McNulty, my sweet little (okay, not so little anymore) kitten that I adopted purely as a measure to bring new life and joy into my dismal barren life, is very sick. He had his neuter surgery on Monday, and seemed like he was recovering fairly well yesterday. But this morning he seemed to have trouble breathing, was lethargic, and wouldn’t eat. This afternoon J took him to the vet. He just called. It’s very serious. Either McNulty has pneumonia or a heart defect.
J and I suspect it’s a heart defect. He’s always seemed a bit wheezy when we hold him on his back, and he doesn’t have a fever indicating an infection. I don’t know if he’ll even survive this. If he does, it’ll involve daily medication for the rest of his life. I don’t know if I’m up for that. I don’t know if I’m willing to bond even more with a pet that’s going to have a shaky life, and could die on me at any moment. And I’m sure this is costing me a fortune right now.
I’ve stopped crying, because I finally took a xanax. Luckily, no one at work is going to notice, because I’ve been so fucking sick for the past three days that my eyes and nose were already red and swollen, and my lips were already pink and puffy (and not in an attractive way, I assure you). Basically, ever since Sunday I’ve been coughing. Pretty much constantly. My throat is so raw it hurts to breathe. Last night and today the congestion kicked in on top of it.
And the miscarriage has yet to start, even though my beta was down to 6 on Monday. Why won’t it just fucking START already? While I’m already miserable. While I’m already incapable of functioning. But no, it has to wait. Wait until I’ve blown a sick day on the cold (stayed home Monday, but have been here at work yesterday and today), which I was hoping to save for the miscarriage. Wait until I’ve given in and cancelled all plans for the next week in anticipation of The Bleed. And now it’s waiting until I get news that my new there-is-still-hope kitten might die.
In 2007 I had two miscarriages, major surgery, and my 12-year-old cat died. I was kind of counting on 2008 to go better. But it’s less than half over and I’ve already got one negative beta, one miscarriage, a second mortgage if I want to keep trying to have a child, and now maybe another dead cat. I mean, seriously, how much more of this shit can one person take?