Crunchy Thoughts

major award

Hermione is mad at us. She watches with disdain as I put clothes, my cluster of hair care products, and swimsuits into a bag. She knows, and she doesn’t like it.

Steven and I are off on a bit of an excursion.

See, there was one more crazy thing that happened during the kidney stone debacle that I left off, since the story was already nuts. The night I got home from the hospital (the first time), Steven got a major award from work, something even better than a leg lamp. He won the “Achiever’s Club” award, which means we get to go on a trip (with some other winners) to St. Maarten/St. Martin. It’s a confusing island that has two countries on it.

January moved into May real fast, and we’re off in the early butt-crack of dawn. Unfortunately, there are a few planes involved. Least favorite way to travel. I try not to think about it too much lest I freak out.

Oh God.

birfday

and like that

This past week has been very tough. Very tough, indeed.

Along with the usual detritus of life: sick members of the family, doctor’s appointments, THINGS to FIND for SCHOOL; the Williams household shrank by one when Renton passed away on April 2nd.

By Easter weekend, Steven and I knew Renton was not going to get any better. Since the diagnosis of pneumonia a few weeks prior, he had suffered setback after setback. First, his kidneys began to fail him. After a few days of subcutaneous fluid injections (it’s amazing what Renton would let you do to him), his kidneys came back online but his heart began to go. Once Renton began to seem uncomfortable, we knew it was time. He did not need to suffer anymore.

Six weeks ago, the possibility of Renton’s passing was not even on my radar. The only other cat I have had lived to be 18 — Renton was only 10, and a Siamese to boot. This wasn’t how I expected the month of April to go.

It was in early April ten years ago when I got him. A tiny ball of nothing, a little crying, mewing kitten that I had to wean that first weekend. He was so small, he still waddled when he walked.

He grew so quick, and soon I had a fast, jumpy kitten to keep me busy while I was all alone up there in Fort Payne. Renton was older than this blog by a few months, older than my marriage by almost a year. My first baby.

We added another kitty to the household soon after Steven and I got married, and Renton proved surprisingly tolerable. In some ways, Renton was more tolerant to changes than Hermione is. Perhaps this is why Hermione is the boss.

Renton proved receptive to change again when human kids were added to the family. First came his buddy Lydia, who he was beginning to love almost as much as me. He treated Sam with a bit more caution, as he is known to throw toys.

Ten years ago, Renton was my baby. Now, I have a four year old girl who’s old enough to understand what happened but not mature enough to understand why. There have been a few nights of cold looks, general melancholy, and tears.

This Wednesday, we’ll pick up Renton’s (and the Otter’s) ashes, though I am not sure yet where their final destination will be. Knowing Renton, he would probably like to be on the couch or our bed for the rest of eternity, but there’s some things you just can’t accommodate.

You’re right here with me, you little devil. My baby.

sleepy kitty, happy kitty, purr purr purr

Over the past month, everybody has been sick in this house except for me (*knock on wood*). Perhaps I paid my dues plus interest last January. While the virus ran through the family, attacking Lydia, then Sam, and finally Steven — Renton sniffed. Or wheezed, rather, but kinda through his nose. Cats are built funny. You could always tell where Renton was just by listening out for him — head towards the Darth Vader noises and there he was.

And while we were coaxing Lydia to take medicine and cleaning up Sam’s bedsheets, we couldn’t worry too much about Renton’s cold. It will clear up.

The Saturday after Steven finally got back to work, Darth Renton sat down by me and wheezed. All right, buddy. Time to go see your favorite people!

At the vet’s, Renton was able to get a fair amount of growls out in between the sniffles through his cage. Our vet didn’t even attempt to touch him this round; you could almost diagnose Renton by using your ears. Antibiotics were prescribed and out the door we went, with Renton never even required to come out of his carrier. You win this round, cat.

And so the week went on, full of work and gymnastics and Daylight Savings Time (oy). Day by day, Renton wheezed. By Wednesday, we noticed the tell-tale signs of the dreaded megacolon backup, so bright and early Thursday morning I found myself at the vet’s office with Young Renton, who now seemed to be stopped up on both ends.

Our vet, Dr. Cat Tamer, really wanted to examine Renton this time, but he knows this cat well enough to know any examination requires sedation, and he’s not a fan of that unless it’s necessary. Because Renton was still eating, we decided to wait at least another day before the sedation/x-ray/enema train. The vet did take Renton to the back room for a couple of quick shots (steroid and antibiotic). I sat in the exam room for a few minutes while I heard Renton go completely apeshit on somebody. I assume they were wearing the don’t-eat-me gloves.

Friday afternoon when I got home, Renton’s nose was finally quiet, however I found him laboring a bit to breathe. Well, that can’t be good. He had no desire to move, he was just fine where he was thank you very much, and he couldn’t even really purr. Sad little baby.

So.

Back again to the vet. Hi, Dr. Cat Tamer — here’s your favorite patient! Now that Renton was laboring to breathe, the vet REALLY didn’t want to sedate him, but it was definitely time for x-rays and bloodwork now, and despite his shortness of breath, Renton still put up a hell of a fight. So Renton got a bit of a gassing. That cat is something else, truly.

