Pamela D. Lloyd's Blog
August 28, 2016
The semester starts tomorrow, but I've been so busy there...
The semester starts tomorrow, but I've been so busy there's been very little sense of a break. My time has been filled with the second half of an online genealogy class (offered through FutureLearn, taught by instructors associated with the University of Strathclyde, the first MOOC I ever loved, see more on my genealogy blog), visiting my dad in El Paso, and becoming involved in the PCC STEM Innovation Challenge. My involvement actually started when I met Dr. Hughes, a speaker for the first of the challenge's associated Learning Workshops as we both waited for the doors to the Downtown Campus Library to open, but it looks like I'm going to be doing some volunteer work with them this fall. So, between working at two campuses, working for our shop, working on the STEM project, and trying to fit my writing and genealogy into the cracks, I'm expecting this semester to be super busy, but looking forward to working with students, faculty, and community members in the coming year.
Those of you who aren't following me on Facebook might enjoy following me on Tumblr or Instagram. I tend to share my pictures from Instagram everywhere, so if you're following me on just about any of the social media sights, they'll probably show up. On Facebook I'm one of those people who's likely to post and comment on politics and the state of the world, so if you want to avoid that, try one of the other channels. Some of my pictures on Instagram, and therefor elsewhere, may be associated with the Etsy shop I share with my husband (we sell vintage postcards and photographs, mostly), but I also take random pictures on walks, on trains, or anywhere else I find myself, so there should be a little something for everyone.
Those of you who aren't following me on Facebook might enjoy following me on Tumblr or Instagram. I tend to share my pictures from Instagram everywhere, so if you're following me on just about any of the social media sights, they'll probably show up. On Facebook I'm one of those people who's likely to post and comment on politics and the state of the world, so if you want to avoid that, try one of the other channels. Some of my pictures on Instagram, and therefor elsewhere, may be associated with the Etsy shop I share with my husband (we sell vintage postcards and photographs, mostly), but I also take random pictures on walks, on trains, or anywhere else I find myself, so there should be a little something for everyone.
The semester starts tomorrow, but I've been so busy t...
The semester starts tomorrow, but I've been so busy there's been very little sense of a break. My time has been filled with the second half of an online genealogy class (offered through FutureLearn, taught by instructors associated with the University of Strathclyde, the first MOOC I ever loved, see more on my genealogy blog), visiting my dad in El Paso, and becoming involved in the PCC STEM Innovation Challenge. My involvement actually started when I met Dr. Hughes, a speaker for the first of the challenge's associated Learning Workshops as we both waited for the doors to the Downtown Campus Library to open, but it looks like I'm going to be doing some volunteer work with them this fall. So, between working at two campuses, working for our shop, working on the STEM project, and trying to fit my writing and genealogy into the cracks, I'm expecting this semester to be super busy, but looking forward to working with students, faculty, and community members in the coming year.
Those of you who aren't following me on Facebook might enjoy following me on Tumblr or Instagram. I tend to share my pictures from Instagram everywhere, so if you're following me on just about any of the social media sights, they'll probably show up. On Facebook I'm one of those people who's likely to post and comment on politics and the state of the world, so if you want to avoid that, try one of the other channels. Some of my pictures on Instagram, and therefor elsewhere, may be associated with the Etsy shop I share with my husband (we sell vintage postcards and photographs, mostly), but I also take random pictures on walks, on trains, or anywhere else I find myself, so there should be a little something for everyone.
Those of you who aren't following me on Facebook might enjoy following me on Tumblr or Instagram. I tend to share my pictures from Instagram everywhere, so if you're following me on just about any of the social media sights, they'll probably show up. On Facebook I'm one of those people who's likely to post and comment on politics and the state of the world, so if you want to avoid that, try one of the other channels. Some of my pictures on Instagram, and therefor elsewhere, may be associated with the Etsy shop I share with my husband (we sell vintage postcards and photographs, mostly), but I also take random pictures on walks, on trains, or anywhere else I find myself, so there should be a little something for everyone.
June 29, 2016
Why LiveJournal? Why?
So, there's this thing that happens when I'm commenting from my PC. I'll get about 3 or 4 words out, then WAM!, suddenly, even though I haven't clicked a thing, or so far as I know hit any key combinations, LiveJournal posts my comment. All 3 or 4 words in my unfinished sentence.
