A Hard Day

Behind the blogging scenes here, we've been dealing with some second-hand sadness and tragedy lately.

You know our MOMS Club friend A, mom to H and brand-new-baby-N. Three days after N was born, A's 18 year old sister M was in a car accident with five other teens, and despite the valiant efforts of many doctors, including a couple of surgeries, a few days later she lost her fight.

On Saturday, her twin brother graduated from high school, accepting her diploma on behalf of the family, and today they laid her to rest.

I attended the funeral, along with T and her husband (who's been good friends with A's husband for years), and it was as heartbreaking as you might imagine.

If it's your thing, please send your prayers of comfort, positive energy, healing light, and peaceful mojo to M's family and friends as they move through this most difficult of times.

Puppy Problems

It seems that BigGaloot is having some health concerns.

A couple of weeks ago Shrike was being "overly protective and paranoid" (I thought) and took him to the vet to see why his nose looks chapped all the time.

The tentative diagnosis was discoid lupus or "collie nose" which is, as you would assume, an autoimmude disease, but it only affects the skin. He had it biopsied last week, and the vet called today with the path report.

It is discoid lupus, which should be controlled with topic anti-inflammatory and sunscreen. He might need antibiotics and steriods from time to time if it flares up, but other than that, it shouldn't be a big deal.

A bigger deal, though is that during the surgery for the nose, she found a "mass" in his mouth, near his upper gum, way in the back, I believe. She biopsied it but told us that she expected it to be something with big words that's benign.

Turns out it's, same big words somethingelse-blastoma, which is not so benign.

But although it is invasive - it spreads locally - it is not metastatic - it doesn't spread to other parts of the body, which is much better news than it night have been.

Given our options, we're thinking the smart thing is to get xrays (under anesthesia) and see if it's spread into the bone, in which case a bit of the maxilla (upper jawbone) will need to be removed.

I don't know if we can knock him out, xray, then while he's still under, go ahead and cut out what needs to come out or if it will necessarily be separate procedures.The path report says she didn't get it all with the biopsy, so seems to me something needs to come out, even if it's just soft tissue, or we will just be waiting for it to go into the bone and then remove it, which seems dumb. We're hoping we can just do it all at once, for his sake and the sake of our bank account.

If we did nothing, it would erode the maxilla, he'd lose teeth, be susceptible to infections, I would assume it would be painful eventually. She didn't have a timeline on that, because she's always done the surgery, and she says that they do very well afterwards; you can't tell by looking at them, she's got one who's now chomping on milkbones, etc.

He goes back next week to have the stitches removed from his nose, and we'll discuss it all with her in more detail then.

I'll update when we know more.

Sad

Shrike's grandmother died this morning. Her husband, children and their spouses were all at her bedside.

It wasn't unexpected - she'd been on hospice since around Christmas, and there have been at least half a dozen "you'd better come see her today" phone calls - but one never thinks that today is going to be the day.

We've been trying to prepare Peeper, when things first got bad, we started talking to her about "Grandma S*'s body wearing out" and she immediately made the connection to GirlCat. (The was while BoyCat was still with us.)

She's been just rocking along, so we haven't really said much more about it to Peeper, but she'd taken a turn for the worse in the past few days, so I told her last night that Grandma S's body was going to stop working very soon, and this morning we said it again, more explicitly, and told her it would probably be happening within a few days.

Little did we know that, as we were saying that, it had probably already happened.

There will be a visitation Thursday evening and the funeral is Friday morning. For our own selfish purposes, we are pleased with the arrangements, because we won't have any conflicts with Peeper's first day of Mother's Day Out. I was worried that Shrike was going to find herself with two places that she absolutely must be at the same time.

We've really not yet decided at what level Peeper will participate in those events, but we'll sort that out as we learn more details.

I just hope that we handle it all the right way with her.

*When I asked Shrike if it was okay to blog about this, she just asked me not to use her Grandma's name, but I do feel like I should say that S doesn't stand for her last name, it stands for her nickname, by which she universally known. Over the past several months, in particular, we've referred to her as Grandma S___ to Peeper, as opposed to Grandma Lastname, when differentiating from "Grandma-in-Texas," just because it's more fun, I guess.  

I started making it a point to use her name, and not just "Grandma" when it occurred to me that every time I referred to Anonymama as just plain "Grandma," sometimes even in the context of a visit to Texas, Peeper would ask "What kind of Grandma?" It took me a while to realize that she meant "Which Grandma?" I can be kind of slow sometimes.  

 

Catless

Well, it's done.

It went about as well as we could have dared to hope. Very peaceful, with all three of us petting him.

Peeper is doing well. We've had many, many conversations about it since Friday, and many tears (from all of us), but when the time came, she was the most composed one in the room, I think (vet and tech, included).

I don't know where kitties go when they go, but we've decided that we want to believe that he's playing bop-on-the-head with MamaCat right now, and has probably already tried to hump GirlCat, and been humped by BigBrotherCat, who went long before the others.

Rest in Peace, Ringeaux. We love you.
March 28, 1997 - January 23, 2012

Quality Time

We're trying to do as much of this as possible right now.

