It Is Late And It Is Getting Late
So it’s after 11 at night on a weekend and as I’ve been trying to manage Willow’s regression since Wednesday night without decent veterinary feedback before the weekend hit (I did try), trying to wing it on figuring out pain med schedules and a reduction of appetite and trying to make sure she isn’t constipated and for the first time in 24 hours she comes out from under my bed meowing her way across the apartment to get to the litter box and she’s suddenly back to a more floppy ataxia instead of her more recent just-stiff-back-legs thing and what the fuck am I supposed to do and why is it that every time she needs more care or I need more advice/feedback it’s the weekend when I can’t get any. My hypervigilance since Wednesday has now become knots in my shoulder blades and really what I need to be doing is getting to bed and getting to sleep. Inquiries to potential places to do a special-need rehoming all are coming to naught, because everyone already is overextended, but clearly this regression is demonstrating the degree to which caring for her will result in bad consequences for my own health and sanity. Even if I had the money to do another weekend trip to DoveLewis, and even if it was money that covered not just immediate needs but also all the additional diagnostics, they would end up having to call an ambulance for me because without question I would drop from sheer exhaustion. It is nearly midnight and if she’s currently in additional pain I can’t even give her more pain meds for another two hours. She finally at least has managed to eat something, I think because we finally got the first mirtazapine tablet into her since Thursday, and right now she’s grooming herself, but at any given moment she could turn back to plaintive meowing I don’t know how to address. Both of us are knots of (di)stress and we are alone.
- Of course, she then calmed down with pets and she and I managed to get to sleep for the night.