Now, I'm a pretty good typist. Not perfect, but learned how to touch type back when that was a pretty standard high school class. Also, I type faster than many people, but I'm still in a pretty normal range, somewhere between 40-60 wpm, I would guess, with pretty high accuracy. So, it doesn't seem like I'm doing anything that should cause strange behaviors in my browser (Firefox) or in LiveJournal.
I will note that this doesn't happen when I'm using my phone, either. But, of course, that's a completely different interface. Not only that, but my speed is pretty slow when I'm using a touch screen keyboard.
So, if you've noticed these strange, truncated messages from me, that's why. My apologies for any confusion this may have caused you.
June 24, 2016
Mobile Features
Am I the only one who finds that the mobile LJ app is lacking in a few features we take for granted on a desktop computer? Or, am I just being clueless, and missing them?
First and foremost, imho, is the ability to select a user icon for posts and comments.
June 22, 2016
Hello from Me on My Smart Phone
Nearly two years ago, my son Keith gave me a smart phone for my birthday. He pays the monthly bill, too. A few days ago, my phone was stolen. My replacement, supplied by the insurance on the phone and $150 from Keith, arrived today. For much of the afternoon, I have been reestablishing various accounts. But, I have only just connected the phone to LiveJournal for the first time. So, this is my first hello from my phone.
I have a wonderful son. Thank you, Keith.
April 15, 2016
Sassafras, A Tale of a Kitty
When my husband and I got together, we knew that we would never have children together. We were both in our mid-40s, plus I have two sons from my first marriage and he has three, so our family was already going to be a large one. We also had between us a rather large assortment of animals, but somehow another pet didn't seem as daunting. So, when someone came into PetsMart carrying a laundry basket with four tiny kittens, we looked and instantly fell in love with one in particular, a little tortie with a color line right down the middle of her face. Sassafras came home with us that afternoon. We called her our daughter.
We weren't really certain how old Sassy, as she soon came to be known, was, so I supplemented her diet with kitten milk, which I fed to her out of a bottle. Her sharp milk teeth made short work of the nipple. We also didn't feel she was ready to face an entire household of dogs and cats, so her first home was the master bathroom, which doubles as a sort of kitty dormitory for newcomers to the household, after ensuring that the middle-aged, orange and white tom cat awaiting neutering in that same space would not be any kind of danger to her. As it turns out, Ginger, the tom, was not only not dangerous, he was so besmitten with her that he allowed her to nurse. Yes, our male cat nursed this tiny kitten and even, we believe, produced milk.
Eventually, the pair, one weaned and the other neutered, made it out of the bathroom and into the rest of the house. Ginger struck up a friendship with a large, white Turkish Angora we called Haiku and, together, the two gents set to dominating the household. Ginger was clearly in charge, while Haiku was his muscle. We hadn't known cats could take such a complicated route to rule.
Sassy, however... Tiny, soft, little bundle of fur Sassy... Well, our old German Shepherd, Luz, thought she was darling. Luz would just about engulf our petite baby in her mouth, sometimes simply slobbering on her, sometimes trying to carry her around. Sassy seemed to put up with being drenched in German Shepard drool as a normal part of the adoration that she should receive from all beings. Still, often enough, one of us humans would often feel compelled to tell Luz, "That's enough," and rescue her from the bath, sometimes substituting it with one of our own.
Sassy was also fearsome, at least when it came to food. One night, back when we were still meat eaters, we were having pork chops for dinner. There were just enough pork chops to go around, with none to spare. Sassy, who probably weighed less than a pound at the time, hopped up on the table and grabbed the pork chop from my youngest step son's plate, then carried it down under the table and proceeded to growl fiercely while protecting her kill. F____, determined not to lose his supper to her, did manage to retrieve his meal and take it to the sink for washing, but I suspect he paid in blood for the priviledge.
On another occasion, one of my boys was visiting for the night and slept on the couch. Sassy waited until he was just drifting off, then raced through the kitchen and dining room, took the sharp curve into the living room at maximum speed, and leapt up onto the couch at his feet, dashed across his body, then launched herself from his face and through the doorway into the family room, having made, more or less, a complete circle. He yelled, but soon grew sleepy again. Once more, just as he was starting to sleep, Sassy sprang into action. This happened again. And again. And again.
