There is nothing permanent, except change

This post is long overdue, but as it tends to do, life has kept getting in the way. 

A couple of weeks before Misty got sick, I had my 31st birthday. And for the first time since mum passed, I actually did something. 

For the past few years, my birthdays have been much of a non-event. I used to enjoy going out for dinner with my mum and brother, although we only did it for a few years. But it became something that I really enjoyed.

There’s a new-ish restaurant in town. I actually went last September on the night they opened. It was my first time out for dinner since mum passed, and I went solo (which I’d only done once before). I wasn’t originally planning on it, but a week before, I booked a table for one. I’ve always said that going out for dinner is like my version of going partying. Not only because I indulge in a decent amount of wine, but because I just find it a fun way to spend the evening. 

tl;dr, I met my favourite celebrity chef, Fangirl-ed, got an autograph, but drank far too much and lost it on the way home. Ever since, S - bestie, support worker, godmother to my cats - has been wanting to come with me for my birthday. 

I was nervous. I hadn’t really eaten around her before. Hell, I haven’t eaten around anyone since mum passed three years ago. For me, there is always a lingering worry, and I’m not even exactly sure what it is. Maybe it’s that my dining companion will think I’m fat or gluttonous. Maybe it’s a fear that I’ll eat more than them. And what if they make comments about health or diet related things?

Thankfully, dinner went smoothly. We had focaccia and a tasting plate to start, then I opted for a filet mignon while S had gnocchi. On the side, wagyu fat roasted potatoes, and roasted carrots with labneh and pistachios. 

I’d never had labneh or pistachios before, and I also tried olives and pickled onion for the first time. When I went in September, I tried pickles for the first time (I know, I know, it only took me 30 years) as well as different mustards, horseradish, chimmichurri, and the various cured meats on the tasting plate. For the past four or five years, I’ve been wanting to try different foods. I just seldom get the chance to. It’s not often that I’d just buy something like a jar of pickles, but if it’s in front of me, I’m willing to try a nibble. It’s just rare that these situations actually occur. 

The house still feels very empty without Misty. To make things worse, Miss Persephone has been struggling without her big sister. 

She would always get upset when I took Misty to the vet. They thought it was something to do with the ‘vet smell’. But it was manageable, and just meant keeping them separated for a bit after getting home. 

A couple of weeks after losing Misty, I went out to visit my great aunt. When I got home, Sephi was completely feral. It didn’t take long to realize that it was never the vet that was the issue - it was being left home alone. 

It should’ve been an easy fix, given that I rarely go out. But then I found out I would have to move soon, as the landlord is demolishing the house. After a handful of inspections, I have somewhere new lined up, but every time I went to look at a new rental, it would upset Sephi. Now, it’s progressed to the point that even opening the front door for S means that Sephi gets upset.

She’s always been such a sweet girl, but now will spend hours hissing, yowling, attacking. I took her to the vet a couple of weeks ago, and they gave her some medication to take before I go out. I tried her with it for the first time last week, and it didn’t seem to help at all. Apart from a higher dose, the next steps would be a behavioral specialist and/or daily medication for life. It’s heartbreaking, seeing her so distressed. 

It feels like the obvious solution would be to introduce a new friend for her, but she has become so unpredictable and aggressive, that it just wouldn’t be safe. I’m going to do everything I can to help her, but some days it just feels so hopeless. I’ll be checking in with the vet this week, and I just hope we can find something to help her before the move in October. 

Apologies for the selfie spam. This is really the only social media I have, apart from Facebook, and I very rarely post on there.

xxBella

"What Greater Gift Than the Love of a Cat?"

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"I think it's time..."

It's Tuesday. In the past six weeks, it's become Chemo Day.

I give Misty her morning meds, spaced out between the hourly syringe feeds. I get dressed, and book a taxi. The address of the specialist veterinary hospital has been burned in to my brain, 3 minutes away. I sit on the edge of the bed, coat and shoes already on, Misty in my lap. When I hear the taxi pull up, I place Misty into her carrier, nuzzling herself into the warm towel, fresh from the dryer, to try to keep her warm on yet another cold winter's morning.

