March 20, 2017

Awful Times, So Back to Writing

I'm deeply sorry to have been out of touch for so long. Life has been terrible for the most part, for Sasha and for me. Something is obviously wrong with Sasha -- but after spending over $500 on a battery of tests, the vet still doesn't know exactly what it is. It's "one of the most puzzling cases" he's ever seen. Christ. It makes me want to scream, or go to another vet, which I now can't afford. And even if the cause were to be finally identified, it's very doubtful that I could afford the treatment, whatever might be indicated. I try to keep the searing feelings of guilt at least slightly at bay; usually, I fail.

So now, it's just a waiting game. Sometimes, Sasha will seem sort of okay for several days, eating well and being a bit like her old, perky self. Other times (like the last several days), Sasha barely eats anything at all. I give her lots of love, and she continues to purr very loudly when she's curled up in my lap. So she doesn't seem to be suffering too awfully (although I often wonder how accurately we're able to determine that), so I'll continue to give her all the care and love I can, and hope for the best. At this point, she always has at least three food dishes to choose from; I keep hoping that something will taste good to her. Sometimes it works! More often, it doesn't. (Someday, when I'm not this upset and in so much pain about all this, I'll explain more about what's been going on with Sasha. For now, it hurts too much to write about it in more detail.)

My own health is terrible, as well. But I still haven't called 911. Regular readers will recall that my last hospital visit was absolutely dreadful. It was so nightmarish that I simply won't call 911 until the direst of emergencies is at hand. I will call then, but that eventuality has yet to arrive. One small mercy, maybe not so small.

Bless every one of you who donated to help Sasha and me. I've written to some people already to thank them for their help, and I plan to write to everyone who has donated in the last few months. If you haven't heard from me yet individually, please give me some more time. I'll be writing more thank-you notes this week and next.

So I think the time has come to get back to writing. If I don't, I will certainly lose what little is left of my mind. It appears I will have to start with some observations about life in the Age of Trump. I continue to find certain aspects of the reactions to Trump altogether fascinating. It turns out that some people who might have been regarded as "radical" aren't all that radical after all. What a surprise! (/sarcasm) I've been floored to observe that some "radicals" even express a hesitant, barely confessed longing for a Hillary Clinton presidency. Many people prefer their Murderers-in-Chief to behave properly, doncha know. Trump's boorishness and overall persona offend them, apparently in ways that Clinton does not. Amazing. More about all that in a few days.

And I truly loathe having to mention this, but, yes, I'm perilously close to broke again. Between the vet, buying endless varieties of cat food, and the other bare necessities of my life these days, the donations people made so generously and wonderfully are almost gone. I'm down to my last $200, and that's on the sole credit card I use to buy food. I have a grand total of $30 in cash in my wallet. It would be a tremendous relief to receive just a few donations this week, so Sasha and I can continue to eat (if only she will want to, please God), although I will certainly understand if some people prefer to wait to see if I actually come through with some writing. I assure you that I will; the only alternative is to get ready to die myself, and I'm not quite prepared for that.

So I'll be back in a day or two, with thoughts about ... well, I'll see. Lots to choose from. Please allow me to offer my deepest gratitude once more to those of you who have been so gloriously kind. Sasha and I are always mindful of your great good hearts, for whatever time we have left.

(I realize that last bit sounds as if death sits over this home, like a bird of prey waiting for its victim to weaken sufficiently so as to be seized. I do feel like that much of the time, which is one reason, a major one, why I now need the writing so badly. So to work! Death will have to wait for another day.)