(We wonder, is this normal tortie behavior? My husband Karl used to have another tortie, Olympia, aka Pia. Pia had the same habit, only her victim was Karl and she did this night after night—bouncing from his chest, fortunately, rather than his face—as the flat in which he lived didn't include an interior door he could close to keep her out of the bedroom.)
As Sassy got a bit older, she became my office companion. In response, I installed PawSense to try to minimize the damage she did to my work on the computer when she walked across the keyboard. Even so, I enjoyed having her around. She refused to look the camera in the eye, though, so it was hard to get a good picture of her face.
When my office moved from the dining room into the master bedroom (to accommodate one of our older boys returning home), Sassy decided that our no cats in the bedroom rule didn't apply to her. She would follow us down the hall and dart past our feet to get in. We tried to notice, so we could head her off. She became sneakier. No matter how much we tried, it seemed she could beat us at this game. And it was a game, one she loved. The next step after getting in was to dart under my desk and get into the farthest corner, behind the computer cords. When I dragged her out, she would sink her claws into the carpet, but when I finally had her in my arms, before that even, she would be purring loudly. Silly people that we were, we couldn't resist giving her the cuddles she demanded, even as we (mildly) scolded her. If I didn't crawl under the desk to get her, Sassy would sneak around behind my desk chair and jump up onto the bed, then sneak past Karl, who works sitting on his side of the bed, and roll in the spot where I sleep. Of course, by the time she'd had a nice, luxurious roll, she'd have our full attention. Once again, lots of petting before we put her back out in the hallway.
Over the last year, we started to notice that she wasn't getting along well with the other cats. We'd hear yowling from another room, but usually by the time we got there, everyone would be on different sides of the living room, so we couldn't be certain which cats were doing what. But, I noticed that if the "boys," as we call our three male cats, were in the hallway, Sassy would avoid them, leaping from my arms over their heads, or slinking to the other side of the hall, then running at top speed once she was past. None of the boys ever seemed to try to attack her or chase her when I was standing right there, but clearly something was going on.
Then, about six weeks ago, I noticed a sudden change in her dinnertime behavior. I feed my cats in crates, since some are greedier than others and this ensures that everyone gets the correct amount of food. Sassy's crate was stacked on top of two larger crates, and she normally scrambled up and stood waiting next to it for me to feed her. But, one night, her climb was slower and less certain. The next, she stayed on the floor by my feet, where she seemed wobbly. I picked her up and fed her, though she ate slowly and didn't finish her food, then lifted her out again when she was done. She was still wobbly, and now I saw that she was listing to the left and turning in stumbling circles.
Just a few months ago, another of my "babies," a sleek grey and white tuxedo cat who also came to me as a kitten (along with his mother), had a stroke. He went into a seizure just as I was walking in the door from work; the vet explained there was nothing we could do and recommended euthanasia, which we accepted. I was still broken up by losing him, and it was impossible to avoid wondering if my beloved Sassy was also having a stroke. Still, there was hope. Sassy hadn't had the grand mal seizure that her "brother" had, plus she was clearly aware of us and her surroundings, even though she was having trouble with her balance.
Unfortunately, it was too late at night to do anything about it. The only all night vet clinics in town are sufficiently expensive to put them out of reach for us. Plus, our past experiences with them, even when we could afford their services, have been, well, less than optimal. So, the next day, we called our vet to schedule an appointment.
They couldn't fit us in; it's a one-woman clinic, and it just couldn't be done. I had to go to work; I get paid by the hour, and money was already tight. Karl got on the phone and finally found a clinic that was reasonably priced and had an opening. We'd never worked with them before, but he took the appointment.
At the clinic, Karl was startled and dismayed when the vet laughed at Sassy's wobbly gait. Still, she did an examination and seemed to take proper, gentle care of Sassy. When she was done, she told Karl that without an MRI, she couldn't pronounce a full diagnosis, but that her trouble balancing was probably from one of three things: an ear infection, or inflammation from an infection that was pressing on a nerve; a tumor that was pressing on a nerve; or, a stroke. But, she said, the treatment in any of those cases was prednisone, so a more complete diagnosis wasn't necessary. It might take several weeks, but Sassy had a chance. Sassy was given some injections of steroids and antibiotics. Karl brought her home along with prednisone and Cerenia, an anti-nausea medication for dogs that is used off-label for cats. So, the pills began. The prednisone was twice a day, the Cerenia once. Some days, she seemed a bit better, and some she seemed a bit worse, but overall we thought we might be seeing some small improvement. To help coax her to eat, we offered her high-quality canned food next to her dry food, as well. She soon ignored the dry food, entirely, but even the wet food she ate sparingly.