I'm prepared for the Quality of Life discussion. I've known since day one that all treatment was purely palliative. And they thought she might have a few weeks, at most. She has exceeded expectations. But even though it was hard to measure, with the constant ups and downs, it was clear that in the past week or two, things have taken a turn.

We have a consult with the oncologist, who we've gotten to know all too well. They immediately remark that she looks like she's lost more weight. I give them all the numbers for how much food she's been taking, how much water, how often she's using the litter tray. We'd been doing well with the syringe feeds -  better than any of the weeks prior. It still wasn't enough. The cancer in her intestines simply wasn't allowing her to absorb it.

They take her back for the routine bloodwork, to see if she's still okay to have chemo.

The doctor comes back 15 minutes later. They sit down, and tell me that Misty's condition is really not good. That the ups and downs have become a steady state of decline.

That they think it's time.

And I know it's been coming. I've been prepared. I've had arrangements planned for six weeks. From day one, the only goal was to try to get her - and me - a bit more time. They weren't even sure she'd make it through that first week. But I still burst into tears

She was never going to get any better. I knew that. And it'd been hard to objectively measure her decline. She'd have a few good days, then crash, and we'd be rushing to the vet at 11pm. Then, anything seemed like an improvement. I'd been waiting for them to tell me it was time.

They say it doesn't have to be today. That I could probably bring her home for the next few days, but within the next week, I'd have to say goodbye. And though I'm prepared for a Quality of Life discussion, I still wasn't expecting this. So I just tell them the same thing that I've told them - and the other vets, surgeons, internal medicine specialists, emergency doctors - for the past six weeks.

"I just want to do what's best for Misty."


On Wednesday, I ask S - support worker, bestie, godmother to my cats - if she would be willing to be here for the goodbye.

On Thursday, I sit and cry alone as my GP takes flowers to the cemetery for me, to mark the three year anniversary since my mum passed. Few things could keep me away on this day, but for six weeks now, I haven't left Misty's side.

On Friday, I take Misty outside for the last time. The winter has been harsh, and she wasn't supposed to be going outside while on chemo. But this week, I decided to throw caution to the wind, and take her out for a little bit each day. Her little harness hangs off her. For the first time this week, there's actually sun in the backyard for her to enjoy.

On Saturday, I wake up knowing that there's only a matter of hours left.


S gets here at 3:04pm, about 25 minutes before the vet is due to arrive. I think having the goodbye at home is more for my benefit than Misty's, really. We sit in the lounge room, but after a few minutes, Misty wants to go for a wander.

We follow her, slowly, through the house. She goes to the litter tray, and strains unsuccessfully for the fifth time today. Then to the water bowl, sitting and licking her lips, staring at the water for a while. She hasn't had any water by herself in six days - only what she takes through the syringe. As we go back to the lounge room, I update the notes on my phone.

3:21pm: litter 0 (strain)
3:25pm: showed interest in water (licked lips, didn't drink)

I mumble to S that I don't know why I'm still writing these things down. What does it matter at this point? In the past six weeks, tracking these things has become second nature. It's habit, routine. And, much like my own tracking, part of it gives me a sense of comfort.

At 3:26pm, my phone chimes, an automated text to let me know that the vet is approximately three minutes away.

At 3:31pm, the doctor arrives, here to help Misty take her last breath.


Sephi comes in to the room. She's never been good with strangers in the house, preferring to hide away. Not to mention, she is always a bit feral after I take Misty to the vet, towards both Misty and myself. Something about the smell. Even if I didn't spend more than a few minutes in the waiting room while dropping Misty off, Sephi would hiss and swipe and yowl at me for hours after coming home. 

But for this, she doesn't seem to mind. She walks up to the doctor, sniffing their hand and rubbing her head against their little bag of pills and potions. Then, she hops up on to her cat tower, just beside the couch, perching herself at the very top. She keeps a watchful eye over us, resting her chin on the little ledge of the bed

The doctor talks with us for a bit. I grab a tissue and wipe Misty's eyes for the last time. They've been constantly gunky for weeks now. Just a part of her being so unwell, they said.

