Misc. Mash

Good Gracious

I'm really worried about Gracie. Really, really, really worried. I did manage to get, like, three doses of amoxicillin down her. She started to eat again. But now she's taken to going into the kitchen and going "rowrf" in a tone that means distress. Either that, or she's looking for Mo. She is skin and bones. I can feel every single rib when I put my hands around her. She eats, but she doesn't gain weight.

And I know that taking her to the vet about this would cost at least $500, probably closer on to $1,000, with no guarantee of her coming home healed, happy, and with meat on her bones.

I'm taking the cheap-o path right now. I bought some smelly cat food just for her, put it in a bowl and shoved it under the bed where she jumped the instant she saw me. I shooed the other cats out. Now I just have to wait for her to start yowling to get out of the room, because to get to the door, she has to go past the food bowl.

I also bought regular, not "lite" cat food, so maybe I'll end up with 11 porkers and one normal-sized cat.
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What the Hell is Wrong With You?

I don't know. I wish I did. Spring fever?

Nothing feels settled. I have not had a definitive answer on how much the surgery would cost, but I have learned that the max out-of-pocket for me would be $1,000.

Last week at work, a woman who looks remarkably like me and wears the same kind of clothes I wear (only newer and nicer) came in to the office looking particularly spiffy. I said, "Hey, how'd that job interview go?" When she turned to me, I saw her face was puffy from crying.

"I just came from my best friend's funeral. I'm only here because I'm waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up."

Later, there was an exchange of email and we ran into each other on Saturday at the office. I mentioned Hoity Toity Medical Group and the ankle surgery. "Oh yeah," she said. "My friend went there, the one who died? For three years, they said it was a recurrent UTI and when someone finally did an MRI on her, it showed a tumor the size of a baseball pressing on her bladder. And by then, it was too late to operate."

Oh-kay.

I know ankles can get fucked up in surgery. I've seen a lot of botched orthopedic surgery - or maybe not so much, but the ones I've seen have definitely stuck with me.
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In the Meantime...

Always being a woman of resourcefulness, I've tried all kinds of things to brace my ankle. Wraps. Off the shelf braces. None of it works. I have huge calves and tiny ankles (comparatively) so none of the off the shelf braces fit. Instead, I'm off on my own, talking to an orthotist on-line. How much would a custom made ankle brace cost? $500.

I'm weighing my options.

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No, Really. What the Hell is Wrong with You?

I truly don't know. Headaches play ring-around-the-rosy in my head. I feel a low boil constantly with Fireman Fred, who is sucking my will to live. I have an earworm from Tom Petty, from "Last Dance with Mary Jane", the line that goes, "I feel summer creeping in and I'm tired of this town again." I feel pretty trapped. Not enough saved for retirement. Not enough saved to get me through a month if The Worst happens. Not enough love. Too many cats. Too many sick cats. Too many dirty dishes. No vacation. And this is the worst time of the year. Even worse than the beginning of the Long Dark in November is the coming of the first ten days of April. It feels like every one of these days is stained with its own secret, stained history, stains that I'm the only one left alive to see. Well, there is someone else. But I doubt if he remembers what he did to me, much less the date.