I don't know if you've noticed this, but we are in a pandemic. First one (and hopefully the last) in my life.
For the most part, I've not minded staying home. I do that most the time anyway. I miss church. I miss lunch with friends whenever we fancy. I miss the freedom of knowing I can go even if I don't want to, just having it be a possibility is often enough.
Our gap in our safety is Daughter, who still has to go to work every day. She wears a mask, but her peers do not (even though one just lost a family member to this virus). She is protected from customers pretty well by plexiglass and lots of bleach cleaning and hand washing. She takes off her shoes before entering the house, goes straight up stairs and washes and changes clothes. So she does the best she can.
But when the cats begin to look at you like they wish you'd leave, it's time to get out of the house. So, Husband went to the grocery store, geared up in his hazmat suit and I visited my 91 year old mother who I don't touch or get really close to.
Yay.
We did venture out last week and got our first vaccine. Our second comes in a month. I'm now hearing how the side effects are worse with the second one, so I'm really excited.
I've been stunned more than once over deaths to this virus and I guess I will be again.
On another topic, I'm waiting for at least one big snow this winter. We've had a few baby snows, and one of them gave me joy because I got to watch it snow all day long.
Tomorrow marks our 36th wedding anniversary. I pray we get to see many more. We've had some great snows on past anniversaries.
Here's to you, my fellow inmates. May we be freed soon.
I had already written a blog in my head - I just had a few more things to do in the house to catch up so I could sit down and type it out. I thought it was well done, witty and something you could relate to without too much effort.
My last chore was a phone call to check on a friend who had been ill. I hadn't heard from her in four or five days, and when I checked my last message to her, she had not responded. This wasn't unusual for her, so I didn't really worry. I had meant to call her brother the day before, but I was having a "bad pain day" myself, so I put it off.
After a moments hesitation he responded to my question about how she was doing.
She had passed away earlier that morning.
I was truly stunned. I knew she was sick. I knew she was very, very sick because she was 82 years old and had COVID. But for some reason I had no idea she would die. She was healthy otherwise, and in my mind she would pull through and have something to talk about the next time she called.
We had known each other since I was in my twenties. Over forty years. She was the psychiatrist who came from Atlanta weekly to do a clinic where I worked as a counselor. Somehow we hit it off, and no matter where she lived - Atlanta, Kentucky, New Mexico, Broken Arrow, Oklahoma and finally back to her hometown, Birmingham, Alabama - we never lost touch.
I sang at her son's christening. I sang at her wedding. Accompanied by a harp, no less.
She visited fairly often, spending a couple of nights before going on, but this stopped a few years ago as she felt she was getting too old to drive great distances alone.
She loved my books. Every time she wanted to buy a gift for friends, she would send them one or eight of my books. I'm afraid she may have forced them on folks sometimes. She was insistent that I was the next big author.
We called each other several times a year, always on our birthdays. Her birthday was the same day as my grandmother's and we seemed to always mention that.
Next month, on my birthday, I won't get to hear her raucous off key rendition of happy birthday.
Well, this blog was obviously more for me than it was for you. But I would venture to say that every one of you who reads this has been touched by this hateful pandemic. You have lost someone to it, or have been fearful until they recovered. And if you haven't been touched by it, thank God right now.
Before the great fall of '06, when I had cold feet, all I had to do was crawl in bed, stick 'em on Husband's back and they got warm pretty fast. Of course, his screaming was annoying, but I suppose there's a price you pay for everything.
Now my feet are almost never warm. I have a floor foot warmer for the studio, I have a bag full of horse corn that I heat up in the microwave at night. Then I put it between covers, under a pillow, cover it up more, and put a pillow on top of that in order to hold the heat in all night. Most the time this will, eventually, get my poor tootsies toasty.
As anyone who knows me at all knows, I love, and I mean love snow. In fact I love a lot that goes with cold weather, excluding my terrifyingly cold feet.
You think I'm obsessed with my paws? Yes, yes I am. You try living with feeling like you are standing in ice cold water all the time. It's something that's hard not to think about.
And another thing. You probably think I've not blogged in like, forever. You'd be wrong. I blog every day, sometimes twice. I have failed to write them down, however.
Last year was a very hard year for me. Lost the ability to walk for a while. Almost died with e-coli in my bloodstream caused by a UTI that had gone unnoticed for sometime due to all the pain I was having which was causing my leg to stop working. So, I had a few things on my mind.
And this year? Need I say more?
Now, I can't promise how often I'll continue to blog. I'm trying to write another novel, so when I sit down for a few minutes, I try to concentrate on that. But maybe I'll blog more often that I've been at.