And I know it's coming. I've been prepared.

She feels so warm against me. Although she's a shadow of her former self, her warm, furry little body cuddled up against me is still the best feeling in the world. Every morning when I first wake up, every hour when I feed her, I take in those precious moments, knowing that time is quickly running out.

The doctor gives the sedative, walking me through every step. There's barely a change. Misty has been ready for days, if not weeks. I pull her up close to me.

"It's okay, baby..."
It is not okay.

I ask how quick it will be, once they give the final medication. They tell me it's usually about 30 seconds, but again reassure me that they can give me all the time I need at every stage.

Eventually, it's time.
"Are you ready?"
I nod. I'll never be ready. But I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

I keep holding her, stroking her, kissing her fluffy little head. Telling her that I'm so sorry. That I did everything I could for her. That she's the best kitty in the whole entire world.

"I think she's probably gone now..."
They pick up the stethoscope and check her over. I try to stop sobbing, not wanting to make the task more difficult.
"...she's gone."

And I break. Loud, guttural wails, bursting from me uncontrollably. I immediately want to apologize for my hysterics, but I can't get the words out. I can't stop sobbing.

I should've been prepared for this.

The doctor excuses herself, saying they'll give me some time. The next half hour is a blur, until S opens the front door to let them back in. I'm still crying, but less desperately so.

Even after it's over, the doctor stays for an hour, maybe a little longer. We talk about Misty. Her life. About her funny little quirks. 

My back hurts. I try to reposition myself, reaching for the cushion behind me. But as I move my hand away, Misty's head lulls. I immediately move back to support it, mumbling an apology to her.

When it's time, after the doctor has been here for hours, they ask if I would like to carry her out. I wasn't planning to, but I couldn't just sit there and watch them leave. The doctor helps me to wrap her up in a plush blanket, bright red, and places her into my arms.

I carry her out. I don't care if the neighbours see me, crying in my pajamas. The doctor has a little bed in the car. I gently place Misty down, and tuck a lock of my own hair, carefully folded inside a tissue, into the blanket with her, to accompany her on her final journey, so that part of me will always be with her. I lean in and give her one last kiss on the head. I tell her how much I love her, and that I'll see her soon.

And then they leave, taking a piece of my heart with her.

And I'm left here.

Misty

26.12.2010 - 29.06.2024

xxBella

Four Teeth Less Wise

If there's one thing I get extremely nostalgic for, it's the combination of soup and jelly.

Back in the early days of my eating disorder, Soup & Jelly was my go to. It used to be a hodgepodge of various different vegetables, cooked down and blended into a rather unappetizing sludge. Cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli, carrots, onions. It evolved from me grabbing random vegetables, and ended with those five. Plus a jelly cup for dessert.

At the moment, it's potato & leek soup. Even with a small amount of cream, it's still safe and comforting, and has become a daily ritual. Followed, of course, with sugar free jelly. Lemon, lime, pineapple, orange mango, or my all time favourite, raspberry. It's all wonderful, at a meager 7 calories a serve.

Here I am, four teeth less wise. When I had my wisdom teeth out in January, I thought that it was going to be a couple of weeks on soft foods. When I was recovering in hospital the next day, they said it would be six weeks. I don't know what I expected, really, and I should've probably asked prior to the actual procedure.

Despite the duration being longer than expected, I was fully prepared for the liquid diet. But I was not prepared for the mindfuck that it triggered. The mental obstacle course. To be thrown back in time to the era of Soup & Jelly. There's something about that combination that holds a special place in my heart. It triggered something that I wasn't expecting.

Now, it's been almost three months since the surgery. Initially, I was planning on doing a few days on a full liquid diet, then starting on soft foods. Three days became five, five days became seven... I tried for a while to do soft foods like scrambled egg or mashed potato (things that didn't really require chewing, but more 'squishing'), but found it more mentally taxing than expected.

Although I'm trying to keep solids in for a couple of meals a week, it doesn't feel good when I do. I've fallen back into the safety of liquids. Even when the calories don't differ much to normal, there's something about a full liquid diet that gives me comfort. It feels safer. I've also found that I have less 'food noise', which is wonderful. It's just less stressful.

