been their human grandpa. I couldn't help but smile at their antics, even as I tried to hold in the sobs. It was pointless to try to hold in the tears.
My throat was so dry that I went through the Taco John drive through and got a lemonade. It tasted bitter to me. Like my life.
When I got home, I was so emotionally exhausted that I could barely think. My aunt cried when she called me. I had texted her that Stewie was gone. My cousin Kari called and told me about two kittens that were at the Steele County Humane Society--but my brother had been looking at them, two very fuzzy little darlings--one black and white, the other calico. I knew they had already been adopted. It is too soon for me to get another cat any how. I will. Probably in the summer. But right now, I have to grieve my Stewie. Then my sister Tammy called. Then my mother. Even my mother cried when I told her Stewie was gone--Probably because I was crying so hard when I told her. Maybe she does love me just a little.
I got the sweetest text messages from my nephew Caleb and my niece Cora. Caleb called Stewie "sweet and regal." So true. My heart was really touched.
Then I begged off from everyone and went to bed where I tried so hard to sleep. I wanted to dream of Stewie alive and healthy and hold and love him in my dreams. Didn't happen because I didn't sleep. At least not much. Poor little Peach cried a lot in the night--I think she was looking for Stewie. She knew he was sick and I think she knows he is never coming back. My poor little Peach. She has been very clingy lately. I found her curled up on the pink fuzzy blanket where Stewie had been before I took him in.
I am so very thankful for each of the ten years that I got to spend with my sweet boy. I am so very thankful that God or whatever angels hover around me brought him to me to begin with. I just wish I could have had him longer.
Friday, February 28
I gave up trying to sleep at about 7:30 am. I had an appointment with the social worker at the clinic at 9:45. I took a shower and got dressed. I left a little early because I wanted to give myself plenty of time in order to make it to my appointment. I am trying to walk to my appointments under my own power (with my walker of course) instead of asking for a wheel chair and escourt. I couldn't get a close parking spot, so I had to walk nearly a block to get into the entrance. I had to sit for about 5 minutes on the bench right inside the door. Then I got as far as the lab before I had to sit again. And then I got to the West Desk where they needed my new medicare card. I don't even remember getting a new card, but it was in my billfold. I had to sit on a bench to dig it out because my knees just won't tolerate extended standing.
I had brought my embroidery project with me, but Michelle, the social worker, came and got me almost right away. She commented on the fact that I was using the walker instead of the wheel chair and I told her that I was getting stronger. She must not have had another appointment after mine, because I was in there for almost two sessions worth of time. I talked about Stewie's passing first, and I cried buckets. I almost used up her whole box of tissues.
She told me she had had to put down her little dog a year ago so she knew how I felt.
Then I talked about my experiences at Methodist Hospital and how they lied to me and about me and treated me like absolute shit. I told her how I am afraid that whatever they drugged me with has damaged my brain. I didn't cry when I told this story, which is a first. I did start to gag when I told her how it viserally affects me when I talk about what happened to me there. Just thinking about that place makes me feel like I am going to throw up and triggers an anxiety issue. I don't think it is really an anxiety attack any more, but it makes me feel very anxious and angry whenever I talk about it.
It doesn't really help to talk about it, but I am hoping that she will help me find help that will be effective. I told her how losing Stewie was so very hard mainly because my cats are all I have. I used to be the most popular teacher in the school. My kids loved me. I don't have my career anymore. I had friends that I did stuff with all the time. Now I have no friends locally. I have absolutely no social life. None. My mother has always been a bit of a shit to me, but she and my sister Kim and I did a lot together. Now they basically hate me. My other siblings don't want to be involved in this shit, so I have basically lost them as well since they don't want to talk about any of this stuff. They don't want to take sides because they don't want the drama. My two best friends live far away from me--one in San Diego, one over two hours away. Basically I have no close support system except my cats. Now Stewie is gone.
My head feels like it is going to explode. I have cried so much that I feel like I have no moisture left in my body. If it were not for the fact that Peach needs me, I almost feel like I could lie down and will myself to be dead. But I have to stay here to love and care for my Peaches.
I asked Michelle if she thought I'd survive, and she said I would survive. I don't know what the point of that survival is, but I keep hoping there is some hope that life will get better.
I told her I would stay alive just to piss off the people who have been shits to me.
She told me I had a great sense of humor and that she really enjoyed my personality. Even though I both wept and raged with her today, I still managed to be amusing. I guess that's a talent.
I didn't have the emotional stamina to do anything else while I was in town, so I went through the DQ drive through and got myself a banana malt. I forgot to tell them to hold the disgusting fake whipped cream, sigh. But it was still mostly good. That was my lunch.
When I got back to Ellendale, I took my mother to the post office to get her mail, then headed home. I had to pee too bad to stop and get my own mail, but I got it yesterday on my way home from the vet's office.
I sat in my recliner and stared at the TV most of the afternoon, aborbing very little. I have never downloaded the pictures from my phone onto my laptop as I didn't know how. I decided today was the day to learn. It was absolutely nothing to do it. I don't know why I have been so afraid to attempt it in the past.
Of course, my phone was loaded with images of Stewie in better days, so I cried for another hour or two, looking at all of them. It is shocking to me how good he looked a relatively short time ago. He looked like a skeleton at the end. It's so unfair.
He should have lived to be 36 or so. He was such a perfect cat.
Well, he is gone now. I have to live with it. I have to feel this way until I don't feel this way any more. Who knows how long that will be.
I'm tired. I hope I can sleep tonight. I hope I am more sane tomorrow so I can reach out to people whom I know are worried about me or at least feel compassion for me and want to know that I am okay...
I am not okay right now, but I will be. I will be....
