Another year begins and not a moment too soon. I say “Good Riddance” to 2021. Yet another year of angst amongst preventable and unpreventable tragedy. I don’t have great hope for 2022 being a better year. I’m just hoping it won’t be worse. I’ll be doing my part to stay positive, to live in the moment, and to cherish each moment.
Thank you to everyone who offered condolences in the wake of Maxine’s crossing over the Rainbow Bridge.
Maxine (RIP).
These last few weeks have been rough, the house so quiet, feeling empty even with our remaining three feline friends. And yet … Life goes on. Junior, Wendy, and Raji need demand attention.
Junior stills insists on a lap in the evenings when we sit on the small sofa, where we enjoy a glass of wine before dinner or hot chamomile tea before bedtime.
Junior, always on the alert.
In the mornings, I get up an hour or so before my husband, starting my day quietly with a large mug of hot tea (lately, it’s been Earl Grey). Usually, Raji would stretch out on the large sofa at the far side of our living room, but he’s started a new habit: curling up on a pillow beside me.
Raji taking his morning nap.
What’s not to love about this face! How can either of us be sad for long when you have this guy looking at you every day?
“I’m so cute! Gotta love me!”
In the photo above, Raji is on Wendy’s fleecy blanket, the same fleecy blanket I brought her home in eight and a-half years ago. While Raji and Junior have established a relationship, Wendy and Raji are still working on theirs. They chase each other around the house occasionally, although it’s hard to tell whether Wendy enjoys it. I do know she doesn’t like Raji on her blanket.
“Just what is THAT on MY blanket?”
“Well, maybe we can share. Maybe.”
“On second thought, no, I’m NOT sharing!”
These two were in motion, hence the blurry photo. Wendy pretty much had Raji cornered. He couldn’t get off the bed without her getting a good swipe at him. Oh, well. If it ever gets cold enough here in north Florida, they might find their way to a truce.
Speaking of it not being cold enough here in north Florida, everything is blooming. Magnolia trees, wildflowers, hibiscus, morning glories, you name it. I have a red penta that hasn’t stopped blooming for months. Our Oregon grape is bursting with yellow flowers and attracting bees.
See the bee dangling from a flower in the upper right quadrant of the photo?
I couldn’t get an appointment on Wednesday with Maxine’s regular vet. It was important to us that Dr. C examine her. Continuity of care and all that.
Maxine in a box, just a little over a year ago.
I did make an appointment for Wednesday but the vet on duty was one that neither of us really cared for. My husband got upset. Things were a little tense. I called back and asked about Thursday, knowing Dr. C would be working that day. She was and I rescheduled for 3 pm Thursday.
I was miffed, and Max had created another urinary mess in the back room. While I cleaned up, my husband administered her now daily dose of fluids. When I finished, I found the both of them lying on the bed. My husband said, “We have to make a decision.”
Talk to the paw.
I was already thinking that. What were we going to do? Find out that she was constipated again, would need another enema, another overnight stay? How often were we going to put her through that? She had flinched and complained when I picked her up that morning, a sure sign that she was probably developing gas in her stomach and colon, that she felt pain, that she was likely miserable.
I texted the veterinary hospital because I knew I couldn’t talk. Yes, they could do the euthanasia instead. We can be with her if we want.
Indeed, we wanted to be with her.
Max expressing her displeasure at going to the vet again.
Again, she laid on my lap while we watched a movie last night. She slept in my husband’s room, two platforms with wee-wee pads on both sides of the bed. Still, she peed on the rug in front of my bathroom sometime during the night. And, yes, I stepped in it this morning.
Ah, the life of a southern cat in summer.
Today, we took turns sitting or lying with her, watching her sleep or slurp her broth, or watching her watching us. Many times I wondered if we were wrong, but it was obvious her body was shutting down. No one lives through that.
Maxine-First Contact 2009
It was good to have Dr. C attend to Max and to us. I’ll be forever grateful. In the past couple of years, and especially the last few months, Dr. C had spent a lot of time with Max. We could tell that she was sad, too.