Boy Cat

I might have mentioned to some of you that when BoyCat had his check-up a few months ago, he'd lost some weight, and we made a plan to take him back this month to have it checked. When I got the reminder about that around the first of the year, my reaction was "Oh yeah, I guess we need to do that. I wonder if he's lost any more? He looks about the same, and is doing fine."

Then, when I got home from Texas, it was obvious that he'd lost weight, and it really seemed to have been precipitous, not just a matter of being away from him for a while, and he suddenly looked much thinner, and just "not right." Sick and old. We realized that he hadn't been eating much over the past few days, either.

We took him in to the vet today, and found that he's lost more than 3 pounds in the past three months and is dehydrated and anemic, and his lab work confirmed that he is in end-stage kidney failure. 

The vet said the other big possibilities were hyperthyroidism or diabetes, which are manageable, although his symptoms did point toward the kidneys. We weren't thrilled about spending money on testing that we didn't really expect to lead us to a treatment plan, but it did help us to confirm what we are dealing with, and what we need to do. 

After considering all our options - from doing absolutely nothing and letting nature take its course, which would probably mean a very painful and unpleasant couple of weeks (at the most) for him, to hospitalizing him repeatedly for IV fluids, giving medications for pain and nausea and putting him on a special diet, and paying a ton of money for treatments which if he responded very, very well, might buy him, at most, a few months, but more likely a few weeks - we decided to have them give him subcutaneous fluids and injections of antibiotics and anti-nausea medication today, and have brought him home to spend the weekend giving him lots of cuddles and pets as well as some special food, if he's willing to eat it, and some more antibiotics and anti-nausea meds to make him more comfortable, and saying goodbye. 

I plan to call them back in the morning and make an appointment to take him in on Monday, to put him down. 

When I asked the vet what she would do if it were her cat, she said that she would probably have done it today or sooner, based on his kidney functions, but that with rehydration and some relief for his (assumed) nausea, he shouldn't be suffering much over the next couple of days, other than feeling generally tired and sick. 

To be honest, I don't know that we're doing him any favors by keeping him going for a few more days, but we had to balance his needs with Peeper's, and we really thought she needed some time to prepare. 

I talked to her about it this evening. She went with us today, so she knew something was up, but of course she was not privy to the nitty-gritty discussion (for part of that I was alone with the vet while she and Kris hung out in the waiting room, and then Shrike and I talked to the vet together while one of the techs took her in the back to visit with (and feed treats to) some of the animals who live there). 

I explained that we took him to the vet because he didn't feel good, and that the vet said that he's a very old kitty and he's  very sick and his body is about worn out and is going to stop working in a few days. I've told her that the vet says it will probably stop working on Monday (at least she's young enough to buy that we can predict such things, without having to let on that we're deciding when it will happen) and that we will take him back so the vet can give him some medicine, so he doesn't hurt any more, and then it will be time that his body will stop working. 

We also talked about how we are all sad about it, and we will be sad, but it's okay to be sad and to talk about it, and we can all be sad together. 

And we are.

Officially Official

After some paperwork bullshit at the lab yesterday (we suspect - but didn't think of this until we'd left - that Shrike's orders were probably misfiled, thanks to our ever-so-mystifying hyphenated last name) Shrike repeated her beta today, and it was actually negative this time.

Of course, we knew that it would be, but that didn't make it much easier to know for certain,

I think, for me, that the hardest part of it right now is that I am not one who is very good at giving up, so I keep finding my mind spinning scenarios by which we win the lottery or there's a follow-up study, or someone at the clinic decides that they just love us soooo much they want really want us to have another baby, and we get one more cycle for free, this time with PGD, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Or maybe the hardest part is trying to break my brain of automatically thinking in terms of "when Shrike gets pregnant . . . " and "when we have the baby . . . ."

Or maybe it's how Peeper has suddenly gone from calling the female of her "Kissing Bears" couple "Curly Bear (That's Baby Bear's little sister, on Sesame Street. There's a long clip about her being born. Peeper loves it.) to carry around both of them and saying "Mama Bear not have a baby yet."

(Sidenote - Then she makes them kiss. I asked "What are they doing?" and she said "Dey kissin an huggin." "Why are they kissing and hugging?" "Acause dey wuv each udder." Awwww.)

She's not all sad about it, just very matter of fact, like "Hey, this scene is from before Curly Bear was born," but still I find myself wondering how much of this has she understood.

She's definitely aware that we've been sad lately. (Not all the time, of course, but off and on for, oh, the past ten days or so.)

On Thursday, the day of the actual beta, I was crying and I told her "Mama's sad, baby," so she asked "Why you sad, Mama?"

I told her that "It's grown-up stuff, and I can't really explain it to you, and everything is going to be fine, but right now Mommy and Mama just have to be sad for a while." She gave me a big hug, and then went right back to playing.

I'm sad for us, of course, but I'm also very sad for her. I know I've heard many only former-children say how much they enjoyed having all the attention and the resources, but I can't imagine having grown up without my siblings, and I can't imagine not having them now, and I really wanted that for her.