It had been, what? Three days? A week? I can't even remember, now. She took a sudden turn for the worse. She was weak, uninterested in food, and cried. Her ears were hot (fever), and she was drooling terribly. We called the vet. She couldn't tell us what was happening. By instinct, more than anything else, we decided to stop the Cerenia. I looked it up and, yes, the symptoms we were seeing were among the side effects of Cerenia. Another call to the vet and we started giving her famotidine (generic Pepcid), cutting the pills in half.
About two weeks ago, Sassy still wasn't showing any real signs of improvement, and we were worried by her lack of appetite and extreme lethargy. We took her back in to the vet; this time, I was able to come along. In this strange place she seemed to perk up, looking around alertly. When the vet placed her on the floor, she crawled around, still wobbly, but better than we'd seen her in days. The vet noted, however, that her weight had dropped from 6 1/2 pounds to 5 1/4. She suggested that Sassy should be given a medication to increase her appetite; a single dose would give her a substantial boost in appetite for 3 days, but she would feel woozy for about 12 hours, starting a couple of hours after she received the medication. We hesitated, but agreed.
Karl dropped me off at work, then took Sassy home and offered her food. She ate well. Within a few hours, though, she was too woozy to hold herself upright. To move, she crouched on the floor, flopping over on her side every foot or so, or leaning up against a wall. Until this point, she'd been managing the impressive feat of always using her litter tray (she wasn't able to climb in or out of a box), but now when she reached it she could no longer hold herself up and had to lie in the litter to do her business. We tried holding her up when we could, and it worked once or twice, but mostly she was better off lying down. And food? Forget it. She was too weak and woozy to hold herself up to eat. We tried everything, even feeding her in her bed and hand feeding. Nothing was adequate. She soon stopped showing any interest in food.
But, she still purred when we petted her. She still seemed able to find happiness in those moments. We saw in her a tremendous will to live, and we wanted to respect that while there was still hope.
But, she never really recovered after her extreme reaction to the appetite increaser. We called and spoke to the vet again, asking about whether there was some other way we could feed her, short of a syringe. (Cats tend to resist and aspirate on food when it's force fed through syringe.) What about milk we asked, like kitten milk, but for cats. No, she answered. She knew of nothing more we could do. Cats, she told us, don't tend to retain enough of a suckling reflex to be able to be bottle fed.
But, we remembered giving another cat nutritional paste from a tube. And, Sassy had actually been sucking on my fingers after I'd given her pills. Surely, there must be something. I went to PetsMart. They had kitten milk in cans, and bottles intended for kittens. They had the tubes of high-calorie nutritional paste. We usually just called it goo. We started feeding Sassy bits of goo and kitten milk. She rallied. For a day.
We kept doing everything we could to help Sassy keep her strength up. It seemed to us that the dizziness was less, but she just wasn't strong enough to feed herself. If we could just get her a bit stronger, she might start eating. We tried. But, for every day we thought we saw improvement, it seemed there was one, or more, in which she faltered. She started lying in her little bed, moaning unless one of us were petting her when she was awake, but sleeping more and more. She was little more than skin and bones. We wanted to cuddle and hug her, but we avoided picking her up because it seemed to hurt her and her head would hang limp and flop if not properly supported. Every time I checked on her, I was amazed to find her still alive.
Throughout this illness, we struggled with the issue of how much care is enough care, and when is it too much.
Finally, she started gagging on her pills, and on the milk and water we offered from the bottle. She no longer purred when we petted her. She turned her head away, if she had the strength, when she saw us or heard us coming. And we decided. This is enough. This is too much. We're no longer helping her. She's no longer happy in this world.
Did she still want to live. To tell you the truth, I think she did. But, her body was failing. All she had left was more pain and misery. And we just couldn't do that to her.
So, today, we took her to a vet. Not the vet who laughed at her, who prescribed the appetite increaser that made her too ill to eat, who didn't know that there are ways to provide nutrition to a sick cat that don't require a syringe. No, instead we went to a new vet, someone we hadn't seen before. We asked that she be put to sleep.