Last week I had a birthday. And it snowed all day on my birthday, too. Now, if you don't know me, you don't understand what a big deal this is. I have a friend who says my love for snow is an affliction. I was waxing poetic about past snows and Husband called me a "snow savant". The next day it snowed a lot, we got five inches at my house. People were sending me messages like crazy about how I got my birthday wish. I told them most my birthday wishes were granted. 1. Snow 2. A fire in the fireplace all day 3. Maxwell House coffee instead of the organic mess Husband makes and 4. A million dollars. Still waiting on that last one. But it was a good day anyway. I remember many things about special snow times. My daddy dragging me out of my warm bed and carrying me to the door, pulling back the curtain and showing me a winter wonderland. I couldn't have been more than 3 at the time. My grandmother calling me early morning every time it snowed to tell me, and to hurry and come on so we could make snow cream. I think of her every single snow. Trying to get up the hill to my friend's house to play in the snow and not able to get enough traction to do so.
Snowball fights and many, many snowmen. I remember we had a huge snow when I was fifteen or sixteen. All the neighborhood teen boys and young men got together and built a giant snowman in the churchyard. It was as tall as the second story windows. As you can imagine, it made the paper. The love of snow never left me growing up, even though it was scarier sometimes. After Husband and I built this house, getting home before it was too late was of utmost importance. Sometimes we made it "too late" and had to do all sorts of things to get to our house. The road getting here is straight up. He would gun the car and we would careen up the mountain, praying no one would decide to come down it. Most the time we made it - after the second or third try.
Of course, the biggest snow I ever encountered was the blizzard of '93. Since there had never been a recorded blizzard in the North Georgia Mountains, it's no wonder. Daughter was not three years old yet, and she was sick on top of that. But the doctor had said he'd heard a really bad storm was coming up, she he gave her an antibiotic shot, and we rushed to the drugstore to get the medications fill. It was snowing by that time.
The middle of the night winds were harrowing. It snowed so hard we couldn't see past the windows. I'd never experienced thunder and lightning during a snowstorm, either. By morning our electricity was history and it dropped to fifty degrees inside our house quickly. At that time our house was all electric (that got remedied shortly afterwards!) It dropped down to below freezing in the house before our power was restored.
Thank God, our neighbors, who visited occasionally from Florida, were here. They called and asked did we have heat. They had a wood burning furnace in their basement and told us to get there as soon as we could.
There are a lot of God stories about the blizzard, and one involves a snowsuit and snow boots we were able to dress Daughter in. A three minute walk took twenty as we struggled against the snow and howling wind. Our two boxers went ahead of us, sort of plowing a path for us. We stayed at their house five days, virtual strangers. And we had a sick toddler. Bless 'em. Finally, my brother's four wheel drive was able to get us to Mother's where we stayed until our electricity was restored, some days later. I think we had either 24 or 27 inches of snow. I remember the day after it was ten degrees, but the wind had stilled. The storm was over!
For some years we had very little snow, then in 2014 we had many. Last winter was a bummer, with one or two very light dustings and one scary icy morning. For those of you who aren't fans of snow, I guess that was good, but for me, not so much. Birthdays that stand out: My sixth. It was raining and my next door neighbor got me a child's size umbrella, which I'd never seen before. My seventh. I was in first grade and my teacher's birthday was the same as mine, so Mother brought cupcakes to the class. My ninth. Mother let me have a real party and I cleaned like crazy. I remember we played pin the tail on the donkey, and ring toss on Bullwinkle's antlers. My sixteenth. Mother cooked whatever I wanted and let me invite my boyfriend for supper. My twenty-first. I cried because I was now officially an adult. My 27th because I got to see the Monkees in concert - well, Mickey, Davey, Peter and Mickey's sister. Close enough. My 40th. My then sister-in-law went to a huge amount of trouble and put together an elaborate album of my life. And this year, because it was just a few days ago. Ha! Don't remember many years when snow and birthdays collided, but I'm always grateful when they do!
I haven't blogged because I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. If you put something down on paper, it makes it more real, and I have not wanted more real. But everyone needs the rest of the story, I guess. If you haven't read the previous blog, "The Funeral that didn't Happen", scroll and read it before you read this one. It's all true, every last word.
On the evening of day six, November 8, of Frost's recovery, he started sneezing.
The next morning you could hear a whistling noise in his nose; he was stuffed up. He had gotten sick like this the year before, as had one of our other cats.
I felt ice around my heart – they had both been very, very sick, but because of being in excellent health otherwise, had pulled through.