I guess we'll just have to spoil the hell out of her instead.

And, Yet, Still Grateful

When I emailed NurseE about the progesterone last night, "just in case," I also included a more personal message.

Me being me, though, I wanted to share it, and her response, with, well, everyone.

To: NurseE
From: Whozat
Subject: Beta / Progesterone

(Some stuff about meds, pharmacy's phone number etc.)

And, on the assumption that we won't be getting any big ol' surprises, I want to go ahead and thank you, Dr E, MoneyLady, the study team and everyone else for all that you've done for us. (Please share this with them.)

For giving us Peeper, of course, and for giving us this opportunity to try to get her a sibling. We knew it was a longshot starting out, but we wouldn't have even been able to try if we'd not gotten into the study, and then to have a 2nd chance with the FET was even more beyond what we'd hoped for.

Of course, it would've been nice if it had all resulted in a baby, but I think that we're in a much better place with the idea of not having one now that we were actually able to try.

When we thought it would be about money, or about how complicated it is for us in the first place, or whatever, we were angry about the unfairness of it all but now, thanks to all of you, we've had more than our fair shot, and while we're definitely disappointed and sad, at least it's not because of any outside circumstances, it just is what it is, and maybe it's just the way it was meant to be.

So, we'll get through the beta and the call-back tomorrow (Don't be offended if I send you to voicemail. I will just have to see how I'm feeling at the moment. I already know what you're going to be calling to say.) and then we'll spend a little time being sad, and then we'll get back  to spoiling Peeper.


Thanks,
Whozat

 
To: Whozat
From: Nurse E
Subject: Re: Beta/Progesterone
 
: (


I'm sorry. I passed along your e-mail to them as requested. It's easy to say thank you when you get pregnant and everything was smooth sailing. Sometimes the best thank you's come for the patients that don't get pregnant. Because if they can leave us feeling at peace and happy with the experience they had here then that is the best compliment of all.

I'll call you as soon as I get the results.

Well, That Figures

First things first. No, we did not get any big good news surprises from Shrike's beta today.

But, seriously, could just one freaking step of this whole process be simple? Even if it's the part where the universe smacks us down and says "Psych! All those things-working-out-and-ducks-lining-up? Just kidding."

Nope, nope, it can't.

Here's the thing.

(For those of you who've been following our reproductive (and not) adventures from the beginning, this might sound familiar.)

What one would hope to see two weeks after a transfer is a beta in the 100 to 200 range. Anything below 5 is considered to be negative.

Shrike's was 6.4 today.

NurseE said "So it doesn't mean anything hopeful, pregnancy-wise . . . " but she does have to go back on Monday for another beta, just to confirm that it is, indeed, below five at that point.

For the sake of comparison, as to how "not hopeful" it is, when I had a chemical pregnancy with my first IUI (That's what this is considered - an embryo implants and makes it far enough to register on a beta, but not far enough to see on ultrasound.) my beta was 14.6 and they told me to continue taking the progesterone suppositories until the second test, just in case. Of course, the second one was negative.

This time, NurseE said not to even bother with continuing Shrike's shots.

Maybe the difference is more about the fact that I already had a bottle of prometrium and it was just a matter of using up a few more of them for what everyone knew was no reason, versus purchasing a very expensive vial of injectible hormones for what everyone knows is no reason.

Or maybe it's just that much more certain that there's nothing going on at this point.

So, yeah, it's official, but not officially official.

Great.

When NurseE first called, I sent her to voicemail because I knew (I thought) what she was going to say. While explaining it all, she said "So, to make an already painful day even more painful. . . ."

Yep.

I called her back later to ask about the shots, and we talked for a little while, and she said all the right things, as much as one can.

She said, When I saw the results, I thought, 'Are you freakin' kidding me?!'" and told me that these "Not quite no, but it's not going to be yes, either" calls are probably even harder for her (and, of course, for the recipients of the calls) than the "I'm sorry, it was negative," calls, because it just prolongs the wait for the inevitable.

So, yeah. That's what it is. It's not going to happen, but she's got to go back (just to our local lab, not the clinic) on Monday to be told again that it's not going to happen.

Nothing Yet

Shrike is now the equivalent of fourteen days post ovulation, and has been peeing on sticks for several days now, to no avail.

Of course, that doesn't mean anything definitive yet, especially given that (so we're told) frozen embryos often implant a bit later than fresh ones, but it's certainly not very encouraging either.

We know there's still a possibility of getting a very nice surprise in the next few days, or even on Thursday, with the beta, but given the lack of action, and the pretty slim chance of success that we started with, we're not expecting that to happen.

(Although I suppose that's why they call it a surprise, isn't it?)

While we've not completely given up hope, and of course, we're still behaving as though she's pregnant, in our hearts of hearts and guts of guts, I think we've both pretty much moved on from hoping for good news to dealing with the bad news.

Which, of course, is not going to make it any easier if/when the bad news becomes official.

I don't know if I've explicitly said this here before, but if this one doesn't work, that's it. We're done. We have no more frozen embryos, nor do we have, oh, twenty thousand or so dollars of good money to throw after (Merck Pharmaceutical's) bad for another fresh cycle.