Our other kitties are now running through the house with big, anxious eyes. A new dynamic will have to emerge. It’ll be interesting to see how the pecking order is reordered. Somehow I think Raji will reign. If anyone can herd cats, it’s him.
Maxine has the strongest spirit of any cat I’ve had the pleasure to serve. Every day is a new day with her. My husband and I are at the point of saying that we need to “set a date.” But we haven’t. Well, we did briefly. It would have been tomorrow, Wednesday, December 8. Thankfully, it’s not.
Because Maxine’s kidneys have pretty much failed, and she’s become pickier about what she eats, we’ve encountered a problem that we never had with any of the other ten cats that have (or continue to) grace our modest home: constipation. This is where it would be most helpful if she could talk, like in a language I could understand.
About a week ago, we noticed Maxine passed some hard, dry stools. Then, the next day, my husband saw her unsuccessfully straining to pass stool. (Well, she was successful but a few minutes later outside the litter box.) I called our vet, got a prescription for lactulose and started her on it right away. Unfortunately, right away was too late. We thought it was working but then a couple of days went by without any evidence that Maxine pooped.
With four cats, you’d think it would be hard to tell their stools apart. Nope. Not with our kitties. Particularly with Maxine. She never, ever covers her poop. Saturday morning I decided she needed to see a doctor. We had also noticed that she experienced pain when we picked her up, but thought it was her arthritis. Also, as much as she seemed to want to eat, she barely touched her meals. I assumed that while her steroids stimulate her appetite, her kidney disease probably makes the food unpalatable. I got tired of assuming and wanted an expert’s opinion.
I took her to our regular vet during emergency hours. A dog with a chest wound came in at the same time so they referred me to another ER veterinary hospital. I went there. Our regular veterinary hospital currently prohibits humans other than hospital staff from entering the building, but the ER hospital was different which was good for me psychologically. (It was also a mixed bag in terms who did and did not wear a mask. Sigh.)
They ushered me into an exam room right away, and a technician came in to get info within fifteen minutes. I explained our concern about Max being constipated, noting that she has late stage chronic kidney disease. The tech took her to the back to get her vitals and said a doctor would come in to talk to me shortly. I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
After an hour, I asked someone at the front desk for an update.
I waited.
And waited.
After another hour, I went the front desk again, eyes wet from the strain of worry and asked again for an update. The young man came back, said that Maxine was stable and that they were waiting to see if she would have a bowel movement. He explained that a bleeding dog had been brought in and that was why no one had updated me. I thought to myself, “well, I can just take her home if you’re just waiting to see if she’ll do something.”
Another hour goes by.
I ask for another update. Keep in mind, no one of authority has come by to explain what if anything they were doing to or for Max. And I’m sitting in an exam room for three hours, alternating between BBC World and a soccer game … on mute.
Almost another hour goes by and a technician comes in, startling me because by this point, I’m lying on the bench. He’s all smiles and has two estimates for me, depending on what procedures I approve. He asks if they can do an x-ray. Of course, they can. A few minutes later, an actual veterinary doctor walks in. She’s very nice, very calm, but very alarmed at Max’s condition.
She brought up the exams on the TV/computer. Max’s colon was packed full of stool. She pointed out three pockets of gas, places where she likely felt pain whenever I picked her up. I fell apart. I felt so guilty. I still feel guilty. I should have taken her in earlier, so much earlier. Her bowel movements had been changing over the last two weeks, but we thought it was because her diet was changing. By this point, we were giving her subQ fluids every other day, but the vet said that Max was very dehydrated. They wanted to put her on IV fluids, give her an enema, and observe her overnight. I agree to it all.
She felt compelled to discuss euthanasia. If they are successful and Max poops, it’s highly likely this will happen again. Could be a few months. Could be a couple of days. I understood that and asked that they proceed with trying to resolve the constipation. I and my husband will deal with the rest.
I went home, hoping I wouldn’t get in an accident because I was crying.