Frost had not been in excellent health this year. He had lost more than half his body weight.
We took him to the vet who gave him a vitamin shot and some fluid. He was having a hard time eating dry food, so we fed him wet food with gravy, which he loved.
He held his own, but couldn’t seem to get well again. He slept a lot, mostly wanting in Husband’s lap. He’d come downstairs with us in the morning and go up at night to sleep between Husband and me.
But he kept getting weaker, sleeping more. Then one night, instead of trying to jump on the bed, he got in the dog crate with the dog. Bonnie looked nervous at first, as this had never, ever happened with any cat, but I guess Frost needed the body heat, and Bonnie acquiesced.
He wasn’t in pain, just getting weaker, so we decided to take care of him and let nature take its course.
On December 5, almost a month after his miraculous healing, Frost died.
Not from the horrible diagnosis, but from something more like the common cold.
Frost Ambush Hill was almost thirteen years old.
We buried him with all our other pets who have come and gone during the years. We made sure The Great White Hunter had his frog tucked beside him.
We cried. I'm crying right now as I write this.
No more racing to get in the coat closest every time the door was opened.
No more jumping on the bed just before the fitted sheet was put on, so he could growl and threaten.
No more rushing to make sure another cat was okay if he heard a yowl from a stepped on tail.
No more jumping on the sink waiting for a drink from the faucet.
No more standing on the sewing machine, using his paw to separate the blinds so he could watch Husband walk the dog, crying piteously the whole time.
No more hearing that "Brrrt, Brrrrt," noise as he laid the frog at our feet or put it at the front door, so Husband could brag on him when Husband came from outside.
No more rescuing the frog from water dishes, wringing him out to dry on the window sill. No more sneaking sweet photos of Frost asleep on or by Husband, content.
No more.
I am still sad, Daughter is incredibly sad, and know I’m pretty clueless about how much Husband misses his buddy, because he keeps it to himself, mostly. But there's something positive here, too. When Frost got so incredibly ill, and he was in such pain, it was like a nightmare. We couldn't bear it, and when we thought they were coming to put him down, I can't describe how wrong it all felt. But this time, his time, it was a peaceful thing. He was with us, he wasn't in pain. He just slowly shut down, on his own time, still eating till the day before he died. Still in Husband's lap - up until just a few minutes before he died, when we let him stretch out on his blanket to be more comfortable. What a blessing it was to keep him for almost a month, to care for him, to love him, to cuddle with him. To make him happy in any way we could.
I'm thankful for that.
If you are not an animal person you may say we need to get over it.
Just a cat, you say?
Well, you obviously never met Frost.
See you soon, buddy. Don't forget to greet me with the frog.
Kathi looks back at the year 2019. Has to lie down. WHEW! I'll say one thing for last year, it was different. In February I suddenly couldn't walk. That is a very scary thing, please don't try it. I was in a wheel chair for more than four months. Thanks to aquatic physical therapy and major medications, I was able to start walking again without surgery. But when I was slap dab in the middle of physical therapy I got sick. Sick like I ain't never been sick before. I had blood sepsis, the e-coli kind and like ta died. After being in the hospital for six days, I got to go home. It was a month before I was able to restart physical therapy, and some of the pain has never left me. Daughter totaled her car in a horrific wreck that pretty much left her unscathed. She'd been out of debt for two weeks. Hello, car payments. Our beloved Frost died. We are still grieving. Christmas was different. Other Brother and his son had the "real" flu, and his son's children had a stomach bug that was nasty, which they lovingly gave to their mother so she could puke all Christmas Eve night. We visited one another (some of us) separately and from a distance. Now Daughter and Husband are sick - sore throats, congestion, lethargy. And I have become an elderberry syrup-aholic. The good: During my physical disruption and illness and afterward, I was shown so much love. I shiver to think about it. Of course, Husband and Daughter were champs and took care of me like they thought I was irreplaceable. So many friends brought me good stuff, food for me and my family, presents I love, and their companionship, which was the best. I know I can't repay them, but I hope they know how much I love them. Daughter wasn't hurt in that wreck, other than a slightly sore neck and fear of driving in that curve again. Her neck is healed, and she's driving that curve a little braver every day. After our cat was given the death sentence but recovered, we were able to have another month with him before he succumbed to another illness. That month was filled with warmth and love. Christmas Eve was met with Daughter and I cooking a big dinner for us and Boyfriend. The works: baked chicken and dressing, sweet potato casserole, green onions, cucumbers, radishes, yeast rolls, deviled eggs, mashed potatoes and green beans. The can of green beans was the very last jar from the very last canning Mother and I did together. It will be our last canning, and we both know it. Made me feel very sad. She's had to give up most of what was her outside life - pound cakes that everyone begged for, the best fried chicken and hush puppies on the planet, making the dressing instead of Daughter and me making it, canning. Notice how all this revolves around food? She still wants you to eat if you come to the house, even if she can't cook it anymore. What do I hope for this new year? No more wheel chair, ever. Better health, less pain. A connected, loving family. No tragedies. I guess the same thing everyone else wishes for. Happy New Year to you all.