It was a terrible experience. It didn't have to be. We've had sick animals put to sleep before, by vets who were respectful and caring. The vet we saw this afternoon was neither, nor was her technician. Between them, they made a difficult situation even worse. But, Sassy did go to sleep. She will never wake. She will never purr in my arms again. But, she won't be dizzy and frightened anymore, either.
I will miss her.
P.S. I've disabled comments. An emotional story can be hard to respond to, and I don't want you to feel obligated.
We weren't really certain how old Sassy, as she soon came to be known, was, so I supplemented her diet with kitten milk, which I fed to her out of a bottle. Her sharp milk teeth made short work of the nipple. We also didn't feel she was ready to face an entire household of dogs and cats, so her first home was the master bathroom, which doubles as a sort of kitty dormitory for newcomers to the household, after ensuring that the middle-aged, orange and white tom cat awaiting neutering in that same space would not be any kind of danger to her. As it turns out, Ginger, the tom, was not only not dangerous, he was so besmitten with her that he allowed her to nurse. Yes, our male cat nursed this tiny kitten and even, we believe, produced milk.
Eventually, the pair, one weaned and the other neutered, made it out of the bathroom and into the rest of the house. Ginger struck up a friendship with a large, white Turkish Angora we called Haiku and, together, the two gents set to dominating the household. Ginger was clearly in charge, while Haiku was his muscle. We hadn't known cats could take such a complicated route to rule.
Sassy, however... Tiny, soft, little bundle of fur Sassy... Well, our old German Shepherd, Luz, thought she was darling. Luz would just about engulf our petite baby in her mouth, sometimes simply slobbering on her, sometimes trying to carry her around. Sassy seemed to put up with being drenched in German Shepard drool as a normal part of the adoration that she should receive from all beings. Still, often enough, one of us humans would often feel compelled to tell Luz, "That's enough," and rescue her from the bath, sometimes substituting it with one of our own.
Sassy was also fearsome, at least when it came to food. One night, back when we were still meat eaters, we were having pork chops for dinner. There were just enough pork chops to go around, with none to spare. Sassy, who probably weighed less than a pound at the time, hopped up on the table and grabbed the pork chop from my youngest step son's plate, then carried it down under the table and proceeded to growl fiercely while protecting her kill. F____, determined not to lose his supper to her, did manage to retrieve his meal and take it to the sink for washing, but I suspect he paid in blood for the priviledge.
On another occasion, one of my boys was visiting for the night and slept on the couch. Sassy waited until he was just drifting off, then raced through the kitchen and dining room, took the sharp curve into the living room at maximum speed, and leapt up onto the couch at his feet, dashed across his body, then launched herself from his face and through the doorway into the family room, having made, more or less, a complete circle. He yelled, but soon grew sleepy again. Once more, just as he was starting to sleep, Sassy sprang into action. This happened again. And again. And again.
(We wonder, is this normal tortie behavior? My husband Karl used to have another tortie, Olympia, aka Pia. Pia had the same habit, only her victim was Karl and she did this night after night—bouncing from his chest, fortunately, rather than his face—as the flat in which he lived didn't include an interior door he could close to keep her out of the bedroom.)
As Sassy got a bit older, she became my office companion. In response, I installed PawSense to try to minimize the damage she did to my work on the computer when she walked across the keyboard. Even so, I enjoyed having her around. She refused to look the camera in the eye, though, so it was hard to get a good picture of her face.
When my office moved from the dining room into the master bedroom (to accommodate one of our older boys returning home), Sassy decided that our no cats in the bedroom rule didn't apply to her. She would follow us down the hall and dart past our feet to get in. We tried to notice, so we could head her off. She became sneakier. No matter how much we tried, it seemed she could beat us at this game. And it was a game, one she loved. The next step after getting in was to dart under my desk and get into the farthest corner, behind the computer cords. When I dragged her out, she would sink her claws into the carpet, but when I finally had her in my arms, before that even, she would be purring loudly. Silly people that we were, we couldn't resist giving her the cuddles she demanded, even as we (mildly) scolded her. If I didn't crawl under the desk to get her, Sassy would sneak around behind my desk chair and jump up onto the bed, then sneak past Karl, who works sitting on his side of the bed, and roll in the spot where I sleep. Of course, by the time she'd had a nice, luxurious roll, she'd have our full attention. Once again, lots of petting before we put her back out in the hallway.
