Happy-ish Squooshgiving

It's one month since Mom died, and I don't feel a bit better. Just in case anyone is keeping track.

Squoosh has a vet appointment today, and I can't tell if this lump has shrunk, which I guess means it hasn't.

I can't sleep much anymore, and I am depressed. And This Guy, who can't be bothered to offer support or anything on my Facebook wall (not that I care, but my point is...), has to make a big deal about my posting something about having a procedure and how I didn't tell him, as if he's my fucking HMO or something. And I *had* told him, he was just too busy rambling on about himself to listen. As usual. And what really enraged me was that he couldn't even be bothered to spell check, he just dashed off this 'I'm raging' post. And then he leaves a voicemail message with this harsh 'call me' shit because, as is clear, he is so worried over my health (that was sarcasm; this seems to me to be a control thing, and no-one controls me). I just figured that I'd kill multiple birds with one stone, and I posted on fbk that it was a colonoscopy (true -- as Mom was being murdered, I cropped up with every physical malady you can think of, including passing blood and constant diarrhoea, even when I'd skip eating for two days, so what the fuck I was crapping out at that point is anyone's guess, but my dr wanted a colorectal surgeon to look at me, and he, in turn, wanted a colonoscopy). Then, after I posted that (why he couldn't have texted, I *still* don't know; I should have told him it was an abortion, haha; I'm so off my game right now), he THEN starts posting about how great I am, and all this other shite, as if I believe it at this point.

Well, I say 'all this other shite', but it was really only two posts. He has never gone on about how great I am. So whatever.

In addition to writing my ass off (dissertation, articles), I am job hunting for university positions, which means I move, and I guess this situation with This Guy will resolve itself then, if not before.

And yes, I did try talking to him about how addressing me that way, especially on my wall when he has my fucking phone number, is not acceptable. I got one email from my cousin with a 'who is This Guy?' in it, and I told her, truthfully, he's no one. He's in the penalty box, and may not emerge from it in this lifetime.

So my colonoscopy probably went okay, I don't know for sure cos I left. The surgeon lied to me; I'd told him I didn't want to deal with the hospital system that killed my mom, and he told me he had an outpatient surgery centre 'around the corner' from his main office, and stupid me didn't realise it was another branch of this same hospital system until I showed up that morning. They were hideous, they fucked up my IV, and I had shooting pain up my arm, and when they gave me the anaesthesia, it felt like my wrist was being pulled apart. When I came to, it was probably closer to that scene in Resident Evil where Alice wakes up and everyone is gone. I pulled my shit (freezing to death and cramping like hell) out from under the bed, and took two tramadol (pills and diet coke in my Bag of Holding, tyvm), got dressed (only falling twice), texted Harry to go get the car, and unhooked myself from everything. I have a blood bruise the size of a small ant hill on my hand. The nurse assigned to me tried to tell me Harry wasn't in the waiting room so I couldn't leave yet, and I pulled this thing I used to do in high school (my friends used to call it my jedi mind trick, and it still fucking works...go figure) -- I looked at her very seriously and said 'he's in the gift shop; go get him'...and she fucking did it -- she literally fucking left the recovery room and (I assume) went to the gift shop, looking for someone who she couldn't pick out of a crowd to save her soul. I have never understood how that works; you have someone who has been under sedation for thirty minutes, and could have no earthly way to know where their ride is, but when they order you to march to the moon, you do. Fucking ridiculous.

Word of warning: the issuing orders thing only works on certain types, so have a back-up plan ready, and you have to say whatever it is like it's a certainty, so have your Mommy Voice ready.

Anyway, my addled nurse had two smarter cohorts in the room, and as soon as she left, I was dressed and unhooked in seconds and walking out. Then they came running over with the 'you can't do that, sit down, I'm phoning Security, blah, blah, blah...' I told them to ban me for life, and walked out (okay, stumbled and staggered out). I just followed the exit signs, cos I had no idea where I was, and thankfully I chose right and exited just as Harry was pulling up.