We got a call late that night letting us know that Max had pooped a little bit (yay!) and she was stable. They had her in a “tower kennel” so she had plenty of room to move around in and a nice, fleecy blanket to sleep on.
I called the next morning. They said she was stable, hadn’t pooped yet that morning (although later records showed she had), and to call back between three and four. I called around four and (yay!) got to talk with the vet on shift. She had had a good poop (yay!) and her constipation seemed to be resolved. BUT. They were alarmed about her anemia. They wanted to keep her longer, possibly do a blood transfusion.
Hell, no.
I explained that Max was already under care for her kidney disease and anemia. I said, “We know she’s failing. We just wanted to get the constipation taken care of.” To say that I know she’s failing was not an easy thing to do. In that case, I was told, I could pick her up any time.
We left immediately.
I’ll say this for the ER hospital. They gave us x-rays and detailed records on Max’s treatment. They could have done better on communication, but it is, after all, an ER hospital.
Max pooped twice for our pleasure soon after we got her home on Sunday evening. She has not pooped since. I have her back on lactulose and her other medications. She is preferring cat food that is mostly broth or gravy so she’s not getting much in the way of solid food right now. Greg is giving her fluids every day. You could say she’s kind of on a fast and that’s why she hasn’t pooped. Who knows. All I know is, if she hasn’t pooped at least a little bit by tomorrow morning, I’m calling her regular vet and see if they will do an x-ray, make sure she’s okay down there.
We had set a date while Max was at the ER and we thought this event would do her in. We’ve tabled the date. We’re back to “wait and see.” I don’t think Max is ready to let go yet. She laid in my lap last night as we watched a movie. It was nice.
Max wondering why she’s having to spend so much time at these veterinary hospitals.
No, I’m not done with all writing, just writing my perpetual WIP. After wallowing in one extreme for awhile (no writing), I went the other extreme in November and completed 50,977 words toward my novel. These were all new words (although the majority can be found in the dictionary). I know some people would say NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is crazy but there’s method to the madness, at least for me.
The commitment to write 50,000 words in a month means I have to put butt in chair and just do it. Although I know I don’t have to write 50k, the challenge is there and so I try to meet it. At times it was grueling. I took a day off now and then which meant that I really had to crank out the words on the other days. Here’s me after one long day of writing.
After a long day of writing, I am consoled (sort of) by Maxine (on my lap), Junior (on pillow next to me) and Raji (above me; with our temps getting chillier, he’s getting friendlier).
I finished on November 27 so I could have a couple of day to just zone out. Plus November 30 was my husband’s birthday so I didn’t want to spend that day writing.
I’m going to take December “off” from working on my novel, but I’ll recommit myself to writing daily. I don’t know what I’ll write but anything is better than nothing at this point. Who knows? Maybe I’ll try poetry! I bought Diane Lockward’s The Strategic Poet, thanks to Luanne Castle’s review of it. You can read her review by clicking here.
In other news …
MY SISTER IS HOME! Sorry for shouting, but you understand why. Yup, she came home on November 24, the day before Thanksgiving. That’s what my brother-in-law (and the rest of us) had been hoping and praying for. I’ve talked to her twice so far, and I cannot tell you how good it was to talk with her. She’s sounds like herself: lucid, ready with a laugh, positive, strong. Her sons boast about how hard she worked at physical therapy, knowing that the better she got, the sooner she’d go home. Now we can all breathe.
Maxine is still hanging in there, but she’s more or less getting hospice care now. At the last vet visit a couple of weeks ago, we learned that her kidney enzymes have shot up again. We could hear the disappointment in our vet’s voice. We all knew we couldn’t stop the kidney disease from progressing but we had been hopeful we could slow it down. Oh, well. To keep her hydrated, we’re giving her subcutaneous fluids every other day. To keep nausea at bay, we’re also giving her Cerenia every day. Mealtime is a challenge because she’s become “picky.” She’s a slow eater so we put her in a closed room by herself. She’s gets distracted by the boys trying to break the door down (sigh), but if she’s given enough time, she’ll eat most of her food. She seems to like leaving some behind for the boys.