But we were amazingly lucky to have gotten into the study and even been able to try, and then even luckier to have had frozen embryos available for another try, so we can say that gave it our best shot, and if it doesn't work it's not because we couldn't afford to try, or because The Man was keeping us down, or whatever other "woe is us, it's so unfair" reason, it's just because.

And, most importantly, we already have one pretty damn incredible kid, and at the end of the day, when we're done being sad about this, she is more than we ever thought we could have hoped for, and will be more than enough.

But first, we have to be sad for a while.

Nothing.

Shrike has been pee-testing since Monday (although at least the first couple of days of that were pure folly) and we've seen nothing.

We keep thinking that if we stare at the sticks long enough, maybe something will show up, but alas, no.

And, this afternoon, she had some spotting. During my five unsuccessful IUI cycles, I never had any bleeding until after I'd stopped taking progesterone, so we were surprised to see that, but figure it can't be a good sign.

It's now 14 days post-retrieval, so although I suppose it's not impossible that things could turn out differently, we're not expecting to get any good news from our beta on Thursday.

Of course, Shrike is still following all the pregnant rules, but other than that, we've pretty much written this one of.

We do still have the three Hopsicles on ice, so I've already emailed our contact person at the clinic to let her know that when we go in on Thursday, we want to talk to someone about our options for a frozen transfer, and learn more about how that would work.

We have read that the odds of success with a frozen transfer are actually greater than fresh, because the embryos have been so well "vetted" - only the hardiest make it through the screening process and survive the freezing and thawing - so that's somewhat reassuring, I suppose.

Sigh.

And Then We Went for Ice Cream

Because that's how we roll with our grief around here.

Sad Kitty News

We had to put GirlCat down today.

Yesterday, she wandered out of the laundry room (which is rare) and lay in the living room all day, looking not well at all. As we discussed it, we thought that she'd probably been even more lethargic than usual lately - we both felt like, suddenly, she was much slower to look up and say "hi" when we went into the laundry room, and that we'd even had to go "poke" her a bit to make sure that she responded.

Then, she had some diarrhea (right there in the living room, with no effort to get up and move) and later Shrike saw some blood in it.

When I took her in to the vet, she was making no effort to move around and get comfy in the carrier, or fight with the vet or anything. Her body temperature was 89' (!) and her respiration rate was very slow.

We went ahead and did bloodwork, in hopes of finding something fixable, like an infection, but there was nothing like that, and the vet said that based on what she saw, if she had to put money on it, her best guess would be some sort of bowel cancer.

The only "treatment" she could recommend would be fluids and maybe antibiotics, in hopes of getting her strong enough to maybe survive a biopsy, which would most likely involve opening her up, just to confirm a terminal cancer. All of which, of course, just seemed cruel and pointless, and something that we were not about to put her through.

So, we went ahead and did it then.

Shrike was at work and I had Peeper with me, but she did great. I was wearing her on my back when we went in, so that I'd have my hands free to carry the cage and so that she'd be contained. She picked up a very large Elmo book in the waiting room, and spent the first part of the exam bonking me on the head with it.

At some point when the vet was doing her initial exam, I sort of half-way noticed that Peeper was breathing loudly, but didn't think much of it. Then she dropped the book. The vet tech picked it up and started to hand it back to her, but said, "She's asleep back there!"

What a relief. She stayed asleep during the discussion and through a couple of phone calls to Shrike and until after the decision had been pretty much made, although we were still waiting on the blood work.

When she woke up, I moved her to my front (and figured out that the new carrier is infinitely more comfortable if I criss-cross the straps in back, rather than doing a "rucksack" carry, with them just over my shoulders) and she nursed off and on and got okay with being awake, and stayed there until we were done.

When it was a certainty, I explained - as best I could - to Peeper what was going on.

I told her that "Kitty is very, very, very old and her body's been working for a very, very, very long time and now it's very, very, very tired and very, very, very sick, and it's going to stop working soon. She feels really bad right now and her body hurts. We don't want her to hurt any more, so the kitty doctor is going to give her some very special medicine - different from any other kind of medicine that we take - and it will make it so that she doesn't hurt when her body stops working. Her body is going to stop working because it's all used up, and the doctor is going to give her the special medicine, so it won't hurt any more while her body stops working. Then she's going to stay here, because her body's going to stop working. We're going to tell her bye-bye, and we're going to miss her and we're going to be sad, and that's okay to be sad, because we love her. But she won't hurt any more."

When the vet tech took GirlCat out the start her IV, Peeper, got upset, but I assured her that she'd be back in a few minutes, and then (see above rambling desperate attempt to explain euthenasia to a two-year-old).

When she came back in, they left us alone with her for a while, and we talked to her, and Peeper petted her and kissed and hugged her (with some prompting) and "read" her Elmo book to her, and then the vet came back.

The vet was wonderful, through the whole thing. When I was making the decision, I asked what she would do if it were her cat, and she said that, being a vet and knowing what signs to look for, she'd always actually put hers down before they got this close on their own, which made me feel better about it.

