and those caissons go rolling along

My muse wafts in and out of spirit, usually disappearing when times are good -- when the grass is green and hurricane warnings are no where on the horizon. In the past few months I’ve had moments of joy and wisdom I only wish I could write about, but then that would not be therapeutic. It’s the seemingly endless eons of depression and anxiety that needs to be dealt with right here right now and so finally the inspiration is back; times are not so good.

The frame creaked as I pushed the antique brass bed to find him sleeping in his own wetness. He looked at me with forlorn eyes. He mewed sorrowfully, but his tone was more of “I’m tired” rather than “help me Mom, I’m sick.” At least that was my interpretation. Me, Miss Polly Anna, always trying to think something good instead of…

He’s 9 years old and for a cat perhaps a bit over middle age, but certainly not old. Early January he caught a light sneeze & the vet put him on meds for a weepy eye and general funk. Two overnight vet stays (and need I say a lot of money) later, he hasn’t gotten any better but I can now pronounce Arterial Thromboembolic Disease. He’s lost use of his back legs and as of today, he’s lost control of his bodily functions; a sign that we’re not far now hey Jupiter.

As indicators go, Gloria goes in for an urgent blood test tomorrow. She was doing very well there for a while; baking cakes & arranging bride’s bouquets just to get back in the swing of life. We celebrated her birthday early March and we were all so blessed to know she made it to her 65th. We weren’t sure of much last fall, but she fought long and hard in chemotherapy and by all accounts she was in remission. Nana, who turned 84 this year, came back from physical therapy rejuvenated and is back living in the house with Papa. Things seem to be fine and Gloria seems to be getting along okay, even sporting platinum blonde short hair -- look out Annie Lenox! Today she revealed that her platelet numbers are near critical again and that tomorrow she will find out if she needs another transfusion. Yup, that ole litmus test is indicative of acid in the mix. “No more Miami, though,” she said. She has decided to not take on another chemo treatment if the news is bad.

The tinge of another OMG moment rifles thru my core. I can’t believe that after all this she may still loose her battle. A dose of extreme reality takes aim. A shot fired into my heart and no smoking gun to blame. It’s just cancer. It’s just another goddamn case of injustice; like anything good, she has to leave before it’s time to go. Everything is happening so suddenly and so quickly and without warning. We’re all back in defensive mode reloading artillery and repairing ramparts before the next diagnosis. I’ll be with her at the doctor’s office when her numbers are rung up – it truly is amazing what they can count in the blood. Too bad we can’t count on a cure. As for hey Jupiter, my young man may be headed for the great catnip in the sky soon. It’s all so heavy, all so unbearable, but it’s “Over hill over dale we have hit the dusty trail / As our caissons go rolling along…”