<Play in his puffier youth

Here we go again … this poor little guy who I have been injecting twice daily with insulin for diabetes came home and began to sneeze his head off. He’d be OK for a while and then a violent series of CHOO! CHOO! with spray all over.

By yesterday, the vet tech’s suggestion that it was an “allergy” didn’t fly and I called the vet to ask what to do. You know what the answer was: “Bring him in.” You know what my response was,”It took an hour and a half to wrestle him in last time.” The vet tech called back and said he could come over between appointments. Cost: $125 for the visit and $85 for the shot. I said I’d call him back. I summoned up my courage. I figured that having had the trapper get him was probably a mistake and if I had been able to get him in on my own I could have avoided many problems. But that’s in the past. I told myself that if I could manage to inject him twice daily I should be able to do this and besides, he was in a weakened state.

I plucked him from his little cubby-shelf. Now that he is five pounds lighter it was less of a strain for me. I held him firmly with a scruff to the back and  supported his feet. Now I had to walk a number of feet to the dining room table where I had the carrier waiting, the front gate propped open. I shoved him in head first facing the back and shut the door. He didn’t have time to turn and escape. He was in. I did it! We were off to the vet where he got a shot of antibiotics and the sneezing seemed to diminish within a few hours. But he is still obviously ill. I just wiped a stream of tears from his face.

Play resting with his mom (behind), much thinner and suffering from an upper respiratory infection

Notice how the things hanging over my head are animal issues. Here I went and trapped Princess Blue and she had two much needed surgeries. But now it was time to make a decision about a home. I am hoping to visit the cat sanctuary tomorrow and if it seems OK, bring her out on Tuesday. I posted the link to the sanctuary in my previous blog. The vet viewed most of it with me and thought it looked clean. My friend, the trapper, thought it looked clean and spacious and several people thought that since Princess Blue will be in a room with other FIV+ cats she would be safe. She’s been through a lot. This poor animal has lived outside for several years and is now languishing at the bottom of of a large cage at the vet’s AND my friend is paying for this board. She tried to escape one day and actually got out: the latches must not have both been fastened and she pushed her way out and wandered the sick room. She needs some freedom in her final days. Cancer usually returns in cats. If she would be placed that would be a huge load off my mind.

I am beginning to see some light at the end of this frenetic tunnel I have been calling my life for about half a year. I hope to walk to said light and stop crawling.

An evening out at Flushing Town Hall helped to raise my spirits: Antoinette Montague starred with her own marvelous quintet and as usual she was wonderful. Unfortunately I found it very difficult to get an accurate exposure from where I was seated but you’ll get the idea.

Akua Dixon/cello
Riza Printup/harp
Sam Parker/piano
Noah Jackson/bass
Marcus Miller/sax
Chuck McPherson/drums

Antoinette Montague Quintet

Antoinette Montague Quintet

Greeting fans

 

 

 

 

 

If you recall, my dishwasher which is only a bit more than three years old, began to go bonkers. A week after the company technician came he had to return. The error codes and the machine’s behavior were indicative of an internal leak. He was convinced that because I was using pellet type pre-measured soap and gels that that contributed to the demise of some gaskets. Rather than go ahead and order a new pump (which would cost around $600) he decided to take the path of least resistance and rule out a soap issue by running the machine with vinegar. He started it going and left for his next appointment. And of course, as soon as he did, the machine went berserk again in “extraction mode”; there was a huge sucking noise as the machine worked to rid the water that was leaking from within. So much for soap. I got on the phone immediately and had central call the technician, now on the road, to give the go-ahead for the pump. I resent that such a new machine would need such an expensive and major part in such a short time.

I called an appliance fellow I respect and who is very knowledgeable and it seems that the year my machine was made there were a lot of problems and it is no longer available. Nice. To replace it with something comparable would be about $2,200. Even more ridiculous. Stuck between a leak and a pump and a Euro machine that should have lasted a lot longer. Thinking of writing to corporate about this. It’s just another thing to check off my to-do list.

And then there is my mother; the main character of this series. The catalyst for my emotions and all that seems to transpire. I called her earlier to chat. Here it is a Sunday, so I spent some time with mom. It is obvious that all her issues with high blood pressure have been regulated and there is no more major anxiety: it was passed over to me. Now that she has an aide in the house she feels safe.

For so many years since my dad died she has joined the ranks of the league of widows and lived alone, independently, all the way to almost ninety-five years old. Now she resides on the planet of memories that revolves around the past and rotates happily in a time and space that will never be returned to. As I sat listening to one wondrous story after the next about her childhood (she remembered her addresses in Brooklyn from so many years ago) and how much she missed her father, a story I have heard almost every time we have spoken over decades, I bit my lip and suppressed crying. I knew she was making peace and that wasn’t going to be around forever, that she was leaving so many years behind. “I think at this age I have overstayed my visit,” she said. She hoped that she would see her parents again but most of all her father. I haven’t seen my father since 1991 and our relationship could never be compared to the one my mother had with her father. I am still jealous.

I think she realized that as much as she’d like to not have someone with her, she needed someone, that she would never feel truly secure without someone’s presence nearby. She can use her walker to get around the apartment, a small space that is now the extent of her world.  I think she is beginning to feel that although she is glad to still be around, enough is enough. Where is the quality of life? Her only friend is the television.

“I love you,” she said, “thank you for all you’ve done for me.” I just realized I should have said the same back. I took the words and kept them. “Good-by,darling” she said. I like when she says that. “Bye, Ma” I answered.

I’ll miss those words.

This series is linked: see “continued here.” Also, below the line there will be links for the previous post and the next.

The series starts here

continued here