She also asked me a hundred times, if she asked me once, right up until the last moment, whether I needed more time to make the decision, or if I wanted some more time with her before she did it, or if I wanted her to try to get her a couple more days, so Shrike could be with me for it.

I realized this evening, that she always phrased it like that, "Do you need some more time?" and never asked, even at the moment, "Are you ready?"

I really appreciate that, because it's a lot harder to say "No, wait, I'm not ready!" even if you aren't, than it is to say, "Yes, I need more time," or even, "No, go ahead and do it" - as hard as that was.

I think that, as hard as it was, really, once I got past the uncertainty of whether it was really time or if I was giving up on her too soon, my biggest concern was Peeper and how to explain it to her, and how upsetting would it be for her.

The vet had asked me whether I wanted to be with GirlCat when she put her down, or if I wanted her to do it in the back, and as much as I felt that I owed it to her to be there, I did get the vet's promise that it would be "peaceful" before agreeing to allow Peeper to witness it.

And it really was.

When the vet came in, we talked about it a little bit more, and she asked again if I needed more time, and I told her that we were ready, and I petted GirlCat while she gave her two injections in the IV, and then I waited and watched. And didn't even notice when it happened.

Just moments after the second injection, the vet asked me, "Did you feel her stiffen just a bit there?" - I hadn't - "That was the end of it." She listened for a heartbeat and confirmed that she was gone.

I think the vet stepped out again for a while, and I went over it all again with Peeper, and told her that Kitty's body has stopped working now, and she doesn't hurt any more and we're going to leave her here, and so on all over again.

When the tech came in to see if we were ready for her to take her, I told Peeper that we needed to say bye-bye, because we wouldn't see her anymore, and I think she gave her a kiss and I know she waved and said, "Bye-bye."

I was relieved that she didn't say her usual "See-YA!" because I don't think I could've handled that.

I wasn't handling it all that well, as it was, but I think that, in a weird way, as much as I would not have chosen that arrangement, it was sort of helpful to have Peeper with me, because I did have to hold it together at least on some level, and I had to stay calm - crying, of course, but still somewhat in control.

And I am so proud of how she handled everything. Of course, she doesn't understand what happened, but she was so cooperative through the whole thing (once we got past the "I just woke up and I need goody, and they're way on the other side of Mama!" point) especially considering that I was upset and that had to have been upsetting and confusing and frightening for her, and I was so relieved that she accepted it when I told her that we had to tell Kitty bye-bye and she wouldn't be coming home with us, especially after how she reacted when they took her in the back for the IV.

Of course, when you have kids and pets you know you're going to have to deal with this at some point. We'd hoped that it would be much further down the road, but we knew that it probably wouldn't be, just given the kitties' ages.

And I know it will only get harder the next time, and the others, because she'll be older and will understand better what's going on and - and I feel sort of like a jerk saying this - because she's got more of a relationship with the others.

GirlCat spent most of her time in the laundry room, close to her food and litterbox, and Peeper didn't get to interact with her much.

And, honestly, GirlCat spent most of her time in the laundry room and probably hasn't had much quality of life to speak of for a while. I suspect she feels better tonight than she has in years.

At least that's what I have to tell myself.

Rest in Peace, Nikeaux. We love you.

March 28, 1997 - November 24, 2010

Two Shitty Things That It Just Seems Wrong To Discuss In The Same Breath, And Yet How Can I Not?

Yeah, so.

Tomorrow (oops, today) both Shrike's grandma and our BoyCat are having biopsies. To get the details about what we've already been told are cancerous tumors of some sort.

First, and of course, most importantly, Shrike's Grandma:

She is 85 years old, and until this (and other than this) in pretty damn good shape for her age. She and Pappy are very active, and could run any of the rest of us ragged on most days.

A couple of weeks ago, she fell and ended up at the hospital with a broken nose. After some confusion about whether she'd passed out or fallen and knocked herself out, it came out that she'd been having some fainting (or dizzy?) spells that they'd not told anyone about.

Tests determined that her oxygen levels were low (thus the dizziness / fainting) and an xray showed a "node" on her lung. As of when she was discharged after a day or two, the word was that, "She has emphesema and is on oxygen," and after a PET scan the following week, we were told that the node "is cancer" and that it's not in an operable location, and that there's another mass "in the middle of her chest."

The biopsy tomorrow will, I suppose tell us more about exactly what's going on, what treatment options are available and what the prognosis might be.

And BoyCat:

He's 13 years old, and has also been in good shape, other than this. He's a big ol' boy, but "carries it well," or at least, better than poor GirlCat does.

A couple of weeks ago, he was hanging around while Peeper and I were playing in her room (as he often does - he is incredibly tolerant of her) and I was petting him, when I felt something near the base of his tail. I figured it was just a fur mat, because he gets those, so I brushed his fur back to get to it, when I saw some sort of fleshy mass - a big bump, or maybe two bumps, pretty gross looking, so I didn't look for long. I called in Shrike (who'd just gone to bed) and made her look at it, and we decided immediately that he needed to go to the vet.

