Trip to the Vet

Nick was using his upper torso to pinion the angry burrito of cat, who was writhing within the blanket in massive rage in order to bite Dr. Persico, as she was clearing impacted anal sacs. The owner of the cat was pressed against the opposite wall, letting them handle it. Why interrupt? Nick the vet tech and the determined doctor needed room to jump back each time this enraged animal lashed out with an escaped hind leg, claws a-firin' sixty. Not a good patient. He projectile-peed on the doctor, bit, and in his hissing and yowling, almost spoke English that would have colored the room blue. Like a reverse exorcism, where the patient goes from incoherent animal growls to the inflamed curses found in Winston Churchill's breakfast conversation.

I just got this guy in December. He's fine at home if you leave him alone; try to administer a pill and Stevie Pickles (being his moniker) will tell you to go to hell and leave you bleeding. He was front-declawed as a young cat, escaped outside and lived in a back yard for a year before the kind people feeding him snagged his grey bad self and took him to Dr. Persico's establishment. So his defense is a wonderfully scary top set of fangs, fast as light. He hasn't bitten me, just threatened enough so that I got wise and took him to where I got him, from the vet's, so they could do the proper pilling when he had a tapeworm. One little pill! You would have thought I was trying to murder him for all the fuss he kicked up.

Dear Andy, another vet tech, used his charm up to a point and then resolved to get the pill popper wand to shove the medicine down Stevie's throat, as the cat had declared war and was getting the hang of resistance. Very, very quick he is, for such a large animal. Andy won that time, and the result was a gain of four pounds for the kitty, who is now up to fourteen. Dr. Persico said thank god I was the one who took him, being the kind, patient, animal person that I am. Really, the woman was just buttering my bread, as perhaps she didn't want to see Stevie Pickles at her doorstep with a "No Thanks" note hanging from one ivory tooth.

He's hiding now, recuperating for the next round of which I told him there will be few and far between. If he gets sick, there will be treatment based on the aim of a dart gun or a heavy sedative mixed into his Bits 'n Kits. Believe me, he's nothing like some of the difficult personalities experienced in my life, for everything is up front and all you have to do is have a plan of action, which is to drop him off at the vet's and let them deal with his snits.

Tonight my Kai and Snowbelle will sleep curled next to me, Min will stop in for a visit, and Tulip has her own spot in the living room, a cat bed cushioned and cozy. Steve goes up atop the china cabinet on a blanket, and roams the hall during the dark, early morning hours chattering and calling in a series of questions and statements. He drinks from the tap, sticking his head into the stream, lapping the H2O as it runs down his face. He runs to greet me when I come home along with the rest of them, and seems to enjoy the greeting rituals and fussings.

We all have our foibles, but we are also all the same when asleep. Tuck in, spring days, maple nights.

Dreamville is A-stirrin'

Oh apnea, oh apneaaaa, Thy branches are so lovely....

Good Gertie, all the butterflies, moths and long-legged crane flies (those things that look like giant skeeters) have been set loose, for Pandora's box has been dropped from a few stories up, folks. I breathe more at night than I do during the day. After a visit to Respiratory Therapist Maureen, I find that I have been waking close to 280 times a seven-hour night in search of oxygen. Now I have a little automated mechanical friend that pumps air into me, along with a warm spray of humidity. Three nights of this, so far. And yes, I have more energy during the day along with memory and other good things like recognition of familiar objects. It ain't all there yet, but it is on the way. I can see it.

I was concerned that the cats would no longer sleep with head-harnessed me, all plasticky tubing and air pilot mask. Har. They love it; Kai found a position on the warm hose--but not for long, and Crackhead--oh, I mean, Princess Snowbelle--thought the whole tube business was an expensive cat toy, whack whack whack. My good girls.

My lungs are now working the graveyard shift; it's as if I deliberately have to push and pull respiration in and out, and for heaven's sake, wonder if I breathe enough during the day. A side effect of this treatment besides extreme hat-head, is that I am pumped full of air since my brain is still learning to keep my mouth closed. Save the clever remarks for when you see me. The result is, I have enough gas that I could drive myself home without the car through propulsion. Watch for me on the 33. Once the brain learns, this will end. Sooner would be nice.

It solves a lot of problematic situations, and hopefully, will continue forward. Do you imagine what it feels like to find that you are not crazy? Possibly this could have been found out earlier if I slept around and got complaints of the snoring. Trade-offs, what can I say?

But here I am in Dreamville, how iconic is that? Premonition? Intuition? A view through the haze of hypopnea? It's not something developed overnight, I believe I have had this most of my life from childhood on. It sure do explain the dizzy spells.

I can't wait to hitch to my little Ondine, my Remiel, my Ocean. Dreams are said to become vivid--not yet for me, but I do briefly remember Bela Lugosi appearing. There was another scene where I was opening windows, pulling down curtains to let in the light. Opening my life, perhaps.

You sleep well also, I hope. Here's a debate: Maureen the therapist said that if apnea were diagnosed more often, the doctors wouldn't be able to sell as many pills as they do. It's fair enough common, yet we don't see treatments advertised on television. Can I tell you that I take blood pressure, cholesterol, thyroid and antidepressant meds, all related to the effects presented by apnea? Interesting to see if the blood pressure goes down since the heart doesn't have to work as hard to supply oxygen to my starving brain. What a world.

Peace, sea, ocean salt, diatoms, waves; neap and ebb tides. Look for the siphon holes in wet sand telling of clams pushing water through gills, of life breathing in mudflats as water rushes back to high tide. I am a clam, breathing under the cover of night, my siphon connected to sources of wind and water. Cockle, mussel, oyster, scallop. Sleep tight as a clam, my loves.