After last night’s entry, I called Terra to let her know what’s up. Another emotional call, and another supportive call as well. I then called Joe, whom I haven’t spoken with in some years. Voicemail – argh. I called Cheryl and talked to her as well. Not as emotional a call; I guess I’m emotioned out for today.

Time for medicine and bed. I got two pills ready (one of each) and set them on the counter. The Cyclosporin capsule was sticky and smelled like medicine, so I rinsed it off, lest it taste horrible. Rule #143: “water soluble” means water soluble, as in it dissolves in water. I destroyed the pill.

I set Butterscotch on the counter and prepared for the next event. It was just as easy as when Dr. Sartor showed me: I held him with my right arm, and pried open is mouth with my left ring finger, dropping the pill in and shoving it to the back of his throat. I then held his mouth shut gently, and stroked his throat. Voilà! VERY easy. I then gave him the teeny Dexamethasone tablet. Dr. Wagner suggested I not give them simultaneously, as the capsule can be sticky in the throat. No worse for wear, we went to bed.


Per current normal, I slept poorly last night. Butterscotch was in bed with me, and being with him is a bit more important than sleep right now. His breathing rate, pulse and appearance were all good.

I woke up at some point in the middle of the night when Butterscotch came back to bed. I held him again. Recently Mom told me about a time when I was a baby when she was determined to remember this moment, since I was the last kid she was going to have. She said that she has, indeed, remembered that moment. I’m feeling very much the same. I studied the tiger patterns on his face, and the feel of his fur.

I awoke again about 5 or so. Holding the boy again. I only dozed with the radio on softly for a couple of hours, then got up. I heard something strange. Apparently, he had tried to get out of the door when Eric was coming in. <g> I guess he’s doing pretty well. Perhaps I’ll put him in his harness and go outside with him some today.

I forgot to mention something in last night’s entry: Cynthia let me know that if he does recover from this, he won’t show any signs of new red cells for at least a month. A month?! Yes, a month. While it takes 10 days to use a blood cell, she informed me it also takes 10 days to create one in the marrow, and that medical tests are always indications of past happenings – not current. So, this means that there’s a bit of a haul involved in this process. Considering the past week (it’s been almost exactly one week since the moment that he came home ill) has felt like a month (I’m constantly having to orient myself time-wise when I talk with people), I’m not thrilled about how long the next month will feel.

I also asked Cynthia yesterday a question I was going to ask the doctor and forgot: do they ever give cats marrow transplants? No, it’s not been done. First, a cat would have to give its life to be a donor, since cats have small bodies with a small amount of marrow. Second, it needs to be given multiple times. Third, EVERY marrow cell in the recipient needs to be destroyed first, lest they would destroy the donated marrow. This involves horrible drugs. Fourth, there’s lots of testing, etc, involved, and it costs at least $100,000 to do it in humans. That settles that – it doesn’t meet my quality of life/suffering criterion, and I certainly don’t have that much money.

Butterscotch is pretty bright this morning, and has been eating and drinking. He’s always had a constant feeder just outside my bedroom door – for some reason neither Molly (past roommate’s cat) nor he like to have food near the water, which is in the kitchen. I’ve always smiled in the night when I’d be awake, hearing him dig around, then crunch on each piece of food. I like that sound even more now.

Time to get ready and start the day. It’s Primary Day! Gotta get out to vote.

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