After some scheduling snafus over the past week and some drama today, with getting him caught and caged (and then with getting Peeper in the carseat), we finally got him here this afternoon.

The vet took a look at it and said, "I don't like this. It needs to come off." When I asked what she thought it might be, she rattled off about three different types of tumors, and I couldn't help but notice that "Or it might be nothing," was conspicuously absent from the list of possibilities.

Of course, the surgery itself has its own risks. Because he's old, she'll want to make sure that his kidney and liver functions are okay before doing anything, and also, "He's a big guy, so there's a risk there." I don't know if she thought it was reassuring when she told us that, "But we'll take precautions, and we'll try to wake him up," but it really wasn't.

So, we're nervous about tomorrow itself, and when that all goes okay, we'll still have to worry for anywhere from a couple of days to a week until we get the pathology report, because we actually don't really know much of anything at this point.

I told Shrike that I really feel like a shit for even spending energy stressing about the cat when her Grandma is in such a similar situation, let alone for angsting about it to her, but she said that, in a strange way, worrying about him is kind of keeping her mind off worrying Grandma.

Of course, I have lots of other things to feel like a shit about in this situation.

Like how, every time I go in the laundry room, a tiny part of me kind of looks forward to how much less gross it will be in there some day when we are, sadly, catless.

Or how I am just so surprised that if something was going to happen to a cat, that it's him and not GirlCat.

Every time she goes to the vet, I expect to get some kind of dire news, and to be honest, it would on some level, be a blessing for her, because she really doesn't have much quality of life, since she doesn't get around well enough to do much beyond hang out in the laundry room near her food and litterbox.

And then, I have to feel guilty all over again about her being in that shape, and how maybe if we'd been more disciplined about her diet, she wouldn't be. And furthermore, that when she's in a laundry room phase (that comes and goes; sometimes she hangs out in a more people-centric area for a few weeks) we really don't interact with her at all, other than putting out food and saying "Hi" when we are doing laundry.

And then, I think about the fact that if she's our only cat, we barely even have a cat. I mean, we're feeding and cleaning up after a cat, but we're not really having a relationship with a cat.

And Peeper has absolutely no relationship with her, other than to point over the barrier at the laundry room doorway, and say "yeow yeow!"

Which brings me back around to BoyCat, and how much Peeper loves him, and how great he is with her. She was so worried about him when we caged him today, and she wanted him to sit by her in the car, and she sat on the exam table with him the whole time, except when the vet was actually messing with the, well, the tumor, and while we were waiting to find out if they could get him in for surgery tomorrow, she petted him, and hugged him and kissed him and talked to him the whole time.

I don't know if she was intentionally comforting him, or just taking advantage of the fact that he was there and wasn't going anywhere, but it sure was sweet.

So how the fuck do we explain it to her, if she's going to lose her kitty cat?

Or much worse?

Jessica's Story: Please Help

Jessica's mom, D, is channelling her grief into action, fighting for universal healthcare. She is ready and willing to do all she can to make sure this doesn't happen to someone else, and is hoping to have an opportunity to testify before Congress.

She's asked us to spread Jessica's story and, specifically, to pass it on to anyone who is working politically for healthcare reform.

In case you didn't see it, here's LadyKay's comment from my earlier post:

Thank you for posting this. Please, anyone and everyone, please pass this story along. If anyone wants more information on this just ask, Whozat can pass on my email. J's mother okayed giving out her real name and it is being included as the story is passing around the Internet, but Whozat decided against listing it to avoid bringing her blog up everytime someone googled the name. Thank you all.

In addition to posting Jessica's story here, I've emailed it to several people - include some who are working on healthcare reform both nationally and here in BlueState - and have also posted it on Facebook and Twitter.

Below are links to some local coverage.In these links, you will see her full name. You may use it when forwarding or reposting the story.

An interview that D did with a TV station in Houston

An op-ed that D wrote (she is a reporter at a local newspaper) last week

Jessica's obituary, from the same paper

Please feel free to link to these stories, as well as to my post about LadyKay's letter.

If you Tweet about this, please use the hashtags #jessica'sstory and #healthcare (first, follow @hashtags, so your hashtags are tracked).

Why We Need Universal Healthcare: J's Story

Last week, when I asked for your mojo, one of the intended recipients was J, the 21 year-old-daughter of LadyKay's friend, D.

Below is an email that I received from LadyKay this morning. Please help her to tell J's story.

---

I've never sent out something like this before, but I feel that I must. A dear friend's daughter died a few days ago. When I returned home from the funeral I was unable to focus on any of the things that I needed to do until I put down these words. I believe J's story should be told. Please share it with anyone that you will.

- LadyKay

---

I went to a funeral today. A funeral for a beautiful, vivacious 21 year old young woman. A funeral that shouldn’t have happened.

J had gallstones. Gallstones. Simple to fix, right? A fairly minor surgical procedure these days. In and out in just a few hours. Right? What could be the problem?

Even simple medical concerns can turn disastrous for those without health insurance. Over 45 million people in the United States are uninsured. Young adults transitioning from their parents care to independence often fall in this category. Most health insurance is tied to employment and joblessness on the rise.... That, however, is not what this story is about.