So, good news about my sister; not good news about Maxine. Meanwhile, we’ve made a couple of trips to St. Marks Refuge to ride our bikes. I did not fall once.
Here’s a few scenes from our last bike ride, timed so we would be out on the dikes at sunset.
This is my favorite section of what is called the Deep Creek trail. The bayou is usually full of waterfowl: ducks, wood storks, spoonbills, herons, etc.
My husband riding away.
Opposite the sunset.
It was a fun bike ride that almost didn’t happen. About a mile and a half out, my rear tire went flat. Fortunately, my husband was carrying a new tube so we didn’t have to spend time trying to find and repair the leak. He saved the day again.
Now I have a lot of catching up to do and that means reading your blogs!
Imagine a world of endless Cold War, with the U.S. and Russia continuously threatening each other with annihilation. Imagine you are living in the panhandle of Florida during this time, an English grad student with a peculiar sensibility:
“For me, I hear unheard voices, important ones. Hear how? By an inner ear as I read another’s words and sing them to myself. Through sound, I know what’s truly brilliant and what’s not.”
You are one of the unfortunate to have been radiated while still in your mother’s womb during the The Accident aka Incident ’80. You were thus born with radiation sickness, which is why your body is rapidly aging, why you hear voices, why your eyes have a glow, and why you want to go where no one knows you.
You are John Needle and you came up from south Florida to escape the notoriety of being “Rad Sick,” one of those “radiation sickness weirdos.” While your relocation gives you new friendships and romances, you also find others like you, which is good and bad. You see, there are people who want to collect Rad Sicks like yourself, to control your preternatural abilities, to use you for their own nefarious plans. Before too long you find yourself in the midst of a conspiracy on campus that involves a LSD-like drug called TallaTec and strange human experiments at the pool.
Meanwhile, you romance at least two women, discover the natural and mysterious beauty of north Florida, and have long drunken debates with your college friends about the best places to submit writing. Your body might be 35 years old, but you think and act like a 20-year-old grad student.
Rad Sick Record is written in the form of a diary, giving Needle’s story an intimacy and immediacy that well suited this strange but entertaining novel. Michael Trammell is also a poet, evident in how he weaves words together:
“The Arctic cold must be brutal, so bitter they can’t think for the pain, are sick from it, noses raw like beef jerky. Freezing dew must stick to their hair. If sleet drummed atop the ships, the cold would become an encircling, unsolvable misery.”
Trammel’s novel is not strictly science fiction or speculative fiction or a coming-of-age novel, or a thriller, or a romantic comedy. It blends all these genres fluidly, immersing me in Needle’s sometimes quirky, sometimes scary world. It is a character-driven novel, with a finely drawn cast that continue living in my head long after I put the book down. I highly recommend Rad Sick Record. The novel pushes boundaries in wonderful prose written by a talented and gifted writer. Once I dipped into T-Town with John Needle, I was all in.
You can purchase Rad Sick Record on Amazon or Bookshop. You can also learn more about Michael Trammell by clicking here.
–End of review–
Confession: I know Michael Trammell. We were in grad school together at Florida State University in the early 1990s (the novel takes place in 2000). Michael was in the doctoral program, myself a lowly Master’s student, but we had a few classes together, including a fiction workshop with the late Jerome Stern. I didn’t see Michael again for years after I graduated, but I’ve always remembered him as a kind and honest reader in our workshop, a wonderful poet, and a really nice guy. When I next saw Michael in early 2020, almost thirty years after I had graduated, it was at a book reading for his wife, the poet Mary Jane Ryals. He mentioned having written a novel and planning a reading for the next month. Cue the pandemic. I believe he went on with his book reading, but by then it was mid-March 2020 and I was avoiding human contact as much as possible. I still got a signed copy of Rad Sick Record and promptly read it. My bad for taking so long to write a review.
