Passing

My first moments with Lucy Snowe began as a fight, her swatting and struggling as I gently dragged out from underneath the car in the Greensboro Mall parking garage. I was not thinking about getting a cat in that moment – I was more concerned about the cars speeding by her hiding place.

But the moment I held her in my arms, the moment she relaxed and began to purr, I was smitten. Any half formed thoughts I possessed about taking her to a shelter melted away in the warmth of her little body. I took her home, and much to the chagrin of my roommate, insisted on keeping her.

I remained smitten for eighteen years. Through seven moves, a wedding, a pregnancy, a birth. All that time, Lucy was a fixed presence in my life.

It was only fitting that our relationship ended the way it began, with her fighting with the vet tech over the catheter inserted into her right paw. Holding her close as the veterinarian injected first the sedative, then the drugs that stopped her heart.

Making the decision to put her to sleep was the easy part. Always tiny, she had lost an enormous amount of weight, could not keep food down, could not make it to the litter box, could not groom herself properly, and became confused about where she was.

The difficult part was cleaning out the carrier, lining it with the towel, taking it to the car, and walking through the door of the clinic. The devastating part was letting go and leaving her body, once she had passed.

My beautiful, sweet, little cat is gone. I can close my eyes and remember what it felt like to have her sleeping head across my neck. But she is no longer here when I open them.

Down with the Rubber Duck

Note: Several months ago I took advantage of the iTunes Store free app offer and download an app called Day One Journal/Diary to my iPhone and iPad. I've found myself writing more often and thought I would try sharing some of those entries on the blog.

What started as a lark ended with my ankle in a splint and me slightly fatigued from pain killers.

We planned on taking Boy Alien to see the giant rubber duck yesterday. First a stop at the bank and Starbucks. Then a quick drive out to Sewickley to see a house that had a ton of potential but zero property space to add a garage. I was disappointed and turned down J's offer to see the inside as the lack of garage space (or to build a garage) meant it did not meet our requirements and I did not want to fall into lust with a house I could not have.

So it was off to see the duck. I wish I had been able to film the excitement on Boy Alien's face when he saw the duck for the first time, as we drove past the stadiums on the North Shore. It felt like Christmas morning and J and I felt like we were the BEST PARENTS EVER. We managed to find a space right across from the walkway leading up to the Fort Pitt bridge.

It was a beautiful day for a walk across any bridge. Sunny, not too warm, happy pedestrians and bicyclists and a great view of the park and the rubber duck. Pittsburgh residents are in an extraordinary good mood this week, between the goofiness of seeing a enormous child's bath toy hanging out in the river and the Pirates making the playoffs for the first time in over twenty years. Boy Alien greeted dogs, chatted about the duck and held both our hands for the walk across.

After coming off of the bridge, we began our climb down the stone, stadium-style levels near the duck. Not 20 feet away was a set of stairs in between each level that a sensible person would have used.

I am not a sensible person and my past history of hurting myself in spectacularly stupid fashion was not enough to prevent me from gamboling down the levels after J and Toddler Alien. In sandals. Without backs on them to keep my feet from moving.

On the next to last step I came down a little too hard, felt my foot slip within my left shoe, lost my balance and badly twisted my left ankle. The pain made me scream out loud.

There were a lot of people near by and several offered to help. The woman sitting near where I came down first offered to call an ambulance, then later offered to get me some water. A second stranger offered general assistance. I declined all offers and insisted that J and Boy Alien go see the duck as originally planned, as Boy Alien should not have to suffer because his mother is a clumsy idiot.

While J and Toddler Alien were viewing the duck I sat for what felt like forever, waiting for the pain to subside. After several failed attempts to get up and walk I gave up and tried to stop sobbing like a child and stop thinking about how I badly I needed to pee.

Eventually J and Boy Alien returned and the need to pee was urgent enough for me to overcome the pain of walking and hobble off to the restroom, trying to navigate through the crowed of spectators and souvenir seekers. After taking some ibuprofen and making it back out of the restroom, J sat me down on a stone wall and went off with Toddler Alien to find something to eat. I spent more time trying to fight my tears and declined my third (and maybe fourth, I lost track, which is a good problem to have) offers of assistance from absolute strangers. I eventually moved from the wall to an open bench and discovered that my ankle hurt less when I put some weight on it. I tried to read. I tried not to cry.

When J and Toddler Alien returned I announced that I needed to go to the ER. We began the walk back to the car. As I moved, I noticed that the pain was not that bad as long as I moved slowly and carefully and I started to question whether I needed to see a doctor after all, a question that was answered with a definitive "yes" when I tried to walk down the steps.

It was off to Allegheny General's emergency room for me. While J tried to entertain our bored, restless son I spent an hour limping back and forth from the waiting room chairs to registration, the triage nurse, registration, x-rays, registration then finally to a room to have my ankle seen. Then it was an additional two and a half hours of talking to nurses, residents and attending doctors. 

HIghlight one of the afternoon was one nurse's admission that I was not the first patient they had seen that week who had injured his or herself while seeing the duck.

Highlight two of the afternoon was the resident who told me that my ankle did not appear to be fractured, only to sheepishly return 20 minutes later with the news that they had found a hairline chip and I would have to have  

During the course of the afternoon I was asked three times if I might be pregnant, four times if I had a living will and who would be taking me home, six times how I had injured myself and once if I felt safe in my home.

After $50.00, x-ray's, an ultrasound, several hours and one nurse's cracks about the duck being bad luck for the residents of Pittsburgh I left the hospital with my ankle in a splint, on crutches, clutching a prescription for oxycodone and instructions that I should not drive or drink while on the painkiller and need to make an appointment follow up with an orthopedic surgeon in 3-5 days.

Now it is sunday, I have not yet figured out how to get myself reasonably cleaned up for work on Monday, as I must at least go in that day to pick up my new laptop and get myself set up to work from home.