J was employed. She had health insurance. So, as her gallstone problem developed she sought treatment and surgery was recommended. However, what she didn’t have was $5000. This is what was required to be paid upfront to cover her deductible and co-pay before she could have surgery. J tried several hospitals, trying to work out a payment plan, but none was willing to work with her. As her pain increased she ended up in the emergency room on several occasions, only to be sent home with nothing but pain medication.

As the months went by J grew sicker and sicker and working became more difficult. Finally, she lost the job that she loved and the insurance that she so desperately needed, because she missed work too often. One evening a few weeks ago, in tremendous pain, she went to the emergency room one more time. This time she was sick enough that the hospital admitted her, even with no insurance.

By morning J was in ICU, fighting for her life. She had developed pancreatitis and sepsis. Her kidneys had failed and her liver was starting to also. As her body shut down the doctors and nurses worked desperately to save J as her family and friends waited and prayed. On a ventilator and dialysis, in and out of consciousness, J fought for three weeks to cling to the life that she loved. A few days ago she lost the battle.

During the time that she was in the ICU, now unemployed, uninsured, and gravely disabled, J qualified for Medicaid; thankfully, because her hospital bill rose to over $400,000. For want of a co-pay, for want of a payment plan, for want of $5000, J’s final weeks were spent in agony to the tune of almost half a million dollars, and her war was lost. The life that was before her, her future was lost. The love she had to give, the children she will never have, the potential unmet, an entire lifetime yet unknown, all were lost.

I feel sad and I feel angry; because I went to a funeral today. A funeral that shouldn’t have happened.

J, August 4, 1987-June 13, 2009

Sad News

I've been putting off blogging about this, because I just didn't know how, but I guess I have to. 

On Friday, BabyBro and HisLovelyWife went to an OB appointment (ten weeks) and were unable to see the heartbeat on ultrasound. 

We are, of course, devastated.

Please keep them in your thoughts. 

Car Woes

It's Election Day in Blue State, so I played hooky to spend some time working at the polls, making phone calls, and the such.

I spent about an hour outside one of our busier polling place this morning, then came home for a break.

I'd planned to head back out for the "lunch rush" but while I was home, we got a phone call from the mechanic who's working on my car. It was not good news.

It seems that, rather than a leaking head gasket, I actually have a cracked head.

That is, my car has a cracked head.

Which I need like, well, a cracked head.

Mind you, I really don't know what any of this means until he boils it down to dollars and cents.

The answer: Lots and lots of dollars. And a few cents.

The gasket was going to be about $500 to fix.

To replace the head will be more like, well, here's how the conversation went:

Mechanic: "parts . . . labor . . . oil change . . . tax . . . I'm at around $1300 now. And, you know, your windshield is cracked."

Whozat: "Yeah. It's not going to pass inspection (in February) like that, is it?"

Mechanic: "Nope."

Whozat: "How much for that?"

Mechanic: "Another 2, 3 hundred. And I see at least one tire that probably needs to be replaced."

Whozat: "This is not $1500 car, is it?"

Mechanic: "Not really."

Soooooo, I blew off the lunch shift at the polls (it wasn't assigned or anything, I was just taking it upon myself to go above and beyond) and joined Shrike on her dog walk, so we could talk about the whole car situation.

The one thing we're certain of is that we're not going to put $1500 into a car that the Kelley Blue Book says would be worth about $900 if it were in excellent condition.

Which it totally is not.

Even in "good" condition (which is questionable, even after the repair), it might be worth about $500.

In its current condition . . .

Well, surely we could get at least that much for it, just for scrap, right?

If we don't replace the head, and just put it all back together and put some "stop leak" in it, there's no way to know how long it will hold out before it leaks water into the oil or who into the whatnow and something that sounds like it's probably a bad thing happens, resulting in a sudden lack of go.

Mechanic: "I can't tell you if it'll give you another 1000 miles, or 5000 or 100,000 . . . ."

Whozat: "Or 100?"

Mechanic: "Right."

I don't know if continuing to drive it with the leak would just mean that it's going to stop at some point, or if it could lead to something catastrophic happening to the engine, but I'm thinking that wouldn't really put it in much worse shape that it is now, in terms of trade-in value.

And, I have a cell phone and AAA and travel mostly on the interstate, so I'm not really worried about being "stranded somewhere" if it suddenly decides that it doesn't want to start. Or wants to stop.

(To be safe, I can toss a couple of -40°-rated sleeping bags in the back til spring. If it lasts that long.)

The upside is that if it poops out on us before we're ready to buy a new one, we actually do have a third vehicle. A couple of years ago, we bought a very used small pick-up truck from Shrike's dad.

Mostly it sits in the driveway, but we use it for hauling things occassionally (she's used it a lot lately to get lots and lots and lots of mulch and compost for the yard) and if we're down a car, it will get someone to work and back.

(Usually Shrike, because I work farther away, so I get to take the good car. Also, I think she likes it.)

I'm not real keen on the truck being one of our main vehicles, but it is an option, to buy us some time.