An interesting experience for me in reading Rad Sick Record was trying to identify people that we both knew. “Oh, I bet this character is based on Mary Jane and that other one must be Ron!” I think I might even be in the novel: “A woman beside me was clicking plastic sticks. No flip, she was knitting!” Maybe, maybe not. I remember I used to knit during some of my social work classes, but I don’t remember if I’d had the courage to knit in any of my English classes. Still, I like to think it was me.
I always enjoy reading stories that take place in familiar locations, and this was no exception. Trammell’s description of the campus took me back the 90s when I spent most of my life in the Williams Building, a maze of stairwells and half-floors reminiscent of the Winchester Mystery House. As John Needle, he reminded me of the first times I visited the sinkholes and rivers of Florida, getting to know local flora and fauna. This added a layer of pleasure to my reading, but you don’t need to have been on the FSU campus in the 1990s to enjoy Rad Sick Record. The novel stands on its own.
–Insert gratuitous cat photo–
Raji and Junior snuggling on a lazy rainy morning.
P.S. Maxine had her last checkup, at least for a month. Her creatine is down to 4.1, close to where it was before the craziness. Her urine is still clear so we stopped the antibiotic injections. She’s looking good, eating and drinking well, grooming more than most cats her age, and likes to lie on my lap when I’m watching TV. I like it too.
The Rascals beat out the Beatles as my favorite music group when I was growing. I had a major crush on Felix.
Many thanks to everyone who commented on my Monday post and provided me with sage advice. Ironically (maybe?), on Wednesday, before I got around to responding to comments, I made myself work on my novel a bit. I wrote about 600 words. Then I rewarded myself by reading the comments. Surprise, surprise (to no one), most of you suggested I write about 500 words a day. Well, golly gee, I had just written 600! And then today (Thursday), I wrote another 982. I do believe I’m grooving. My daily goal going forward will be 500 words. If I’m inspired and write more, well, that’s icing. But if I write at least 500, I can stop guilting myself for having (and needing) other interests.
Speaking of other interests and the multiple ways I’ve been avoiding writing, I forgot to mention exercise. In mid-July, my husband and I rejoined our local gym, and we have been faithfully going there three times a week, working out for an hour-and-a-half to two hours. We’re retired so we can take all the time we want. I’ve lost some weight and gained some muscle in the process. Given all that’s happened to my sister, I am even more focused on building strong muscles.
And then there’s the bike riding, which we did Tuesday. What a beautiful day. And, as it was a weekday, we saw few people.
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As it happens, when we go for bike rides, my mind wanders and often I think of my novel. That’s what I did on Tuesday so I was primed to do some writing on Wednesday.
Your encouragement helped as well as it always does.
A bit of good news before I close this post. Maxine had a checkup today and her creatine values have dropped yet again, to 4.4. Still elevated, but a hell of a lot better than 6.9. Her urine is still clear of bacteria, but the vet wants us to do two more weeks of the twice daily antibiotic injections. Apparently, that is the regimen. Who are we to argue? She promised that if Max’s urine is still clear after two weeks, then we can stop. We might even be able to reduce her subcutaneous fluids. The only real disappointing news is that now she has anemia so new meds (yay!) for the next two weeks. That cat is turning into a poster child for the pharmaceutical industry.
But she’s doing good. She really is. She’s peeing and pooping in the litter boxes more often than not. She’s steady on her feet and generally trots to her meals (food is her reason for being). She’s still sleeping a lot, but not when there’s food around. I don’t have high expectations for her, as she does have chronic kidney disease, but she really seems to be enjoying a better quality of life than she was a month ago. We are grateful.
Maxine chilling out after her morning with the vet.
In a New Yorker article (September 13, 2021), author Amia Srinivasan made this observation: “[…] the Internet, […] has simultaneously given us too much to read and corroded our capacity to read it.” The context was feminism and what we think we know about it, but her description of how the Internet has impacted reading applies far beyond her subject.
It’s something I struggle with every day. So much to read, especially online, but also on my Kindle and my bookshelves, the dining room table and the living room desk where magazines pile high. And yet I’m supposed to be writing.
