Cerri. . .
Cerri is sick again. I thought about posting about this yesterday, but I just ... couldn't think about it. I can't even write this now without breaking down....
When I came home Tuesday night, mom told me that she wasn't eating and was acting sick. Mom wasn't sure whether she'd given her her medicine the past few days or not. We took her to the hospital around 11, and ... in short, she needed another transfusion. It was the most horrible night I've had in a really long time. Dad didn't want to pay for it, but Mom said she couldn't live with herself if Cerri died and it was her fault for messing up her medicine. Listening to them talk about it ... I realized for the first time that she might actually die. Right then. That we might never bring her home again. And when Dad said ... what he said. I couldn't stand it. I've heard this argument so many times before, but last night ... it was just revolting. How can he be so petty and childishly resentful? When Cerri's life is at stake? What experience could he possibly have had that would make that be reasonable? I know I don't know the history, and especially not his perspective. Because he won't tell me. And I try to keep an open mind and accept that maybe there are things I don't know that make his side make sense, that he just can't communicate to me. I know there are things--important things--that I can never tell him. So I try not to judge. But how else am I supposed to hear this? I have no choice but to interpret things based on what I know, and based on what I know ... he's being an irrational, resentful asshole.
Listening to them talking about it ... listening to dad's reasons and grievances ... And the only thought in my mind the fact that we could lose her. Right then. And the reason... I can't even describe how much it hurt, how revolting it was. I wanted desperately to just get up and go outside into the hall. To stop hearing their discussion. To get away from it and just cry.
I wish they could just start fresh somehow. Like, a ritual forgiving of past grudges and wrongs. Forget about the past and deal with their lives now. I don't care about their relationship, as such. I don't care if they don't love each other. I just wish they could deal with the things they need to deal with. Because as far as I can tell, they're hurting themselves and me and Becca and Cerri (and the other cats) far more than they're hurting each other. (And when I say "they", I'm mostly thinking "him".)
In the end, mom decided to give Cerri one more chance. I sort of knew that she would. Or ... I couldn't bring myself to accept that she wouldn't until she actually said it, which I guess is a little different. If she gets sick like this again ... but that's not going to happen.
When the vet came back, she told us that she'd already had them put an IV catheter in Cerri since no matter what we chose, she'd need one. And I know, that's entirely practical and reasonable, but ... hearing that almost made me start crying again....
Tuesday afternoon was so perfect... It was magical. Coming home after climbing, I thought nothing could bring me down. Even freezing on an overly air conditioned bus in my soaking wet clothing because there was a fire at Downtown Crossing was just an adventure. The mosquitoes swarming around my arms as I walked home were tiny, blood-sucking faeries. And then I walked in the door, and ... I've cried so much in the past 27 hours. Either cried, or tried not to think about it. I was going to work on my King Lear essay today, but I just couldn't make myself. I don't want to think critically and analyze anything, and I especially don't want to be fucking reading about the world falling apart right now. I just want to do something happy and not think about anything at all.
I don't know why it still hurts so much, since I know she's going to be fine (I hope). She's still alive. But I don't think I'll be able to think about it without hurting until she's home and healthy again. Until we're done medicating her and she's stable. Maybe not even then.
When I came home Tuesday night, mom told me that she wasn't eating and was acting sick. Mom wasn't sure whether she'd given her her medicine the past few days or not. We took her to the hospital around 11, and ... in short, she needed another transfusion. It was the most horrible night I've had in a really long time. Dad didn't want to pay for it, but Mom said she couldn't live with herself if Cerri died and it was her fault for messing up her medicine. Listening to them talk about it ... I realized for the first time that she might actually die. Right then. That we might never bring her home again. And when Dad said ... what he said. I couldn't stand it. I've heard this argument so many times before, but last night ... it was just revolting. How can he be so petty and childishly resentful? When Cerri's life is at stake? What experience could he possibly have had that would make that be reasonable? I know I don't know the history, and especially not his perspective. Because he won't tell me. And I try to keep an open mind and accept that maybe there are things I don't know that make his side make sense, that he just can't communicate to me. I know there are things--important things--that I can never tell him. So I try not to judge. But how else am I supposed to hear this? I have no choice but to interpret things based on what I know, and based on what I know ... he's being an irrational, resentful asshole.
Listening to them talking about it ... listening to dad's reasons and grievances ... And the only thought in my mind the fact that we could lose her. Right then. And the reason... I can't even describe how much it hurt, how revolting it was. I wanted desperately to just get up and go outside into the hall. To stop hearing their discussion. To get away from it and just cry.
I wish they could just start fresh somehow. Like, a ritual forgiving of past grudges and wrongs. Forget about the past and deal with their lives now. I don't care about their relationship, as such. I don't care if they don't love each other. I just wish they could deal with the things they need to deal with. Because as far as I can tell, they're hurting themselves and me and Becca and Cerri (and the other cats) far more than they're hurting each other. (And when I say "they", I'm mostly thinking "him".)
In the end, mom decided to give Cerri one more chance. I sort of knew that she would. Or ... I couldn't bring myself to accept that she wouldn't until she actually said it, which I guess is a little different. If she gets sick like this again ... but that's not going to happen.
When the vet came back, she told us that she'd already had them put an IV catheter in Cerri since no matter what we chose, she'd need one. And I know, that's entirely practical and reasonable, but ... hearing that almost made me start crying again....
Tuesday afternoon was so perfect... It was magical. Coming home after climbing, I thought nothing could bring me down. Even freezing on an overly air conditioned bus in my soaking wet clothing because there was a fire at Downtown Crossing was just an adventure. The mosquitoes swarming around my arms as I walked home were tiny, blood-sucking faeries. And then I walked in the door, and ... I've cried so much in the past 27 hours. Either cried, or tried not to think about it. I was going to work on my King Lear essay today, but I just couldn't make myself. I don't want to think critically and analyze anything, and I especially don't want to be fucking reading about the world falling apart right now. I just want to do something happy and not think about anything at all.
I don't know why it still hurts so much, since I know she's going to be fine (I hope). She's still alive. But I don't think I'll be able to think about it without hurting until she's home and healthy again. Until we're done medicating her and she's stable. Maybe not even then.