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Jan. 15th, 2013 01:15 pmI am deep, deep, deep in a hole.
There's still a glimmer of hope for Funnyface, but it's growing increasingly dim. We saw her last night, in the animal ICU, all random-looking shaved patches and IVs and occasionally yowling, barely able to stand up, though her eyes had lost the glassy look, I think she knew I was there.
We're waiting on another call from the Internal Medicine doc, to see if she's responding to another, stronger course of anti-inflammatories. If this works, it could clear up all her problems (anemia, low blood sugar, low body temp, the beginnings of malnutrition) .
If it doesn't work, there's not really anything left to do. And I think that I don't want to keep putting her through this. As she's been failing, I've been plagued with the worry that I'll hold onto her too tightly when the time comes, that I'll extend her life for the sake of mine, past the point of her comfort, past the point of any hope of recovery.
Three months ago, she looked pretty much fine. And then the weight started to drop off, and she participated in less and less of her favorite things, sitting on people's faces, climbing to the top of the fridge, jumping into the tub before, after and occasionally during our morning showers. She can't leap into my arms anymore, she doesn't want to be furminated.
I have to do everything I can to save her. And I know me, I know that even if we do everything, I'll find some way to tell myself it wasn't enough, or at the right time, that this is somehow my fault, rather than inevitable consequence of cohabiting with mammals with shorter lifespans than mine. As it stands, I'm already remembering all the times I was annoyed with her and didn't let her stand on my keyboard, or eat my potato chips, even though I'm pretty sure the times I denied her are significantly less than the times I let her get away with murder.
I can't save her, I can't comfort Light, much less myself. I feel numb and devastated in turn, desperate to find some way to believe in an afterlife where she cuddles Princess and waits for me, or comes back to me in another cat. Some way for her to go away from me, but not cease existing.
I feel silly and melodramatic, though no one has said as much to me. I feel as though this is going to destroy me forever, leave a wound that's not going to heal. She's my favorite, my best thing, my baby girl. I've been lucky to have her with me fourteen years, and I want so many more.
There's still a glimmer of hope for Funnyface, but it's growing increasingly dim. We saw her last night, in the animal ICU, all random-looking shaved patches and IVs and occasionally yowling, barely able to stand up, though her eyes had lost the glassy look, I think she knew I was there.
We're waiting on another call from the Internal Medicine doc, to see if she's responding to another, stronger course of anti-inflammatories. If this works, it could clear up all her problems (anemia, low blood sugar, low body temp, the beginnings of malnutrition) .
If it doesn't work, there's not really anything left to do. And I think that I don't want to keep putting her through this. As she's been failing, I've been plagued with the worry that I'll hold onto her too tightly when the time comes, that I'll extend her life for the sake of mine, past the point of her comfort, past the point of any hope of recovery.
Three months ago, she looked pretty much fine. And then the weight started to drop off, and she participated in less and less of her favorite things, sitting on people's faces, climbing to the top of the fridge, jumping into the tub before, after and occasionally during our morning showers. She can't leap into my arms anymore, she doesn't want to be furminated.
I have to do everything I can to save her. And I know me, I know that even if we do everything, I'll find some way to tell myself it wasn't enough, or at the right time, that this is somehow my fault, rather than inevitable consequence of cohabiting with mammals with shorter lifespans than mine. As it stands, I'm already remembering all the times I was annoyed with her and didn't let her stand on my keyboard, or eat my potato chips, even though I'm pretty sure the times I denied her are significantly less than the times I let her get away with murder.
I can't save her, I can't comfort Light, much less myself. I feel numb and devastated in turn, desperate to find some way to believe in an afterlife where she cuddles Princess and waits for me, or comes back to me in another cat. Some way for her to go away from me, but not cease existing.
I feel silly and melodramatic, though no one has said as much to me. I feel as though this is going to destroy me forever, leave a wound that's not going to heal. She's my favorite, my best thing, my baby girl. I've been lucky to have her with me fourteen years, and I want so many more.