I had told him that he had better be ready to get me the fuck out of there (the only reason I didn't cancel once I saw where it was being held was in case there *is* something wrong), and he did, so despite the fact that I was in total misery, I stopped at the store with him and bought a turkey and some stuff for Thursday for him and Cindy. Then I went home and took more pills and more or less went to sleep. I had a bunch of dreams that weren't nightmares, so that's a first, and Mom's cat Sweetie slept with me. We're sleep buddies now.

Sweetie's cute, in a big dumb tank kind of way. She's taken one of my fake Halloween spiders (about as big as a child's hand) and put it in a place I've named Spider Training Ground Alpha, where she attacks it from all different scenario angles, royally kicks its ass, and is really happy each day when I put the spider back into starting position (under the broom, facing outwards) at Spider Training Ground Alpha. The damned spider has scared the piss out of me more than once when Sweetie has beaten it all the way into the foyer, the kitchen, the hall, etc... She's cute. I think she is really in training for the upcoming spider apocalypse. Maybe cats worry about that the way we worry about zombies.

Sigh...I'm playing Words With Friends with This Guy, and I just got the push message that he played his turn, which means he's fucking off at work, but also means he's poking me to see if I'm talking to him yet (I yelled at him on the phone last night). I'm not going to text or respond, though. I AM still angry at him, and not just for the colonoscopy thing. Last night I yelled cos he wants me to spend Thanksgiving with him, and I said no. So he asked *again* last night, and I said no...again. So then he asked AGAIN, and I told him that, in case he'd forgotten, one month ago today, my mother, who was batshit crazy, but I loved with all my heart, died right in front of my eyes, with me unable to do anything to save her. So I DON'T feel like hanging out with anyone, or doing anything, on the first Thanksgiving that I won't have Mummers. Every year -- EVERY year -- I, or Meg and I, would come up with something special to do for her for Thanksgiving. Sure, we enjoyed it as well, but we did it for her -- and I heard her more than once talking about 'the girls took me here, the girls took me there', and how nice it was, and so on (this despite the fact that, most of the time she was a raging pain in the ass *during* the actual event).

And honest to god right now, I'm thinking about it, and my heart hurts and I'm actually having this palpitation/flutter thing. Oh, and I'm crying. I want my mommy back. I would give anything to have one more Thanksgiving with her where I kill myself to get a table at some spectacular event, she complains about everything, and then talks about how nice it was the next day. I sound like I am being sarcastic, but I am not. I miss my mom. There is nobody in the world like her, and nothing to even remotely take her place; even her sisters aren't exactly the same flavour of batshit crazy. My life is so empty right now.

I know...I had said that I wouldn't keep posting about Mom. I lied. Deal.

Butsoanyway, so on the phone with This Guy, I finally got harsh because he wasn't listening. Then he started in with some 'I know you are angry with me right now...' shit, and I cut him off and told him that everything in the world wasn't 'him, him, him', and while I hoped he had a good night and pleasant day tomorrow, I did not wish to stay on the phone with him any longer at that time. I didn't hang up on him (I hate people who hang up on others; it is completely immature, and someone has to REALLY enrage me before I would hang up on them and even then, I will attempt to gain acknowledgement that I am disconnecting), but I did terminate the call after he got in the 'goodnight' stuff, and I did respond in kind -- I mean, I wasn't rude about it, I just wanted off the damned line with a fool who personalises everything and does not hold first in his mind what I am going through. And I am not saying that everything has to be 'me, me, me', but I do believe that I am entitled to some leeway at the present time in consideration of all my circumstances -- my mom, Squoosh, my finances, my brother, my school...everything. So when I say that I don't want to do anything, I fucking MEAN it. And I don't need to explain this to him, but if I do anything, it will be with Meg. Maybe my father. And I am not going to get into the discussion of whether or why he is not invited to be with me in whatever I am doing -- now is not the time; he is not family, he is only on the verge of becoming a close friend (and might not make it), he is not mourning my mother (other than in how it affects me), he had not yet *met* my mother...so no. Circumstance has him outside the Circle of Family at this time. Maybe next year. And above all, I do not want him assuming that I am doing any kind of formal 'meet the parents' (the ones I have left, that is) thing, which would be totally inappropriate right now. So I had to shut him the fuck down on that one. I'll have to do it again with Xmas, I just know it. And he knows and understands *nothing* about Jews (or the other non-White American Xtian Honkey from Germany influences in my life), and even though I am not religious, there are huge parts of Jewish culture with which I am just more comfortable; I have gotten more solace regarding bereavement from the Jewish writers I read online than the Christian stuff about 'baby Jesus loves you'. And even when some of the less-secular do start talking Hashem, I frame it in a non-anthropomorphised GAOTU sense, and I'm okay with that.

