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20 February 2008
Thanks, everyone, for the good wishes for Dar. She's sound asleep, still waiting for the sedatives to work their way out of her system. The procedures didn't go as planned; they only managed to get the colonoscopy done. Once again they couldn't insert the endoscope, and once again they seriously under-sedated her. The good news is that colonoscopy found nothing wrong - no bleeds, no tumors, no polyps. Yay for that :)
From what I could gather, her surgeon is not going to give up and is working on another plan, because really . . . she has a freaking bleeding ulcer. Someone has to do something now. The ward nurses were spectacularly unhelpful about what happened during the procedure and what the follow-up plans were, and I finally just went into the doctor's chart to find out why they stopped the endoscopy. I also had to badger them to let Dar go to the bathroom and to get the results of the colonoscopy. Grrrrr. They weren't incompetent, just uninvolved.
Then there was melodrama about getting to the hospital and back. It ended up with Mark dropping us off and Q picking us up, neither of which was the original plan. Blame this fucking winter.
Q is still sick and Dar is drugged out of her little mind, so I ended up doing the animals evening feeding. Things were going swimmingly until I tried to get the damn water canisters open. The combination of freezing hands and weak muscles meant that I couldn't open the caps on the canisters to fill the damn things. Fortunately I'd brought one canister that had already been filled, so I could top off the alpacas water buckets. For poor Jester, though, I had to use his food bucket to haul his water from the pump, which meant his water was full of alfalfa bits and other grains. It's just for one night, and the bits should sink to the bottom, right?
Then there was a full evening of cat wrangling to contend with. I love the kitties, but sometimes it gets tiring. We let the adults work it out among themselves, but we still have to keep a close eye on the baby girls. Poor Little isn't really responsible for her actions anymore. She's showing signs of having some kind of brain involvement in whatever is making her ill. I thought it might be an infection; Dar thinks she's had a stroke. We all know what has to be done, but this is Dar's Little Cat, very dear to her.
Depressing, eh. I'm bone tired and coming down with something. Those two things do not mix well together. And I missed Jericho last night. And between the steroids and the forced inactivity I've gained so much weight back that none of my pants fit me anymore. And I can't afford to buy new ones, and it kills me to have to do that anyway. This shouldn't matter. I keep telling myself that it shouldn't matter. Sadly, it does. I hope to come to terms soon, because it's only going to get worse - for a while anyway.
I really do apologize for being so out of sorts. I just need to shut it down and go to bed.
And so I shall.
From what I could gather, her surgeon is not going to give up and is working on another plan, because really . . . she has a freaking bleeding ulcer. Someone has to do something now. The ward nurses were spectacularly unhelpful about what happened during the procedure and what the follow-up plans were, and I finally just went into the doctor's chart to find out why they stopped the endoscopy. I also had to badger them to let Dar go to the bathroom and to get the results of the colonoscopy. Grrrrr. They weren't incompetent, just uninvolved.
Then there was melodrama about getting to the hospital and back. It ended up with Mark dropping us off and Q picking us up, neither of which was the original plan. Blame this fucking winter.
Q is still sick and Dar is drugged out of her little mind, so I ended up doing the animals evening feeding. Things were going swimmingly until I tried to get the damn water canisters open. The combination of freezing hands and weak muscles meant that I couldn't open the caps on the canisters to fill the damn things. Fortunately I'd brought one canister that had already been filled, so I could top off the alpacas water buckets. For poor Jester, though, I had to use his food bucket to haul his water from the pump, which meant his water was full of alfalfa bits and other grains. It's just for one night, and the bits should sink to the bottom, right?
Then there was a full evening of cat wrangling to contend with. I love the kitties, but sometimes it gets tiring. We let the adults work it out among themselves, but we still have to keep a close eye on the baby girls. Poor Little isn't really responsible for her actions anymore. She's showing signs of having some kind of brain involvement in whatever is making her ill. I thought it might be an infection; Dar thinks she's had a stroke. We all know what has to be done, but this is Dar's Little Cat, very dear to her.
Depressing, eh. I'm bone tired and coming down with something. Those two things do not mix well together. And I missed Jericho last night. And between the steroids and the forced inactivity I've gained so much weight back that none of my pants fit me anymore. And I can't afford to buy new ones, and it kills me to have to do that anyway. This shouldn't matter. I keep telling myself that it shouldn't matter. Sadly, it does. I hope to come to terms soon, because it's only going to get worse - for a while anyway.
I really do apologize for being so out of sorts. I just need to shut it down and go to bed.
And so I shall.
