Stacy Horn

Well, I just had a completely different conversation with the vet. Buddy is not eating and I called to make sure there wasn’t something else I could give him to make him eat and the vet said when he opened him up he found lymph nodes the size of ping pong balls. He didn’t tell me that before. In this conversation he was definitely preparing me for the worst. Like, even if he has lymphoma it might not be treatable.

I bought tuna and butter to try to feed him, but I’m going to leave him alone for the night and try in the morning. He wouldn’t eat babyfood just now, which I had warmed in the microwave, and he just went to hide in the kitchen cabinet. I know what hiding is about. Although I will give him his antibiotic and painkiller a little later.

I used to think of myself as strong but I don’t think so anymore. I know so. This is Buddy when I got him. I didn’t have a camera in those days. I took this with a disposable camera, so it’s not a great shot.

The vet didn’t think Buddy was in good enough shape to come home last night. I was upset but it was probably for the best. I got a good night sleep, Finney had me all to himself for a night.

I called this morning and the vet said Buddy looked good but he doesn’t want to move around, except he said that was understandable. My poor little baby. I’m a little afraid I’m going to be freaked when I see him.

For the millionth time, I hate that you can’t explain things to them. I hate that I can’t tell him why we’re doing what we’re doing to him. I’m making him a box-cave by the radiator. It’s a place to hide where it’s warm. Sigh.

Anyway. What else is going on with me? I sent the third draft of my book proposal to my agent. She’s showing it to a fellow agent for feedback. That’s scary, but the fellow agent is smart, and she likes my work so her feedback will be valuable (even if it does me yet more work on my part). God I hope I get to write this book.

It was snowing out this morning. I took this picture right before it stopped.

I dropped Buddy off at the vet at 8am for his biopsy, which means abdominal surgery, a big deal in itself just to find out what’s wrong with him. My poor little guy. They’ll call me this afternoon. If he’s not too drugged out I can take him home at the end of the day.

I had a terrible revelation last night at choir. We’re working on the Brahms Requiem. The last time I sang this was exactly ten years ago, and just before we started working on it my cat Veets died of cancer. Ten years later and the very cat I got when Veets died may now have cancer and here I am singing the Requiem again. I even wrote “Veets Theme” in several places in the score because the music made me think of him.

On my way to rehearsal, I took a bunch of pictures of the kinds of things in the windows of the antique stores along the way. The weird things that people make and buy.

Buddy is home now, but I’m bringing him back to the vet in the morning for a biopsy. They found scarring of the heart valve and I didn’t quite follow everything about the heart murmur except that it’s not going to require any kind of treatment, which I don’t quite get and will ask about again. I was just following enough to get that they were relieved to not find a more serious underlying reason for the murmur. Also, it was a good news/bad news thing and I knew that was the good news so I was already gearing up for the bad news. There’s been some enlargement of his lymph node(s?) and his intestinal wall so they want to do the biopsy.

At the end of tomorrow I will be broke and will have to break into my modest retirement fund. I’m trying to look on the bright side and be happy that I have it.
It could be worse. It would always be worse. Oh God. How much does chemo cost? I’m guessing the answer is: a lot.

Buddy is at the vet now, getting a sonogram, and blood and urine tests. He’s in really bad shape. All his medications stopped working and he’s been throwing up and diarrhetic since around 4am.  And now he’s suddenly developed a serious heart murmur.

Meanwhile, in an effort to bulk Buddy up (who lost a pound and a half in the past two weeks) I’ve made Finney as big as a house and I’ve probably given him diabetes. Here he is peering down from the armoire.

So I’m a wreck with worry. Poor Buddy.  He was so sick and miserable he wouldn’t even eat babyfood.