Well here we are right up to an edge of a cliff.
I put some thoughts together this afternoon.
As I was doing this Abby started going in congestive heart failure again.
I called the Doctor on call and she gave me instructions.
After those not working out she told me to take Abby to the ER.
Once there, a Doctor who had never seen Abby started discussing letting her go.
Oh boy.
I called the Emergency Doctor on call back at the Specialist office and I asked her for her opinion.
Not saying anything disrespectful about the ER Doctor I just feels like he doesn't know Abby.
I just didn't feel good about letting her go when I didn't feel it was
the right thing.
She concurred if we could get her through the weekend, her regular Doctor would see
her on Monday.
Well then the ER Doctor came back with her BUN numbers and X-ray.
Both had positive results.
So I started feeling better.
Just now I got off the phone with ER Doctor and our Specialist.
She is going to see Abby tomorrow at the ER.
But it sounds like she is perplexed about what caused this episode to happen.
Except that HCM, HyperT and kidney issues all work against each other.
So she said some patients don't respond well
She made a reference to a decision may have to be made.
Oh boy.
So before any decision
Let me post this.
This is for my beautiful girl who had a lovely morning today.
***
So one more day Abby...
Love you sweetie
Love you with ALL my heart
To the moon and back baby
Again
Again
Again
I love you...
***
Abby turned 14 on the first of July. I was thinking how lucky. She was an older cat, but she was so fortunate. She hadn't been sick much in her life with me since 2005. But, I could still see age creeping up.
And at
14 years old, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. But I don't need to
look at a calendar. Aside from the daily regimen of pills I have to
administer, you can see it on her face: the slightly unkempt fur, the
cloudy
eyes, the lines on her face, the heavy breathing.
***
The spunk is just
a distant memory; her back legs are stiff, arthritis perhaps having taken
over. To go anywhere--from my office to the kitchen, from the living
room to the bedroom--I watch and worry if she can make it.
When she goes to the bathroom, she
sometimes misses, so I clean it up
I
wonder if she knows our remaining time together is not as long as it
once was?
***
She
used to sleep on top of my chest, her body pressed against mine. But
now she prefers to sleep curled up alone. But I find myself arising in
the middle of the night, flashlight in hand, looking for her ribcage, to
rise and fall. Letting me know she is still with me.
A couple of times, I found
myself whispering in her ear, asking her to please not leave me. The
thought of her death fills me with frightening fear and dread.
When
I had to rush Abby to the ER, I found myself still looking for her in the house.
Looking for her in her familiar places. It suddenly hit me one morning
when I was with the other four cats that her chair was empty and she
might not be coming home. How could that be?
Death
is the ultimate cruelty, a frightening emptiness that leaves nothing
but pain for those of us left behind. How is it possible that someone
you love, and love deeply, someone who helps define your world -- your
husband, your wife, your Mom, your Dad, a child, a cat or dog -- be
suddenly gone; someone you will never seen again during your lifetime. A
voice you will no longer hear. Forever. A void that can never be filled.
I
suppose some might think it macabre to think such thoughts, but I can't
help it. I am now retired and and at home all the time, and she is there,
every minute of every day, my little shadow. When I think of Abby just a few
short days ago, I think of how feisty, independent, and fearless her energy
was. How many times she would sass her brothers and sisters. How she
would follow me each morning while I did the rituals of the day. How she
protected me by walking ahead in her no nonsense way and how she
rumbled her intent to anyone who dare cross her path. I am overcome with
a deep sense of loss. She can't do these things anymore. I can see she
still wants to be independent, but her little body won't let her. So I
bend down and pick her up and carry her, I hug her to my body to tell
her she can still do some of those things but just differently.
When
I let my mind think about losing Abby, I literally become blind as my
eyes fill with tears. Even as I write this I am having to stop and
remove my glasses and wipe them away. So, I am trying to train myself
not to. Trying not to think about once was or what might be, but about
what we have today. What we have this moment.
****
We draw our inspiration from wherever it comes; from philosophy. From a poem. A song. Even from a cartoon; from Oogway, the wise, old turtle in Kung Fu Panda.
"You are too concerned about what was and what will be," he tells Po.
"There is a saying: yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but
today is a gift. That is why it is called the 'present.'" And that is
how I try to think about my remaining time with Abby; a gift to
cherish every single day. I suppose I am practicing a sort of kitty
meditation, trying to stay in the present, relishing every day, every moment I have
with her. Forcing my mind to stay focused, as I play a game I know I
will lose; trying to stave off for as long as possible the finish line
in order to protect the heart that knows someday, it will be ripped in
half.