My dietitian has been asking me to figure out exactly why I've stayed stuck on liquids. And I still don't think I have a proper answer. I don't know how to explain it, beyond that it feels Safe.


The procedure itself went well. Recovery was rough for the first few weeks. The swelling was insane, not to mention the bruises all the way down my neck. The teeth hadn't been causing issues (yet), which is why I was so apprehensive about the pain. It was more preventative, to get them out before they inevitably started causing issues. So, the aftermath was always going to be worse than it had been prior.

I couldn't stay away from my cigarettes. Within ten minutes of getting home, I sheepishly said to my support worker "...I think I might try a smoke". Very minimally to start with, with short, gentle, unsatisfying puffs. I probably barely even got any smoke into my lungs for the first week or so. I did get patches for the first week, which helped to some degree. In the past, I've either used gum or inhalers to top up the patches, as the strongest patches are only equivalent to about half of what I smoke a day, and I couldn't use either this time.

When I woke up with nightmares in the hospital, it was the absolute worst, as I alwaysalwaysalways have a smoke immediately when I wake up with nightmares. Instead, I had to make do with two lukewarm black coffees at 3am.

The surgeon let me keep the two teeth that he managed to get out without shattering them, which I'm chuffed about. I'll spare you the photos. I still have all of my baby teeth, so it's kinda nice to update the collection. Maybe I'll turn them into earrings some day.

I even had my 6-monthly check up with the regular dentist a few weeks ago. After a decade with no dental care, I'm determined to stay on top of it. I book the next one as I check out, and I put a few dollars into savings each week to try to stay on top of it.


Apart from that, there's few other life updates. I met with a new Occupational Therapist, who is wonderful. I'm still waiting to hear back about my NDIS appeal to restore my regular supports, with no idea when I might expect news.

With the aforementioned nightmares, my psych and I have been talking about maybe trying EMDR therapy. At this point, I'm willing to try anything, except actually talking about the trauma. She even asked if I've ever thought about psychedelic treatment, but I'm very apprehensive about it for various reasons. I've been on a medication to help with the nightmares for over a year now, but thus far it only tanks my blood pressure. My GP has given me the go-ahead to gradually increase the dose, as long as I keep monitoring my blood pressure. The nightmares can be incapacitating, and has messed with my sleep for far too long. When I wake up with nightmares, I immediately get up, move around, do anything I can to keep myself from falling back asleep until it feels 'safe' again. And I'm getting too old to function on so little sleep.

Miss Misty gave me a hell of a scare a few weeks ago. One morning, I woke up and she was extremely lethargic, barely responsive, and just not herself. It's hard to explain, but one of those things that when you know, you know. And I really thought 'this is it'. After an emergency consult with her vet and a day in hospital to run some tests, they found that thankfully it was just an infection. I was so grateful to be able to bring her home. She's doing better now, after a course of antibiotics and some rest. But it was one of the most emotionally draining days I've had in a long time. I really thought that it was going to be goodbye, that she wouldn't be coming home. And I know she's 13. She's an old girl. But I'm not ready to say goodbye, and it terrifies me knowing that one day I'll have to, sooner rather than later.

My potato & leek soup.  I've constantly had it around since the surgery.
Each batch varies slightly - the ingredients might differ +/- 10%, sometimes it's a bit thicker,
 sometimes it's a bit thinner, depending on how I'm feeling when I make it.

I won't bore you with the precise weights of everything. This is the recipe I use, with a few tweaks.

It's made with approximately 1kg of potato and x 2-3 leeks (350g, give or take),

 including 15g of butter and 100ml of light cream.

It makes about 10 cups of soup at roughly 110 cal per cup.

Cream soups have always been a bit of a fear. Cream in general, really.

100ml of this cream is 188 calories, so it adds about 19 calories per cup,

 which seems reasonable at the moment.

Obligatory cat photos, featuring Misty being a cuddly sook

(and Sephi!)



xxBella

The Days are Long, But the Years are Short

  The New Year has rolled over, and I find myself feeling uncertain about what 2024 will hold.

