Monday, November 14, 2011

It's easier for me to live in the now, than it is for John. This is in regards to Bea. Because I'm the primary care-giver, I have these tasks and this planned interaction with her. For John, it's like he's mourning for her while she's still here.

Beside of our bed, I've made her a bed that's comprised of a pillow and a deluxe cedar filled dog pillow on top of that and a heating pad on top of that and a blanket on top of the heating pad. This is where she spends 98% of her time. Wouldn't you?

Some days I hold it together better than John. Some days John fares better than I do. We're watching our child grow old and die. All the while we're trying to maintain some semblance of order and normalcy for the outside world. When you lose a loved one and you go through that period of deep mourning, the rest of the world tends to treat you like a pariah. Like loss is a disease. Like they're gonna catch death from you. But if you lose an animal companion and you go through a period of staggering grief... well, you can forget about the rest of the world even giving you the time of day. Take care of a sick parent or child and everyone feels bad for you and treats you like a saint -deservedly so. Take care of a sick animal with that same level of devotion and you must be a nut-job. There's a stigma involved.

It's almost 16 years to the day that my cat Elvis died. I grieved so hard that I thought I would die. And I did it entirely alone. This time around, the sadness and fear that I'm nesting like an egg is being shared with John. Most days I just plow through it. But some days I just can't hold it all in.

Last Tuesday we took Bea to the vet because she has a sizable lump in her neck/throat area. I'd noticed it a couple of days before and it got bigger the next day so we decided to have it checked out. This is what I'll say about the vet visit: It did not go well. We left without knowing any more than when we walked in the damn door. Bea had a meltdown on the table because the vet's a fucking whack job and the vet lost her composure because Bea had a meltdown. The vet never even got to feel the lump and then she acted like we were making it up. Thank God the assistant had talked with us earlier and had felt the lump herself. So, after telling us that it's not a mouth tumor, she went on to give some half-assed diagnoses that was formed without listening to a damn word I said. I told her I disagreed with her and then Bea and I left. This is what I think: the vet sees Bea and in her mind she has already formed the opinion that this cat's dying of liver disease so there's no reason to treat her for anything else that may be going on. She also said a couple of other things in the office to John after I left that sealed the deal and made me call her the "C" word a few times in the car on the way home. The lump's still there, it's not as big as it was. I'm scared to take her to another Vet because I don't want to traumatize her any further.

That's it. That's all I've got in me for now.

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