I knew a couple of months ago that Calhoon was sick. And I couldn't face it. Couldn't make myself take him to the vet until the sight of all the blood forced me to. But taking him in earlier wouldn't have made any difference. Not really. It might have given him a few extra months, but those extra months would have been filled with daily pills and sub-q meds, and the end result would have still been the same: his heart and his kidneys were giving out and that was the reality of his physical body.
And so I've known for a few weeks that Jacinta was sick. That the Hoon dying set it into faster motion. Maybe it's been depression for her, that she misses having her head chewed on by his pasha self. Or maybe it's that her Katmama has been acting so weird. But after forcing myself to take her to the vet yesterday to have a complete blood workup and exam, I get a call today with the results.
She has hyperthyroidism. Ridiculously high levels. And since the vet I take her to is like the feline Mayo Clinic of North Carolina, they can give her the gold star treatment: a radioactive iodine shot, which will shut down the tumor and cure her (99% success rate according to my research). She has to stay at the vet for three days because she'll be radioactive. And for the next week, her litter will be radioactive, too, and will have to be disposed of via a set of protocols for dealing with radioactive waste. (the whole litter thing was dang yucky before, but seriously, radioactive poop? that's just hilarious).
They called the lab and are having a batch made overnight so that she can be treated tomorrow (they only do these treatments once a week because of the whole "nuclear kennel isolation" thing that has to go on.) And then I can pick her up Friday afternoon if all goes well.
I'd like to say something like "I hate my life" or maybe even "I hate myself", both of which I've been feeling more often than not the past few months. I think it can't get any worse, then it does, even though I know it could be much much worse. But underneath it all, I get that things just are what they are, Life just Is, and that money, kitties, work, my book, even what I believe to be "me", are all just bits of Life passing through, even if in this moment or that, they feel tied to my survival in this world.
I love Jacinta and don't want her to suffer, and I'd sell a kidney for a can of tuna for her, so $650 for a 99% chance to keep her alive and feeling frisky again is a no brainer. I think for some people, their cats are fuzzy sweeties that scoot around their kitchens in between forays into the backyard. But for me, they are a part of my body, my heart, my spirit. Through their love and feline energy, I've been able to go as deeply as I have with the healing work I do, have the energy and heart to write, and more than a few times, they've been my will to live in motion. Maybe this is how people feel about their kids. Though I've never really felt like they were my children, more like my brother, my sisters mixed with some sort of deep spiritual connection that wove them into my cells.
So, Jacinta goes into tomorrow morning for her shot at 9am. And I'll be spending the next few nights all by my lonesome in this here apartment, and can't even visit her because she'll be all radioactive. If you think of it, send her smiles and sweet feelings of Yes. She's such a love, and the world is a better place having her in it.
And go right now and smooch your kids and mates and friends and fuzzy familiars . . . we just don't know how long we get with them . . .