Isis' countdown

My oldest cat, Isis, is nearly 14 years old. I've been with her longer than I've been with Monkey. Last May we had a benign lump on her forehead removed. Last month we found another lump under her left shoulder and had it checked. I really didn't think anything of it. I thought it would be like the one on her forehead. It was bigger and growing faster but she isn't bothered by it at all. Well, it turns out to be a kind of connective tissue tumor that grows fast, sends out tendrils and difficult/impossible to get it all out. To take it out would mean cutting and digging out a large amount tissue from a relatively slender, small cat.  To top it off she has developed a quiet heart murmur that, in cats, is associated with heart disease. I had to make a decision. Do I put my elderly cat, who likely only has a year or so left on average, through an invasive surgery to remove a tumor that likely will return in about six months? Yeah, that is pretty much a no-brainer if you focus on quality of life rather than length. She will not be getting another surgery. The tumor will grow. Eventually it will make her shoulder uncomfortable. When she starts showing signs of pain or extreme discomfort I'll talk to the vet about ending her life.

I knew that she was nearing the end of her life. Indoor, well-cared for cats average 12-15 years. I've heard of much older cats but those aren't the average and I'm realistic about these things. But knowing now that I will likely have to euthanize her in the next six months to a year makes it a bit more on my mind.

Isis isn't our only geriatric pet, just the oldest. I know this is just the beginning of the next few years of our pet population decreasing in the house. I'm very much a realist when it comes to life and death of pets but I'm still feeling a little sad.

Under the blanket

I'm deep in my depression while I wait for my new meds to prove effective...or not. I'm spending good portions of my day under a fluffy red blanket on my couch. I'm doing my best. I am surviving.

Rather than blather on in a less than entertaining way about my pointless sadness I shall direct you to one of the best, yet entertaining, blog posts on depression I have ever seen. Enjoy.

Hyperbole and a Half : Adventures in Depression

After that I suggest you wander around her backlog of posts. They are hilarious and wonderful.

It is illogical.

I am a very logical person. I like to think things through. I like steps, processes and formulas. I often write notes and to-do lists in outline format. (I don't speak in a logical way but that is a whole other story.) Even my creative endeavors, baking and knitting, are ones that follow logical steps along with a bit of instinctive direction. I am very proud and very attached to my ability to logically think things through.

I think it is because of this trait that I suffer more than necessary with my mental illnesses. There is nothing logical about what is happening in my mind. I'm sure that deep in the biochemical level there is a logically explainable dysfunction that will someday be discovered but that is my "brain" not my "mind". I have two minds, almost like two identities, during a depressive and/or anxious episode. One is the logical and reasonable mind that sees all the illogical feelings and reactions. It says "I am depressed and crying yet my life is very good. I have loving partners, good health care, all my basic needs are met, and I have a wonderful amount of extra comforts. This makes no sense whatsoever." My logical mind, however, is locked in a glass box by the raving emotional nut ball that is my depressive mind. I'm not even going to try to articulate what that part of my mind sounds like. My logical mind sees all the crazy spilling out but can do nothing to stop it. The medications, when they work, help quiet the crazy part of my mind and let my logical side take most of the control.

Right now, while I change and adjust my new medications, the crazy mind is more often in control. With therapy and a lot of self-care, I can get the logical mind in control for small parts of the day. I can be functional but only in short bursts and at great cost. The rest of the time crazy-mind is running the show. I'm trying to accept that. If I manage to accept that, during those times, logic will not be likely perhaps I would suffer less?