Requiescat in pace, Kudzu

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

May you rest knowing that you were loved to the greatest depths of the human heart. May you rest knowing that you were and are cherished.

May you rest knowing that your constant companionship warmed even the loneliest, the most sorrowful of hours. May you rest knowing that you were light in a dark and sometimes unkind world.

May you rest knowing that your presence brought joy, comfort, happiness, peace. May you rest knowing that you were all things good (even when you were bad).

May you rest knowing that beyond pet, you were family, as much my lifeblood as anything. That you were my very heart.

May you rest, fully restored to your gray fuzzy bellied glory, with no scars or marks or patches to evidence of your illness.

May you rest knowing that you will never have to endure my picture-taking ever again.

May you rest after your long and hard-fought battle. Having been so brave and true, holding on for so long for me, so that I could accept that it was your time.

May you rest knowing that I never wanted you to die, except that one time you ate my blue merino wool J. Crew sweater (and even then, not really).

May you rest, weary traveler, from all those thousands of miles on the highway between here and North Carolina that would have been so much longer without you.

May you rest, knowing that you will never have to be stuck in the car with me in the McDonald's drive-in in Leland, North Carolina while I have a panic attack over the holiday weekend traffic.

May you rest knowing that you will be remembered in repose on the windowsill, on the kitchen towel, under a blanket nestled against my stomach.

May you rest gently purring or making sleepy kitty noises as you slumber. With your snaggletooth hanging out.

May you rest with my gratitude for having never eaten my eyeball as I feared you would.

May you rest having served me well with the greatest devotion and loyalty - no matter what mistakes I made in life.

May you rest from leaping onto the cabinets, the countertops, the bookshelves, the bed with sprightly grace.

May you rest with an endless supply of spider plants whose leaves you may nip to your heart's content.

May you rest from strewing toilet paper from the downstairs bathroom into the kitchen.

May you rest, never to be forgotten.

May you rest, my darling. May you rest from exhaustion, from pain and from this namelessness that has consumed you.

May you rest in the hands of the Heavenly Father who made you.

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

The Mystery Cat in the Magic Hat

When I took Kudzu to the vet more than a month ago because he seemed a bit lighter, I expected a little chat with Dr. G about how he might be slowing down a little. Maybe sleeping more. Eating less. Followed by a suggestion for some sort of vitamin supplement.

I did not expect to hear heart murmur, severely anemic, blood transfusion, emergency room.

I did not expect to find myself shuttling across town to the university hospital anxiously murmuring, "It's going to be all right" - more to myself than to him.

I did not expect to have to surrender him overnight for all sorts of acronymic tests - PCV, CBC, CT, X-ray.

I did not expect the next morning to bring vague possibilities of ehrlichia, multiple myeloma, feline leukemia and their associated grim prognoses.

But I did. I did hear those things and feel them and then stand on the sidewalk outside, draped helplessly over The Barrister wailing like a heartbroken child until my mother very quietly pulled me away and strapped me in the car.

I did not expect for the anemia to worsen, to have to give permission for a blood transfusion, for a bone marrow test, for sedation.

I did not expect to see Kudzu's coat reduced to a patchwork of smooth gray skin - on his forepaws, both tapped for IVs; both shoulders (the first bone marrow test was insufficient); his belly for the ultrasound; his back leg and the pad of his foot.

I did not expect his beautiful clear green eye to cloud with a corneal ulcer. Or for the inside of his leg to be shredded by an allergic reaction to the antibiotics.

I did not expect for the trips to the vet hospital become routine. I know how to get the parking pass during school hours to show that I actually have a patient and not a student trying to score a good space. And how you have to walk down to the end of the hall and get a token to put in the mechanical arm at the exit.

I did not expect the sight of Kudzu wandering a little clumsily down the hall wearing the plastic cone - his magic hat - to become commonplace. To become so acutely aware of every time he licks (don't touch the wound!).

I did not expect to still be hearing "inconclusive" in regards to his diagnosis. Not after the multiple CBCs, ultrasound, X-ray, infectious disease panel, bone marrow aspirate, antibody pheresis. Not after two weeks of antibiotics and three of prednisone. At least we've bid adieu to the cancer diagnosis.

