Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I can't put my finger on it, but I think Maddy's chemo has stopped working. She's a little slower to get around the house, she spends a little more time curled up in the bathroom floor or under a chair in the living room, and she's not as into the treats as she used to be. Sometimes, she's just fine: she'll hop up on the bed right before my alarm goes off, chirp and sneeze in my face, curl up on my chest for a few minutes and purr heartily, and then jump down off the bed and scamper down the hall. Other times, she's slow, withdrawn, and uninterested in much of anything.
Guy and I went for a walk last night around the neighborhood and to pick up the last round of Maddy's meds from the pharmacy. We talked about a lot of things, including what about Maddy and what seems to be the beginning of her inexorable decline. Th vet oncologist told me that I might get one more year with her, tops, on the at-home chemo. And I've gotten eight good symptom-free months with her. This month will be the last round of Leukeran and prednisone before she goes back to visit the vet oncologist, and the blood test results may not be what we--I--want to hear. And I know I wasn't going to get many, many more years with her, but still...it just seems too short. I suppose any amount of time is too short with those we love.
And I know I have high-class worries. Lawdy knows I have some high-class worries in general. Guy and I owed taxes this year, and we had the money saved in our emergency fund to pay it (plus I get to bank a couple of mortgage payments over the next couple of months while I wait for my new refinanced mortgage to kick in). I can get a massage and a nice haircut every six weeks (and my peeps have been raving about my new 'do, I might add). To top it all off, I not only have really good health benefits (for cheap) at Design Associates, but I even have the resources to buy chemotherapy for a cat.
So, I'm not choosing food over heat bills. I realize it's something of a luxury to weep for the impending death of an 11-year-old cat with stomach cancer. But weep for her long and hard I do. Guy held me last night until I dozed off from crying, and I started to tear up this mornng as I got up early to do some yoga before my weights session. Maddy ambled over on her collapsed ankles (I told her to wear high-tops when she played for the Nuggets, but did she listen to me? Noooo!) and walked under me while I was in Plank Pose, looked up at me, and chirped her typical upbeat "whhhrrt?" She then promptly laid down and allowed me to rub her bibbin while I attempted to do some twists. She's not in pain so far, just slowing down. She likes treats, just not as many as before. Sick or not, she's still my kitteh.
Posted by Mile High Pixie at 6:26 AM