Then the x-rays came back. Despite being on two antibiotics the past week, Renton’s lungs are full of fluid and his bowels are full of poop. He had also lost about a pound, and that’s counting the extra poop.

The area where his lungs are should be pretty black (clear) except where his heart is. Look — proof Renton has a heart!

The little nuggets on the left are normal cat-sized poop. The big club on the right is probably about human-sized. IN A CAT. It’s one of Renton’s small children that got over-baked.

Renton had the poop cleared out as usual, but the vet is concerned about the pneumonia, especially since that’s what it looked like on x-ray after a week of two different antibiotics. Right now we’ve got Renton on a different antibiotic, a diruetic, and a bronchiodialator. Two of those are pills, so that has been a new experience for us; thankfully it’s going better than expected.

I’m quite worried about this cat. I hope these changes with the medicine zaps whatever is in his lungs. He’s very weak right now. He even laid down in the bath tub when I was bathing him. So bizarre.

This morning, Renton was laying on our bed. We usually don’t allow the cats on our bed but I’m not going to begrudge a sick Renton. I said good morning and gave him a cuddle, and he was able to purr for me. Progress, a purr at a time.

gappy mcgee

This week, the Tooth Fairy made a somewhat premature visit to our house. Surprise!

So what happened? Well, way back a few years ago — and may I point out here how weird it is to talk about “a few years ago” and still be referencing the children — Lydia crashed and burned on her bike when she was a wee toddler and busted up her front teeth. I even wrote a post about it. Since then, we’ve watched and watched those teeth and they’ve been okay. Kinda stubby, but okay.

Starting last summer, they slowly began to not be so okay, then soon after my kidney stone debacle we noticed some funny business going on around one of the teeth. So after a couple of dentist visits, I had to tell Lydia what was going to happen.

“Baby,” I said, “Your two front teeth are sick and have to come out. The dentist will give you some medicine so it won’t hurt. And then we get to take the teeth home. You remember how Muno lost his teeth on Yo Gabba Gabba? And he put them under his pillow and the Tooth Fairy came? Well, the Tooth Fairy will come see you tonight.”

At that she let out a huge whoop of delight and kicked me out into the waiting room, where I sat, a nervous wreck, for 30 minutes.

Sure enough, the Tooth Fairy stopped by and left two gold dollar coins that night. Lydia’s quite ecstatic over them and isn’t quite ready to go shopping yet. She’s been a very good sport through all this and has taken it much better than her parents.

It feels like it will be forever before she’s seven and her permanent teeth will show up. Hopefully by then both kids will knock themselves about less.

panties like beckham

We stopped in for a bite to eat at a barbecue joint yesterday. Going out to eat with both kids can be a crapshoot, but this time they were relatively well-behaved and the restaurant wasn’t crowded. Success!

As I nibbled on my okra, I hear Lydia start to sputter beside me, “What…what…why…WHY IS THAT MAN SHOWING HIS PANTIES?!”

I crane my neck around like an owl, eyes wide, to find her eyes glued to one of the televisions on the wall, where David Beckham is modeling underwear for whoever he gets paid big bucks to model underwear for.

Why DOES that man show his panties, indeed.

breaking in the new year: a story short and a story long

A Story Short

The Sunday before New Years’ was one of those dreary, everybody-in-the-house-all-day affairs. Lydia and I were watching a movie when I heard a clatter in the kitchen — my clumsy Sam fell again. But this time it was different, I could hear it in Steven’s voice and Sam’s wail.

Sam had faceplanted and landed on his front tooth, and that bad boy was not where it was supposed to be. It had shifted back and to the right, now touching the next tooth beside it. Despite all the dancing that tooth did, it was not loose. A few phone calls later and I was talking to Sam’s dentist, who was actually out of town and sounded a bit half-asleep (so sorry!).

The dentist ruled since the tooth was not loose, Sam would be fine with Tylenol until he could see him on Wednesday, the day after New Years’, and so he did. After some X-rays and examination of Sam’s tooth, the dentist says the best thing is to leave it alone and keep a watch on it. So the gap in Sam’s teeth is a bit wider than before.

___________________________________________________

A Story Long, or “This Too Shall Pass. . . With Assistance”

That was Wednesday. Steven took Sam to the dentist on Wednesday because I had a regularly scheduled appointment with my doctor, just a checkup, that same day. Clean bill of health. The next day was Thursday and I had the kids by myself all evening because Steven’s company is doing their yearly Kickoff. This is Steven’s eighth one now, so I go Wow, eight years? Good gracious! And we move on.

Steven got home around 9:00 that night, we talked about our days, we read a little bit (I finished reading The Great Gatsby), then to bed. I felt a little twinge on my right side that make me think hmmm, i might fart in a little bit. I am the epitome of sexiness.