Yeah, on my father's side, they're all Masons, too (there are a bunch on Mom's side, and she was Eastern Star like decades ago, but on my father's side they all kept the Jewish quiet and became Masons (remember the generation we're talking about here -- my father just turned eighty). I was even a Jobie, though that was some time ago. I forget at the moment what their pedigrees are, but I *think* it's Blue Lodge and Scottish Rite. It's immaterial now; all my grandfathers are dead, and my father has invented his own religion -- Omarianism, followers of Omar Khayyam. But just like in my home growing up I could have a glass of wine or a shot of whisky whenever I wished (both my parents were raised that way as well, and it makes for an adult who doesn't worship drink, I can tell you from experience), but I was allowed to read anything. Literally. If I could get my paws on it, there was no restriction. So I did read my father and grandfathers' Masonic stuff...growing up, I read everything from Hop on Pop to The Happy Hooker, including the bible. Three times. So I am not just being patronising when I am relating Hashem to GAOTU -- if I were assured tomorrow that there is a Supreme Being and had to guess which one, I'd probably pick GAOTU. But I don't want to get into any religious debates, and it's almost time for Squoosh's vet app't. These days, all of the Masonic stuff is online, where growing up, it was all in these big old interesting-looking black tomes that piqued my interest. I'm just nosy like that.

Butsoanyway, I guess I am going to have to finish later. Sorry for the super-long post. And sorry about still talking about Mom. And sorry for rambling, I am sure there's several half-finished ideas up there. Hugs and ttyl.

Okay: this didn't send, so I'll add the good news. Yes, GOOD news!!! Squoosh only has an abscess. This replacement vet (Dr Superhero was bitten by some kind of poisonous spider almost a year ago, and has his sixth surgery to try to fix it today) I'll call Dr H, and he is a nice 'Old South' kind of man who has to be at *least* seventy-something. He wanted to shave Squoosh, to look for puncture marks or a scratch, cos he said fibrosarcomae are very rare, and in all his years, he's only ever seen two on a cat. Squoosh refused to be shaved, so Dr H had me hold him while he felt Squoosh's lump. He said it seems smaller than what was recorded last week, and he could separate the lump from the muscle in all places, so he said that can't be a fibrosarcoma. Plus, and this was cute, as he was pulling Squoosh's skin up to feel that the lump was nowhere a part of the muscle (he explained that a fibrosarcoma becomes part of the muscle, basically), he said, 'look -- look -- this pains him, and cancer don't pain a cat, not this early on; this here's an infection in his skin'. At that point, the only thing missing from the Old Country Vet image was a tech sitting out on the porch, playing the fiddle. So he explained that he'd not do a biopsy just yet, instead he changed Squoosh to a stronger antibiotic for skin (Keflex -- Cephalexin, I think), and explained that probably Squoosh got bacteria into the under part of his skin, through another cat swatting him, a scratch, or maybe even the vaccination (he pointed out that since we don't swab an animal's skin like a human, the needle can push anything under into the skin), and now it's an abscess, but it's very localised. So Squoosh is now on Cephalexin or whatever, and Dr H wants me to phone early Saturday morning if the abscess is all gone to tell him so, or come in early Saturday if there's still some lump left, so he can decide if we need to remove the abscess surgically. But he assures me that the odds of it being a cancer are slim to none because after a week on Clindamycin and prednisone, it's not as big or hard as what they'd recorded last Wednesday, plus it obviously hurts. I'd expected to do the biopsy today, but Dr H was against opening up the cat if we don't have to (his words, lol). So...thank god, GAOTU, Mom, or whomever. I still have a Squooshable.


Okay. Now I am going to take something for this headache that is my life.


- Posted using SomeBlogApp that I don't know how to use. o_O