  Next week, I have a brief hospital trip for the long-postponed removal of my impacted wisdom teeth. Because I'm a lonely loner, I get a little overnight vacation at the hospital, because I don't have anyone to stay with me to supervise for 24 hours after coming out of the anesthesia.

  I know that it would have to be done at some point, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to put it off further, until they started causing serious problems. I'm a little apprehensive about the general anesthesia, and the pain afterwards. But my biggest concern is that I'm incredibly mentally uncomfortable with the concept of having four gaping holes in my mouth. Even thinking about it sends chills down my spine.

  I'm stocked up on all forms of liquids for post-surgery, from clear to full. I've got sugar-free jelly in five different flavours, plenty of skim milk for iced lattes, 45-cal hot chocolate sachets, my favourite vanilla yoghurt, sugar-free Zooper Doopers (I think most of the world calls them 'freeze pops'), and I'm sure there's some ice cream lurking in the freezer. I've plenty of broth cubes - both chicken and beef - as well as some potato & leek soup. It's been a few years since I've done more than 48hrs on liquids alone, but I'm going to try to make the most of it by seeing it as a little break, obligatory, from the constant thoughts of food.

  I've also organized pre-prepared scrambled egg mix, and low-carb mashed potatoes, for when I'm able to get back to soft foods. But at the moment, the mere idea of having four giant wounds in my mouth, stitches, blood clots... I might be working myself up to think it's worse than it really is (and if you guys have done this before, I'd love to hear from you, as I've not found much specifically about EDs and dental surgery online), but I'm not sure how much liquid I'll even want to put in my mouth.

  In the last few days, I'm also becoming increasingly nervous about the possibility of dry socket. As it stands, I've been smoking cigarettes for over half of my life. These days, around 40 a day. The first 24 hours will be easier, because I'll be in the hospital, but it's going to be hard to resist once I get home. I'm planning to grab some nicotine patches, plus some mouth spray if the surgeon says it's okay. When I've used them in the past - mostly during sections when I wasn't allowed to step outside of the hospital room - I've always used a combo of patches and inhalers, but any suction is a no-go. Even then, they've barely touched the sides.

  I've scrounged around online, reading about other people's experiences of smoking after dental surgery. I think I will actually follow the instructions for the first couple of days, because reading about others' experiences with dry socket has definitely put me off. But oh man, it's going to be rough.

  I know that the general consensus from society as a whole is 'what a great opportunity to quit!'. But frankly, if being diagnosed with COPD in my early 20s didn't push me to quit, and neither did watching my mum go through lung cancer, I don't know if it'll ever happen for me. Over the years, I've overcome addiction to weed, synthetics, and as I try to knuckle down on giving up the booze, I lean especially hard on my cigarettes. I'm only human, and surely, I should be permitted one vice.

* * *

  In other news - just before everyone went on break for Christmas, I got my new NDIS plan. Apparently my (now-former) Occupational Therapist refused to write a report for my review, and no one seems to know why. Without it, there's 'insufficient evidence', and my funding has been decimated. My support worker, S, who I usually see four times a week, has been cut to twice a week. My fortnightly psychologist appointments? They're now once every three months.

  There's a whole appeal process going on, as well as finding a new OT. But in the meantime, I'm terrified at the prospect of losing such a large amount of support. Aside from the practical issues, it would be very isolation, to say the least.

  I'll still have my dietitian and GP every two weeks, sure. But adding on my GP retiring at some point in the next year, it feels like 2024 might be the year that my support worker crumbles.

* * *

  I hope everyone is having a wonderful start to the New Year. As for the holidays, the less said about that, the better. I got through. You think I'd be used to it, being my third year spending Christmas alone, but it doesn't seem to get any easier.

Sitting in the backyard with a good coffee,

 a new book, and Marty the Emotional 

Support Demon (it's short for Martholemew)

  It's only taken me two years to get around to buying a copy of The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting. I'm about half way through, and so far, I'm mostly enjoying it. It's a nice break from cycling through the same old ED memoirs that I seem to re-read at least once a year.

xxBella