I woke up not long after, somewhere in the 10:00 hour, and the pain on my right side was worse. It felt like gas, painful gas but gas nonetheless, and I tried to get rid of it as best I knew how. Despite my efforts, nothing was helping at all with the pain, which was getting excruciating. I was also incredibly tired due to the two Benadryl I had taken right before bed because my nose had gone all in a tither. So I was mostly asleep, in pain, and arguing with that goddamned Gatsby on how to rewrite the ending of his book. Shut up, Gatsby.

By midnight, Steven was up and lobbying to take me to the hospital. I was sure it was just gas and would work itself out eventually. I did not want to end up all the way at the hospital only for it to turn out like that other crazy time. As the pain continued to escalate and I found myself on all fours, I finally conceded defeat and Steven called my dad, then 911.

Quickly, suddenly, all those firemen from down the street are IN MY BEDROOM taking vitals and asking questions. Oh God, I hope there weren’t any bras anywhere visible. They snapped me up, put me on a gurney and flew up 280 to the hospital. Steven said they were going about 80 miles an hour but it felt like an eternity. A very uncomfortable eternity.

In the ER they finally gave me some blessed pain medication and I was able to lay down. Heaven! While I enjoyed my bliss, they took me in to get a CT scan to see if they can find out what’s going on. Uh oh, here’s where they tell me it’s just gas, I thought. The CT scan room was very cold, but the man there gave me this glorious blanket that had been heated. It was the most fabulous thing.

Some time in the early morning, the ER doctor came in to my room and announced, “Well, you have a kidney stone! A big one!” Well then. Since this was a first for me, he went over all you need to know about kidney stones, options, and all that. I was to be admitted and they would ring up a urologist for me. After he left, I looked over at Steven and said, “I’m glad it wasn’t gas.” I’ll be damned if I’m going to the ER for a fart.

The urologist the ER people got for me was a bit of a character. He looked liked Chris Cooper and has a fantastic name. It’s the same name of a famous navigator and explorer. There’s even a river named after him! Who else would you want navigating your urinary tract?

We meet Dr. Navigator early Friday morning and he lays the plan of attack out for us, then the show began. They wheeled me down to surgery that morning where they were going to attempt to snake through the ureter and grab the stone. Failing that, the stone would get knocked back into my kidney and they’d put a stent in to get me through the weekend. My stone was not cooperative so I woke up from surgery with a brand new ureteral stent and the odd sensation that I could feel the darn thing.

As soon as I was coherent enough and ate a cracker for the nurses, they sent me on my merry way back home to recooperate until the next procedure scheduled for the next Tuesday — a lithotripsy.

I was mainly in bed or on the couch that weekend, sleeping away the nightmare of that night and waiting for Blessed Tuesday when I could get the stent out. Despite the horror stories I had heard about the lithotripsy procedure, I wasn’t too worried — it couldn’t be worse than what I’d already endured.

So Tuesday arrived and to surgery again I went, same routine. It’s amazing how quick they can knock you plum out. As soon as I’m out, they wake me up, then crackers and back on my merry way back home again, plus pain meds. I was already feeling better since they took out that odd little stent.

Crisis seemingly over, I convalesced over the next day or so and even returned to work on that Thursday. Life slowly began to return to normal. I was looking forward to normal.

O! But then . . .

The next morning I had every intention of going to work, but I just didn’t quite get dressed that morning. I felt a bit more pained and ill-rested. Steven went on to work and took the kids to school, then I don’t really remember the rest of the day. Later that afternoon I finally got the bright idea to take my temperature and it was near 104F. Whoops. Steven got home soon after, the doctors called in some antibiodics, and thus began the Weekend from Hell, which I don’t remember too much of outside of the pain, hallucinations, and nausea. Oh God, the nausea.

On Sunday afternoon I was back at the ER and it was like deja vu — dilaudid, CT scans and all that jazz. Sure enough, a big chunk of my lithotripsied kidney stone was stuck in the ureter, gumming up the works, and my body didn’t like it one bit. Not sure what 104F was going to do to a rock, though.

After a horrible night in the hospital due in no small part to this . . . nurse . . . who quite rightly deserves her own post and will probably get one, I wake up to see Dr. Navigator, who’s mentally prepping me for yet another surgery.

So down I go again, this time with a high fever and a blazing headache. This time they finally plucked out that little boulder and fitted me with another beautiful stent. They also didn’t kick me out the door right away. I think my fever made everyone nervous.

It was another full day before I was finally released into the wild, though I was told to “chill” once I was home. And so I did. I had to, really, in order to work out the kinks from that hospital bed. I got the stent out last Friday — hooray! — and I’m supposed to be drinking a metric butt-ton of water. Life is ever so slowly returning to normal. I started back to work yesterday OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO JANUARY, and I’m taking the kids to and from daycare again.

When people hear what happened, they grimace, then remark, “Oh man, I hear it’s as bad as childbirth. Is it that bad?” But you know, I’m not really sure how to compare the two. For one, I had epidurals with both my kids, so I don’t think I really experienced the full whollop of bearing a child. Besides, at least with childbirth, at the end of it all you end up with this little fantastic thing that smiles and burps and poops. At the end of a kidney stone adventure, all you end up with is a little hot rock and a ban from coffee consumption.