So, we'd decided to just blow off the repair and hope it lasts a while longer, at least til we have some clue how much more money we're going to be spending on Project Baby. (More on that in a moment.)

I called the mechanic back and told him not to fix it, just put it back together. That's when he pointed out that "putting it back together" would, basically, be the originally-planned $500 replacement of the gasket.

Oh.

So, while the decision to not put $1500 into it was a no-brainer, now we're trying to decide whether to put $500 into it.

It occurred to me (after the garage had closed for the evening) that they've probably already earned a good bit of the that $500, though, for the time they've spent diagnosing it, then tearing it apart.

So, now I have to call them and find out how much we'd owe if we were to just stop right now, and have it towed away. And then we'll decide whether:

a> it's worth the difference between that and $500, or

b> if we can find someone to buy it from us for more than that amount if
we just pay them to get it back and then sell it, or

c> if the mechanic wants to "buy" it from us for that amount, and just
call it even (as our transmission guy did with Shrike's last car, because we
owed him for a bunch of pointless work)

Shrike's "gear-head" buddy at work has advised us to go "all or nothing," either suck it up and fix it right, or cut our losses and get a new one.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I think that, whether we fix it or ditch it, we'll probably hold off as long as we can on buying a new ("new to us," of course, not actually "new-new") one.

I would sure feel better about doing that if I were already pregnant, and we didn't have that big financial (and everything else) question hanging over us.

On the other hand, would it be smarter to go ahead and buy one in December, when the dealers are trying to unload their inventory?

Earlier today, I was bemoaning the fact that, although I know a lot of people through my political dealings, unfortunately, none of them are used car salesmen.

Shrike said, "That's because they have no souls. So they're Republicans."

Sigh.

Nurse E called this afternoon to confirm that my beta was, indeed, negative.

Which, of course, I already knew.

No sense repeating myself, so just see this post.

And this one.

And this one.

No News is . . . Well, Kind of Crappy News, Actually

If you're following along in the sidebar (and, really, who isn't?) you'll have noticed that I've seen negative pee sticks yesterday and today.

As Shrike keeps reminding me, it's not definite until we do the beta on Monday, but at 12/13 days post-IUI, it's really not a good sign.

I'll keep testing until Monday, and will keep hoping for a second line to appear, but I'm certainly not expecting it.

Hell, I wasn't expecting it yesterday or today, either.

I know I don't have a lot of right to whine yet, on just our fourth attempt but, you know, it's really getting kind of old. Already.

It's my understanding that what we're doing is as aggressive as we can go, short of IVF, which is a bit frustrating, because I feel like we should do something more or at least something different next time to increase our odds.

The problem is, I'm 39 years old (39.5 by the next time I ovulate) and we're using frozen sperm, and there's only so good the odds are going to get.

We get four more attempts at IUI, then we have to give up or move on to IVF.

No word yet on Shrike's bloodwork, or on when we can expect a decision from the shared risk committee on whether they'll accept us to use Shrike's (38.5 y/o) eggs.

Even if they do - or if they don't , and we try IVF with anonmyous (young) donor eggs, under the shared risk program - there's still the matter of coming up with the money.

Did I mention the money?

Using donor eggs (known or anonmyous) the shared risk cost is about $30,000.

No, I didn't type any extra zeros.

30-fucking-thousand dollars.

That gets you six attempts (plus transfers of any frozen embryos left after those six) and you get a live baby, or your money back.

Which is great, in that if it doesn't work, you're not out the money.

But if it does - $30,000 of debt. And a new baby.

Holy shit.

We have about $40,000 of equity in our home, so that would be our best bet for coming up with that kind of money, but we'd have to do some serious figuring, as to how we'd manage the payments.

Of course, even if we don't have to go that route, we've still got plenty of other money issues to fret about.

I do feel a bit better, though, since I realized that Shrike has an "extra" paycheck this month.

(A few months ago, we started pretending that she gets paid twice a money, rather than every two weeks.)

That means that we now have almost enough in savings for two more cycles (clomid, FSH, HCG trigger, 2 ultrasounds, 2 IUIs and 2 vials of sperm).

Oh, wait a minute - we have enough minus the $500+ that we're going to spend next week on replacing the head gasket in my car.

(Whatever the fuck that is. Our mechanic seems to think it's important, though.)

Over those two months, we'll put a bit more into the savings account, but not enough for a 3rd (7th) cycle, so I'm not sure what happens at that point.

(So, if anyone's wondering what to get us for Christmas . . . .)

And then - then - I start worrying about how we're going to manage once we actually finally do have a baby.

There's not a ot of extra money lying around for baby expenses including childcare for about 30 hours a week, when our work schedules overlap.

I'd really, really, really love to be able to work from home, but we're not sure how to mangage that.

I might be able to get some work from OldJob, but it would have to be enough to cover the mortgage, plus health insurance. That might be a stretch.

(Shrike will be able to insure the kid, so that's good. Cue righteous anger at the fact that Shrike can't insure me.)

But, I guess we have time to figure that part out.

Something more than nine months, evidently.

Damn it.