I did not expect to pray so hard for a number closer to 30 - the number that says he has adequate red blood cells.

But I am. We go back to the vet hospital on Friday. And they will sedate and take a blood sample and apply some acronyms. They will test and search and score. And I will pick him up and they will tell me what clues they've gathered about the Mystery Cat.

And I will take him home, talk calmly to him in the car as though nothing bad is happening. And he will wear his magic hat. And I will pray that it helps him grow little red blood cells.

Going Dark: Family Emergency

Until further notice, the blog is going dark.

My brother-in-law, Ronnie, is in the ICU with pneumonia. He's in critical but stable condition. Temperature 106 - he's packed in ice. An infectious disease unit has been called in to consult. He just started a combination of antibiotics that they hope will begin to fight the infection. The next 48-72 hours are going to be critical. I will be on my way to Atlanta later this evening. Please, please keep Ronnie, Anna and the rest of our family in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you in advance for your support from afar.

Love,
Ashley

Remember Sam?

You may recall my request for thoughts and prayers for my friend Laura's son Sam, who was in neonatal ICU back in August just after he was born. I was catching up on Laura's news from her blog, and thought you might like to see how well he's doing.

All these happy little baby boys - Sam and now Pen's Nicholas and Andi's Wyatt. The next generation of heartbreakers.

Handle It

handle: (noun, slang) a name by which a thing is known, described or explained; nickname
Let's call it indigestion, ulcer, acid reflux, "nervous stomach", under the weather, PMS, too much ice cream. An episode. An inconvenience. (Try to laugh about it later.)

handle: (verb) to manage, direct, train or control
Take double-shots of Alka Seltzer, Pepcid AC, Zantac. Crunch Tums like candy. Turn to exercise -- copious amounts of exercise. Lose ten pounds. Go to bed early.

handle: (noun) that which may be grasped as to understand another thing; a key
Examine the symptoms closely. From under the rubble, you may hear a whisper, a single hieroglyph to unlock the Rosetta Stone.

handle: (noun) a part of a thing made specifically to be grasped
It is slippery smooth and shapeless, and just when you think you can grab hold, your fingers close around a wisp of smoke. In your determination to excavate it, you may find that it is not a thing to be found.

handle: (verb) to deal or trade in
I handle broken thoughts, waiting, overanalysis, fragility.

handle: (noun) the total amount wagered in an event
Absolutely everything. I gambled it all to be here.

handle: (verb) to behave or perform in a particular way when operated
Under the circumstances, in the grand leap from one place to the next, I find that I don't handle well at zero gravity. Sputtering and shaky, I'm unreliable at best.

handle: (verb) to touch, pick up or carry
I handle loneliness.

fly off the handle: (idiom) to become very agitated without adequate warning or reason
Cracked.

handle: (verb) to manage, deal with or be responsible for; cope
Begin the search for equilibrium - set out on the quest for an even keel. Map out a way to peace of mind, shepherding thoughts to greener pastures beside quiet waters. I ask kindly, "Restore my soul." And, yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, please, please comfort me.

Update on Little Sam

Over the last few days, Sam has been getting better and better. The doctors have taken him off the respirator, and he is improving "by leaps and bounds," according to Mommy and Daddy. Further tests need to be run to confirm there are no further complications, but he may get to go home by the middle of next week. Laura and Russ have both been able to hold him and feed him - and Laura's been able to change a diaper (lucky her!). It looks like Sam is only getting stronger. Thanks for pulling for him! I know Laura appreciates it.

Good Thoughts Requested

My very good friend from college - and specifically from the hallowed halls of Oak Hill - Laura had her third baby last Wednesday, August 1. Samuel Owen is her first boy, weighing in at 6 lbs., 11 oz. and measuring 19.75" long. Little Sam is having trouble breathing on his own and is in NICU on a respirator. Please keep him, his mother and father, and his two big sisters in your prayers and good thoughts.