I know I’ve been going through a stressful time. Which requires a couple of updates:
My sister’s cast was removed last week and she was fitted with a walking boot. She’s still at the facility, but she’s been having more good days lately than bad days. The facility change was definitely a good move. Still, the uncertainty as to when she’ll come home and what kind of help my brother-in-law will given as he continues care for her subdues my efforts to be positive. We all just keep saying, “One day at a time.”
Maxine, our feline dowager, has been more her old self lately. Spunky, willful, and talkative. She’s been handling our handling of the twice daily antibiotic injections and every-three-days subcutaneous fluids quite well. My husband has even been able to give her the antibiotic injection by himself, that is, without me having to hold her still. Unfortunately, she has “good” days and “bad” days: good days are when she limits her pee and poop output to a litter box or a potty training pad; bad days are when she and Junior get in a tussle and, in her excitement, she poops on the kitchen floor (this morning) or when she sits on the potty training pad but still pees on the floor (also this morning).
I’ve been working through my stress not by writing, but by gardening (healthy activity) and binging on a podcast call Casefile (maybe, maybe not healthy). If you enjoy true crime stories (is enjoy the right word?), check out Casefile by clicking here. A few things I like about the podcast:
The narrator is anonymous. He wants the audience to stay focused on the survivors and victims in these stories; however, his fans call him Casey.
The podcast has no dramatic reenactments, no roleplaying, no editorializing, no aimless, mindless banter. Casey narrates in a steady, calm voice. Occasionally he narrates dialogue, which can sometimes be humorous with his Australian accent.
I say no editorializing, but Casey’s empathy toward survivors and victims is real. At the beginning of each podcast, he cautions the listener in case the crime is of a particularly disturbing nature, such as crimes against children. For example, I chose to not listen to the episodes on The Moors Murders because Casey admitted he had to stop recording a couple of times because he was so disturbed by the abuse done to the children.
He has, on occasion, expressed frustration with law enforcement responses (or lack thereof) to violence against women. But he doesn’t rant, he doesn’t rail. He just points out when injustice is being served.
The episodes do not focus gratuitously on details of crimes. Casefile only shares what is necessary to understand the seriousness of a crime, which doesn’t require a second-by-second account of an assault or a murder.
The podcast often includes interviews, audio clips and other materials, providing a deeper context of the crime.
The effort Casey and his team put into their research and production is impressive. Links to their sources are provided with each episode.
My most recent binge from Casefile was several episodes on crimes committed by the The East Area Rapist, the Original Night Stalker, and the Golden State Killer in the late 70s to mid-80s who happen to all be one man–Joseph DeAngelo. The best episode was the last one where Casey read or played clips of survivors’ impact statements at DeAngelo’s sentencing hearing. It was the best episode because too often, justice is not found. In this case, it was. A little late, but that was due to the limitations of forensic testing at the time, the fact that DeAngelo was a former cop and knew how to avoid capture and identification, and lack of communication among the various law enforcement agencies involved.
Finally, if you write crime fiction, this podcast will teach you a lot about crime, the justice systems in the U.S. as well as other countries, and how law enforcement, even with truly dedicated officers, can be hampered in their efforts to find and bring the perpetrators to justice.
Now, what about my novel, which is about a murder?
I don’t consider myself a gardener really, but I might allow myself to wear the label of amateur gardener. I am thrilled when one of my plants starts to bloom. Why, hello there, Georgia Aster! I’m so grateful to have a fall-blooming plant.
Georgia Aster. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
My red penta is still going strong, and I’ve planted a lavender penta and a red-yellow lantana in the front yard. Fingers crossed that I can keep them safe during the winter. The following Ruellia or Mexican petunia was an impulse buy.
Ruellia simplex. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
We had gone to Home Depot to order a new dishwasher (a whole other story, but let me just say that we’re never buying GE appliances again). I needed a couple of pots so we went to the gardening section. This lovely purple plant caught my eye. We’ve seen it around our city so, hey, let’s get a pot and see what happens.
What happened was I did some research since the pot only said the plant was Ruellia. Well, according to the iSeek app, this is Ruellia simplex, a highly invasive plant.
