October 6th, 2008

Roman

waiting

I am sure that some families, some people, at least partly wish that life support machines did not exist. They offer a choice that some would rather not have.

I am in that ambivalent place right now with Bullet. His feeding tube is his life support. Without it he would not be able to eat and the choice would be clear.

Yesterday I could not get any food into him. He shook his head and the food would not go down. When I looked at his face I saw a red mass in his mouth. I came to the conclusion, achingly, with gallons of tears, that it is time to say goodby. I called the vet and later spoke to a nurse there (it was Sunday). She asked if his feeding tube was clogged, asked if he were dehydrated, said try to get some fluids into him. We made an appointment for this morning at 11:30. I said goodby to him many times, many ways.

Today I realize his feeding tube really is clogged. He has tried to eat cat food from the bowls (he hasn't been near them for weeks) and he even managed to get a little bit into himself by mouth when I opened a pack of soft cat food. I tried feeding him then, through the tube, and it would not go in. Clearly it is clogged. He has since climbed up to look out the window and come over to me, making meows. Now I am not sure I can let go.
Roman

tears

I hate to cry and I love to cry.

When I was a teen there were times I just cried uncontrollably, always alone, and I don't even remember why. I cried for nothing and for everything. I cried from aloneness, from a feeling I would always be alone. I cried secretly, though. When I was through crying I went into the bathroom and cleaned up and patted some baby powder on my face to cover the redness. When I came back downstairs family members would ask if I were all right; I looked so pale. It was preferable to appear pale than to appear like I had been crying.

When I have lost something, someone, I cry. I know that the gush of tears is good for me, that in the end there will be endorphins or something like that and I will actually feel better. Crying helps me feel better.

I really hate losing the control in front of others, not being able to speak calmly, breaking down.

I am crying more now than I did when my father was dying, when my brother was dying. I am crying for my cat. It isn't really that strange to those of us who have such companions. There is such a difference in how we relate to our kitties and doggies than in how we relate to our family and friends. Our relationships with our animals is so much cleaner and simpler and it is that simplicity and trust and sameness that makes such a pure love so easy and the loss so devastating.

I haven't lost him yet. Today he seems more alert and in touch than he has in days. What is he telling me? Not yet? Not yet?