Now you see me, now you don’t
Some of you might have noticed that I’ve been absent from the blogosphere for a while. I am (again) attempting to resume blogging, or at least reading and commenting. Right now I’m using my iPad to write. That is important because for some reason, I loathe using my usual setup which is my laptop hooked up to a large monitor. You’d think that would be a more ideal situation; the large monitor makes reading and writing easier. But. After spending nearly a year during the COVID pandemic working from home, my once-ideal writing space triggers a mild form of PTSD whenever I consider sitting down at that space to write.
I’m trying to get past that with baby steps. The first step was to move my fancy, ergonomic office chair (a necessity when my butt had to be parked in place for 8+ hours a day) to the garage and move my old but preferred minimalist office chair back into my room. (This also benefits my husband since he has computers set up in the garage for his astrophotography and my fancy office chair is more comfortable for him.)
I don’t know what the second step will be.
Writing
I haven’t been writing except for almost daily emails to my so-called Congressional representatives. Creative energy goes into those emails although I know they are not read. They are not verbose, but, as any writer knows, short pieces of writing take longer to write. Such writing might be exercises in futility, but I am exercising my First Amendment right so … there.
Despite that daily exercise, I’m struggling with my vocabulary. With the spoken word. I’ve been struggling to find the right word or phrase while in conversation. I have to describe the word I want (if I can) and my husband guesses the word or phrase. Recently it was the word eliminate, but that really wasn’t what I wanted. It came to me some time later: rule out. I was trying to describe a process of elimination, but in a way more commonly used by, say, medical professionals. “We want to rule out cancer,” for example, when your cat is being examined for anorexia.
Cats
Our cat Wendy stopped eating on May 8. Well, her last meal was the night before, and she threw that up. Pretty much undigested. We watched her for a day, having seen similar behavior when she had a hairball forming. When she still refused food on Friday, I called the clinic and got an appointment for that afternoon.
We went in prepared to pull out all the stops. No guesswork, please. Rule out the worst-case scenarios first. If she has cancer, we want to know sooner rather than later.
No cancer, but an x-ray suggested she might have a GI problem, some inflammation. We were sent home with antibiotics and appetite stimulants. Unfortunately, the antibiotics were liquid, and Wendy doesn’t take to liquid medicine. She struggles, fights back, and then doesn’t want to eat because the meds taste so bad.
So the next day we called the clinic and agreed to bring her in so they could feed her through a tube.
Three nights. Wendy spent three nights at the animal hospital. During this time, the vets changed out. The first vet, Dr. S was good, but she wasn’t Wendy’s “primary” vet. The second vet, Dr. C, is her primary, and one of the first things Dr. C did was an ultrasound.
Still no cancer, but now we had a diagnosis: Inflammatory Bowel Disease. It’s not really a disease but a syndrome (and I don’t know why they don’t just call it Inflammatory Bowel Syndrome). It’s indicative of a possible underlying issue. In any case, Dr. C wanted to treat the IBD aggressively. Steroids, two antibiotics, and three types of appetite stimulants. And Dr. C wanted her to eat on her own before releasing her.
The third night we visited Wendy. It broke our hearts to see a thin tube curling up through her nose, a small cone around her head. We brought food but she wasn’t interested. She was pissed. She growled and stumbled around but eventually started focusing on our laps, first moving to Greg’s lap, then mine, then settling down between us while we petted her and scratched her head. She purred.
She was calm by the time we left, and even the technician said that such visits really help the animals. I didn’t know.
The next morning, we got the happy news that Wendy had eaten a bit on her own, and Dr. C wanted her to go home where (hopefully) she would recover more quickly.
We brought a pharmacy’s worth of drugs home, thankfully only one of the medications being liquid this time. (Still was a supreme and messy struggle to dose her.)
The appetite stimulants really work. We’ve had to lock up our Brazil nuts and raisins because Wendy was breaking into the bags if we left them out.
Wendy’s been home for almost a week now, and she’s finished with the more difficult to administer drugs. The rest can be given to her in Pill Pockets which she gobbles up like treats. We have to isolate her when we’re having dinner otherwise she’ll walk all over us, trying to get at our food. That behavior should diminish as she finishes her remaining meds.
We’ll take her to Dr. C on Thursday for a recheck. It’s possible Wendy will have to be on the steroid indefinitely, a small price to pay to keep our girl with us for another several years. Wendy is at least 14. We had to euthanize Maxine in December 2021 and Junior in September 2023. It’s much too soon to let go of another kitty.
Knitting
When I haven’t been writing emails to my reps or administrating drugs to Wendy, I’ve been knitting. Recently I finished a pair of socks that I had started at the outset of the Knit-A-Thon. I randomly selected one of my generous Knit-A-Thon donors and sent them on their way.
I do love knitting with this kind of self-striping yarn, and they are fun to wear. I always get compliments when I wear my hand-knitted socks.
More Writing
Before I go (this post is longer than I usually write, but I have some pent-up thoughts to share), another thing about writing.
Earlier I complained that I’m having difficulty coming up with words or phrases that I believe I should have no trouble conjuring. One theory is that I’m not writing enough, that my lack of blogging, my lack of creative writing has dulled part of my brain and so I need to write more. Here. On my blog. Writing might well stimulate my brain and open up my vocabulary.
Meanwhile …
I’m also inspired by what other people are writing. Here’s a post from Summer Brennan’s Substack newsletter, A Writer’s Notebook: The List.
I love what Summer does with this post, this listing of all the loves across her life. She urges the reader to make a similar list and think of it as a kind of self-portrait.
While I think that would be a lovely exercise for some, for me it would be painful. And yet, in thinking about my past loves, I can see how I matured through those experiences. Before my husband, my longest relationship lasted roughly three years. Now my longest relationship is over 35 years.
Digging up the past is fodder for a writer, but perhaps that’s why I veer toward fiction. I can look back and find a story, but rather than write the truth as I remember it, I want to make a few corrections. I’ve done things that I’m ashamed of, that I will never forgive myself for, but I can reimagine those abuses through the lens of many decades. I can be honest, but spare the whip.
Thank you for reading! Tell me:
Do you struggle with finding the right word or phrase? I’m wondering if there are any exercises out there that can help with retaining vocabulary. Please share if you know of any.
What do you think about making a list of your past loves? Would it painful or fun or both?
Marie at 1 Write Way 