Wednesday, May 04, 2016

Rey, too.

Got the test results back yesterday. Reynaldo has the FIP titer, too. His level is much lower than Connie's, but it's there.

So many emotions! He is my baby, he is my responsibility, and I brought a disease into our home in the form of Connie. I did it unknowingly -- she was up on her vaccinations and so were Reynaldo and Joe -- but I did it all the same.

Yet Connie deserves a good life, doesn't she? Her early years were pretty brutal. She came to the shelter from the home of a hoarder. She was emaciated, with mushy gums and a chronic eye infection and a litter of stillborn kittens inside of her her. Today this sweet cat is solid around the middle, lively and chatty, trusting and affectionate. Rey and Joey and I made her feel welcome and safe here. I can't really regret that.

The vet spent a great deal of time with me on the phone Monday. I should take precautions but not overreact. Reynaldo is very healthy for an old (now age 12!) man and is more likely to die of his kidney problems than FIP. The FIP will likely complicate it, but not cause it, and there's no reason to believe we can even see that on the horizon yet.

Connie -- playful, loving Connie -- is also strong and healthy right now. Her levels are high enough that the FIP is likely to cause her problems. But not right now. If I just love her and enjoy her and keep her on the high qualify diet she currently snarfs down, it's not unreasonable to hope for 6 years with her. Maybe more.

And so that's what I'm going to try to do.

The times they have a-changed

My friend John isn't feeling well. Battling a tenacious spring cold took a lot out of him -- more than it should have -- and his energy still hasn't returned. He's feeling so run down that he isn't sure he still wants to get together Thursday night for drinks. Since John battles chronic heart trouble, this is very concerning.  I mean, John turning down a shot an a beer (or two)? It's unheard of! He's calling his cardiologist this week.

Here I am, just now sufficiently recovered from my months-long battle with c. diff that we can party like we used to, and now he's sick.

It makes me sad to think of how old we are. How we're talking about our hearts and guts and his cardiologist and my gastroenterologist.

I saw Facebook photos of my oldest friend, celebrating Administrative Professionals Day with her office staff and at a party at her cousin's home. I haven't seen her since last November, and was shocked by how much bigger she is. It doesn't help that she was wearing a matchy-matchy lime green pantsuit that made her look like two big scoops of sherbet. She, too, has long had heart trouble, so this additional weight gain really disturbs me.

What about me? In addition to gut trouble, I have high blood pressure and now wear a (gulp!) size 16. (For perspective: until I was about 40, I wore a 6 or 8.) I also know I should work out more. I must work out more. But I'm so slammed at work this week that I can barely squeeze in sleep. That's hyperbole, of course ... but not by much.

I'm trying to keep all this in its place. Yes, these are my friends. And yes, since I have no spouse or siblings (really), they mean a great deal to me. They are my comrades and my support system. So considering their frailties -- and my own -- frightens me.

But I have a big presentation on Thursday morning and this is Wednesday morning. The work's done but it's not yet letter perfect. I'm afraid I don't have time to completely feel this right now.