The days, they all seem the same. Wake up, drink coffee, go to physical therapy, go to gym or go to pool, come home to bad TV and noisy neighbors. The foot’s getting better but not yet 100% healed and I’m going crazy because I really want to get back to work but can’t just yet.
The only thing I’ve been doing a lot of is swimming – the therapist says I can swim as much as I want, so I’ve been doing about an hour and a half a day – it’s really helping with the nervous energy and an added bonus is that I’ve dropped all the lard I packed on post-surgery. I’ve also got one hell of a keyhole tan on my back. No strapless tops for me anytime soon.
Today, I dropped the cat off at the vet, went for a swim at the USC pool (they segregate the lap swimmers from the recreational swimmers, which is nice. They also have youth water polo – watching 8 year olds play water polo is hilarious and well worth the drive down there), failed to complete the New York Times crossword puzzle (I just can’t concentrate lately), and then drove back to the vet and got the bad news.
A $300 bill, and the cat’s got cancer.
I must have blanched (60% bill, 40% cancer), because the vet hastily assured me that it’s not the ‘bad’ kind of cancer.
Somebody fill me in here – there’s a good kind of cancer now?
This particular cancer is a lesion on her lip which is treated by applying a topical medication – thankfully for the skin on my arms, this has to be done at the vet’s office weekly, and he thinks it’s only going to take a few treatments to deal with the problem. I guess when I think about it, this isn’t so bad as cancer goes.
The cat’s home now and very, very angry. Not about the cancer, but about suffering the indignity of being given a flea bath and transported in the carrier. And being given shots. And a whole host of whatever else pisses cats off.
I’m cautiously optimistic about the cat’s chances for recovery and my chances for getting the hell back to work. Soon. Before I go completely insane.