Well, this was certainly not the blog I thought I'd write. As many of you know, our cat, Frost, became very sick a few weeks ago. This is Husband's cat, the one who worships the ground Husband walks on. Frost is a twelve year old, white American short hair who has been fat, fat, fat. He should weigh around eleven pounds and had got up to at least seventeen pounds. Which is bad. But now, turns out, it was good. When Husband took Frost to the vet about five weeks ago, he had lost two pounds. Husband failed to mention this at the time, or I would have had alarm bells going off in my head.
Husband had purchased some different flavored cat food because Frost has to have special kinds due to urinary tract issues. He loved it. For the first several days, he was eating that stuff up. Then I noticed a lot of it was still in his bowl. He continued "stealing" the regular cat food if he got a chance, and licked the wet food can I let him have, so I just figured he didn't like it as much as he thought. There was a little bit of the old left, so I filled his bowl with that. And that amount didn't seem to go down much either. (Eli "helps" eat it.) I also noticed he was throwing up more than a cat usually does. So, I had Daughter weigh him. He'd lost two more pounds. I told Husband he had to take him to the vet when Frost refused to eat any wet food or Purina forbidden Cat Chow. Of course, Frost being the Tasmanian devil he is, would not let the vet near him. She called me and wanted to try an antibiotic shot first to see if it would clear up a possible U.T.I. but if he wasn't better by Monday to bring him back and they would sedate him so they could examine him and draw blood. By Monday, he was worse. The vet sedated him, started IV fluids and antibiotics. The blood and urine samples showed jaundice. After an x-ray to rule out a mass, it was determined something very serious was going on with his pancreas and liver. They kept him a few days and his kidney function got worse, even on fluids. The vet said this is it. You need to put him down. I told him we wanted to bring him home for a day or so to say good-bye. You see, Frost was a rescue from a kill shelter. He felt abandoned, and any time we've had to leave him at the vets, he's been ecstatic to come home, loving on us, meowing, running to his toys, his food bowl, etc. I think he was always afraid he was going to be left again. I was NOT going to let him die there, never coming home again. The vet warned me to wait no later than Friday. He didn't say it, but he meant don't let this cat suffer any longer. I got the message. So, Wednesday afternoon we picked him up. He'd lost so much weight, he was lighter than Mimi, our "little" cat. He'd lost six pounds. He was docile. On Thursday, he was weaker. Though he was still drinking water, he gagged if you put food in front of him. All he wanted to do was sit in David's lap. That's his favorite place. Come yesterday, his little eyes were sunk in his head, the right one almost closed. He stayed crouched. We knew the time had come. We found a vet who graciously agreed to come to the house at 5:15 to put him down, as Daughter wanted to be here, too. David went to dig the grave. Frost would be with Sam, Buster, Belle, Molly, Angel, Lily, Aussie and Perry. I was scraping a plate to gather crumbs of wet cat food that Eli had left, so Bonnie could get a small taste. Frost came running. And he began to eat those crumbs. I stood there a moment, stunned. Then I sprang into action and opened a fresh can of cat food and sat it down. He ate six or seven bites. I started praising Jesus and ran to the front door and hollered at Husband, "Your cat is eating!" I called the vet. When I told the young receptionist, she said, "No way! I'm gonna get Dr. Josh!" In a very few seconds he came on the line, "Well, I guess miracles are still happening!" I repeated everything to him, ending with, "I suppose we don't need to have him put down this afternoon." "I would think not! He will probably fully recover now. We'll just chalk it up to, to, uh -" "The good Lord?" "Yeah!" I called the other vet, cancelled the death appointment, then called Daughter at work. She said, "Praise the Lord!" and cried. I cried too. This morning Frost is bright eyed, making his "brrrrt, brrrrt," noise with that wily frog in his mouth, the Great White Hunter again. I am so thankful to my Heavenly Father. I know Frost is "just a cat", but God made cats, too. Now, if we can keep old Frost from becoming old fat Frost....but at this moment, who cares.