WTF.
Through my research (and panic … what does one do with an invasive plant and why was it being sold at Home Depot????), I found the distributor (Costa Farms) who claims: “We sell sterile Mexican petunia varieties that don’t spread by seed. However, these are often vigorous plants and can colonize quickly in gardens and landscaping beds and borders — especially when grown in rich soil.” Okay, fine. The Ruellia I see around town seem well-controlled, but I’ll have to think long and hard about this. It’s so tempting to plant just this one in the front yard, yet perhaps I should keep it in a container.
Meanwhile, there’s that novel I should be working on.
One of the joys of gardening is discovering critters who like to eat my plants. I have three Black Swallowtail larvae on my Rue which is fine because that’s what Rue is for.
Larvae for Black Swallowtail. Photo by Marie A Bailey
More Black Swallowtail larvae. Photo by Marie A Bailey
I’ve also been knitting. Finally finished this wool lap blanket so I can put it away in my cedar chest since cold temperatures won’t be arriving down here anytime soon.
Teal and purple wool lap blanket. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
I’ve started crocheting granny squares for a larger blanket in a desperate effort to use up my stash.
I have a punch needle kit and a cross-stitch kit as well as three knitting projects waiting for my attention. And sewing? Did I mention sewing?
And then there’s my novel. Oh, boy. You see what I’m doing here?
I’m avoiding my novel because I’m intimidated by the idea of writing from the POV of three narrators. My instinct (these days anyway) says to stick with one, that it will be enough of a challenge to write in first person. I’m trying to work through that. I’m trying to get my writing groove back. But I’m a bit overwhelmed.
Going back to the quote at the beginning of my post, I am realizing that I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to being distracted and drowning. I need to develop some discipline if I’m ever going to finish my novel.
So what do you all do? You publishing writers out there: How do you organize your time? I see a lot of you engage in social media. How do you manage to do that AND work on your writing? Is it just a trick of the Internet that you all seem to be out and about on social media all the time? How do you manage to stay engaged and yet productive?
Thank you for reading, and thanks in advance for any advice you wish to share.
Bonus cat photo: Junior, the green-eyed bully who harasses Maxine until she poops.
Junior, green-eyed monster. Photo by Marie A Bailey
You know I had to read my last post to see where I left off. Lol.
Apologies for my absence from the blogosphere, not so much for not writing as for not reading. Whoa, I am so behind that I might not bother to try and catch up.
Update on my sister: Last week she was moved to a new, better and closer-to-home facility. She even has a private room. She is still on schedule to see the surgeon and (hopefully) get her cast removed on October 7. Still, we’re all taking things one day at a time. She has good days and bad days which means her husband and sons have good days and bad days. My brother-in-law met with a doctor at the facility who explained that given the trauma my sister experienced (breaking her leg) as well the subsequent surgery, anesthesia, changes in environment, etc., it’s expected that she would have good days and bad days. Maybe her Parkinson’s is getting worse, but maybe also she is still recovering from her fall. Right now we’re all just grateful that she’s in a better facility getting better attention and that her husband, sons, extended family and friends can visit more often. Everyone is staying positive.
Update on Maxine: Two weeks of twice daily injections of antibiotics have cleared her UTI (good news!), but our vet wants us to do another two-week round (ugh!) and then a recheck to be sure. Her kidney enzyme values (creatine) have decreased by one point (from 6.9 to 5.9 for those well-versed in feline kidney disease) (also good news). We will continue to give her subcutaneous fluids every three days which is a nerve-wracking experience for both of us (more for Greg because he has to insert the needle while I hold onto Max and close my eyes) … but it helps her so it’s worth it. Plus, today we tried out a “harness” for the first time, and Maxine just relaxed on the couch while she got the fluids. I didn’t have to hold her. The harness is simply a velcro belt that fits around her hips and keeps the IV line in place so she can move around if she wants. Today she just laid on the couch and enjoyed having her head scratched while Greg administered the fluids. Max isn’t “out of the woods.” Previously our vet had said that if the antibiotics worked and the fluids helped, we’d be looking at another several months to a year with Max. I’m inclined to think that’s optimistic, but I’ve been rather pessimistic of late. I hope to be proved wrong.
