Not the easiest of weekends�

2003-09-15

A line from a movie keeps running through my head. I don't know what movie it is; I just don't remember. But it is appropriate to the time. 'My Heart is Breaking.' Just trite. Obvious. Dumb. But I can't help myself. My heart is breaking.

I'll survive. I've survived much worse than this. But there are still cracks. All around the edges.

It was not a good weekend. We had a birthday party for my sister and her husband on Saturday afternoon. Cake, icecream, 'Happy Birthday to You'. Once for each of them. It was the high point of my weekend.

Then I came home and made the hard decision.

Penny declined pretty rapidly after I took her to the vet late spring/early summer. I thought she wouldn't be with me long.

But she improved slightly, not enough to be her old self, but enough that I was sure that she still had some enjoyment of life. She had a good appetite, a moderate amount of energy, and was affectionate when affection was shown to her.

Over the past few days, she declined. Her appetite, which has been good all along, faded. I've been feeding her a high-calorie paste, which she seemed to really like. She stopped eating it, too.

She spent her time sitting with her head down, nose resting on the ground. Her breathing more labored than I'd ever seen.

When we came home on Saturday I asked the Spouse whether he'd seen her eat lately. No, she wasn't eating. I looked at her. I wasn't going to give up until she did, but she had given up. Now she was just waiting. I could wait until she starved to death, or . . .

So I called the vet. Thank goodness they were open. I made the appointment for the next day. Thank the holies that this vet has Sunday hours.

After I made the appointment I needed something to do. I was feeling aggitated and wanted to do something with that energy.

I decided to go an trim the vines in the atrium. I got the stepladder and my special vine-pulling tool (a dowel with a j-hook screwed into it) an started to pull down the vines.

I pulled down exactly one vine when I felt something land on my nose. And then sting. Then I saw the wasps flying around.

I shouted, dropped the stick and jumped to the ground. Then I started swearing. My husband ran down and asked what had happened. With my hand clutching my nose, I told him.

I asked him to bring down the aspirin bottle and to fill a ziplock with ice. The tissue I was holding against my nose had small blood spots on it, so I pressed on the area around the sting trying to force the venom out with the blood.

I had pictures in my head. I remember my brother-in-law had been stung by a wasp that had gotten into his soda can. He looked like he had a baseball in his mouth. I had pictures of myself with a baseball for a nose.

I sat for an hour or so with an ice-pack on my nose. That's a feeling unto it's own; holding an ice-pack on your nose. After a while it's very much like the brain-freeze headache you get from eating icecream too fast.

After more than an hour, I looked in the mirror. No swelling. None. I'm still kind of amazed. The area of the sting was kind of sore, but no Bozo nose.

I spent the rest of the day second guessing my decision, feeling like a betrayer and an executioner at the same time.

I tried several times to give Penny food or water. She took the water once, then refused. She refused food every time.

Sunday was just Hell. Again I tried to give her water or food; again she turned away.

Finally the appointment time dragged around. I'd sat around all day, counting down the hours. I got down the cat carrier and went to put my shoes on. Husband got up, with the same, I'm sure, expression on his face that I had, and got ready to leave. I told him that he didn't have to come, but, with an expression of determination, he told me he was coming with me.

I looked at him and asked if he would drive. I wanted to hold Penny as long as I could; I wasn't going to put her in the cat carrier until I had to. Driving and holding her would have been tough.

Husband keeps a box of tissues in his car. We both needed them before we got to the vet's. The waiting room was empty, thank mercy.

There was a cage with three very cute gray kittens. A sign said they were up for adoption. They kept reaching out of the cage, trying to pat us. In some indefinable way, that they were there made me feel worse.

They took us into a room after only a few minutes, and it was over very quickly. The vet was as compassionate as could be desired, but we were both still a mess when we left.

I'm comforted, in an some obscure way, by the depth of feeling my husband showed. I know he's a passionate person, but it's good to know how much love he has to spare for those that enter his life. No matter what happens to us along the way, I'm sure none of his loves, human or otherwise, will be taken lightly.

For the rest of Sunday afternoon, I mourned. And trimmed more vines. Checking this time, of course, to see if there were any wasp's nests, before I cut.

That night Ash helped, almost, and I don't give her that credit, as if she knew what I needed. Most nights I sleep on my side, with my leg over a pillow. She spent most of the night in the crevice between me and the pillow, purring as loudly as possible.

At around 5 am she got up and did her 'Tigger' immitation; "The wonderful thing about Tiggers

Is Tiggers are wonderful things

Their tops are made out of rubber

Their bottoms are made out of springs"

Annoyed the heck out of me, but I couldn't help but smile.

There's still a Penny-shaped hole in my heart, but there's a new Ash-shaped space in my heart being built.

I'm coming to understand that some of the spaces in the framework of my life are filled by memories, some spaces are growing to accomodate the people that live there.

If you will excuse the expression from an atheist,'God willin and the river don't rise', I'll live to learn what they have to teach me.

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