So the beat goes on. You know, I loved the Sonny and Cher show way back when. Good times.
Here’s recent photo of Max, looking wide-eyed and alert and as willful as ever, living up to her nickname, “She Who Must Be Obeyed.”
Comments are closed because I am SO far behind in writing and reading. I’m retired but there’s still not enough hours in the day. Go figure.
So the “scoop” (as my family likes to call news) is that the wing my sister is in is now (obviously) open to visitors. My brother-in-law and one of my nephews have seen her. She does have a UTI again, and it is being treated. (She had one a few weeks ago and, frankly, I can’t believe she would have developed another UTI if the staff were doing their job. Just sayin’.)
She still has some cognitive issues, possibly due to Parkinson’s, although dehydration and UTIs can also muddle the mind. This is why it’s so important that my sister’s husband and sons visit her: to be sure she is getting fluids and food and the attention she needs to assure her recovery.
So thank you all for your positive thoughts and prayers, your kind words and support. I imagine my sister is “not out of the woods yet” (another favorite saying in my family), but every day that goes by is one more day closer to her going home.
Earlier this week my brother-in-law called to give me an update on his wife, my sister. (If you’re reading my blog for the first time, here’s links to my two earlier posts about her: Waiting, but not for Godot and Waiting for Good News Sometimes Pays Off.) He had just come home from visiting her and said that she was very confused that day. Then he dropped the bomb: someone at the rehabilitation facility tested positive for COVID so now all visitations are off.
Because of her current condition, my sister cannot advocate for herself, and now her husband and sons can’t see her and advocate for her. I am so angry that my brother-in-law and nephews can’t see her. They are all vaccinated and they wear masks. I understand that, for liability reasons, the facility has to shut down visitations if they have a case of COVID, but I can’t help but wonder if that case was brought in by an unvaccinated person. I can’t help but wonder and be enraged.
We are very worried about my sister. A couple of weeks ago she had to be moved to a real hospital and fitted with an IV for a few days. She had become so dehydrated that she needed IV fluids, y’all! When she was returned to the rehab facility, she was perky and talkative and upbeat. Since then, she has progressively worsen, becoming confused, slurring her speech. Her urine is dark, prompting a urinalysis (for which we don’t know the results yet). I don’t know why the rehab facility is allowing her to deteriorate. My brother-in-law mentions that they are short-staffed and when the social worker told him not to worry, saying “we’ll take care of her,” he assured her that he will worry.
I struggle with being positive, with believing that although my sister is in an apparently substandard facility, she will get through this. She is scheduled for a re-examination of her broken leg at the end of this month. I’m hoping that she can be released after that.
My 97-year-old mother keeps saying my sister “has so much against her” and “won’t be the same after this.” I bite my tongue because she has to deal with her fears and worries in her own way. My mom’s comments have provided some illumination, though: now I know where I get my propensity to always imagine the worst scenario.
Meanwhile, our oldest cat Maxine has a drug-resistant UTI. Rather than put her on a regimen of twice daily injections that could last months without a guarantee of effectiveness, our vet recommends monitoring her kidney enzymes for now. Maxine is currently at Stage 3 kidney disease, but she has a good appetite, drinks water, and pees and poops normally. She sleeps a lot but when she’s awake, she’s alert. Still, at times there’s a sense of her health careening out of control.
Meanwhile, the Atlantic continues to churn up hurricanes.
I want to be positive. Maxine acts like she still rules the household and that gives me joy.
I want to be positive, but there’s still too many anti-vaxxers out there ruining it for everyone else.
I want to be positive, but when it comes to my sister, I won’t be until she’s out of that place.
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If you’ve read this far, thank you. Again I hesitated about writing an unhappy post, but I need to write and I need to be honest. Meanwhile, I take my joy where I can find it, like with these two:
Marie at 1 Write Way 