Over the last year, we started to notice that she wasn't getting along well with the other cats. We'd hear yowling from another room, but usually by the time we got there, everyone would be on different sides of the living room, so we couldn't be certain which cats were doing what. But, I noticed that if the "boys," as we call our three male cats, were in the hallway, Sassy would avoid them, leaping from my arms over their heads, or slinking to the other side of the hall, then running at top speed once she was past. None of the boys ever seemed to try to attack her or chase her when I was standing right there, but clearly something was going on.
Then, about six weeks ago, I noticed a sudden change in her dinnertime behavior. I feed my cats in crates, since some are greedier than others and this ensures that everyone gets the correct amount of food. Sassy's crate was stacked on top of two larger crates, and she normally scrambled up and stood waiting next to it for me to feed her. But, one night, her climb was slower and less certain. The next, she stayed on the floor by my feet, where she seemed wobbly. I picked her up and fed her, though she ate slowly and didn't finish her food, then lifted her out again when she was done. She was still wobbly, and now I saw that she was listing to the left and turning in stumbling circles.
Just a few months ago, another of my "babies," a sleek grey and white tuxedo cat who also came to me as a kitten (along with his mother), had a stroke. He went into a seizure just as I was walking in the door from work; the vet explained there was nothing we could do and recommended euthanasia, which we accepted. I was still broken up by losing him, and it was impossible to avoid wondering if my beloved Sassy was also having a stroke. Still, there was hope. Sassy hadn't had the grand mal seizure that her "brother" had, plus she was clearly aware of us and her surroundings, even though she was having trouble with her balance.
Unfortunately, it was too late at night to do anything about it. The only all night vet clinics in town are sufficiently expensive to put them out of reach for us. Plus, our past experiences with them, even when we could afford their services, have been, well, less than optimal. So, the next day, we called our vet to schedule an appointment.
They couldn't fit us in; it's a one-woman clinic, and it just couldn't be done. I had to go to work; I get paid by the hour, and money was already tight. Karl got on the phone and finally found a clinic that was reasonably priced and had an opening. We'd never worked with them before, but he took the appointment.
At the clinic, Karl was startled and dismayed when the vet laughed at Sassy's wobbly gait. Still, she did an examination and seemed to take proper, gentle care of Sassy. When she was done, she told Karl that without an MRI, she couldn't pronounce a full diagnosis, but that her trouble balancing was probably from one of three things: an ear infection, or inflammation from an infection that was pressing on a nerve; a tumor that was pressing on a nerve; or, a stroke. But, she said, the treatment in any of those cases was prednisone, so a more complete diagnosis wasn't necessary. It might take several weeks, but Sassy had a chance. Sassy was given some injections of steroids and antibiotics. Karl brought her home along with prednisone and Cerenia, an anti-nausea medication for dogs that is used off-label for cats. So, the pills began. The prednisone was twice a day, the Cerenia once. Some days, she seemed a bit better, and some she seemed a bit worse, but overall we thought we might be seeing some small improvement. To help coax her to eat, we offered her high-quality canned food next to her dry food, as well. She soon ignored the dry food, entirely, but even the wet food she ate sparingly.
It had been, what? Three days? A week? I can't even remember, now. She took a sudden turn for the worse. She was weak, uninterested in food, and cried. Her ears were hot (fever), and she was drooling terribly. We called the vet. She couldn't tell us what was happening. By instinct, more than anything else, we decided to stop the Cerenia. I looked it up and, yes, the symptoms we were seeing were among the side effects of Cerenia. Another call to the vet and we started giving her famotidine (generic Pepcid), cutting the pills in half.
About two weeks ago, Sassy still wasn't showing any real signs of improvement, and we were worried by her lack of appetite and extreme lethargy. We took her back in to the vet; this time, I was able to come along. In this strange place she seemed to perk up, looking around alertly. When the vet placed her on the floor, she crawled around, still wobbly, but better than we'd seen her in days. The vet noted, however, that her weight had dropped from 6 1/2 pounds to 5 1/4. She suggested that Sassy should be given a medication to increase her appetite; a single dose would give her a substantial boost in appetite for 3 days, but she would feel woozy for about 12 hours, starting a couple of hours after she received the medication. We hesitated, but agreed.
Karl dropped me off at work, then took Sassy home and offered her food. She ate well. Within a few hours, though, she was too woozy to hold herself upright. To move, she crouched on the floor, flopping over on her side every foot or so, or leaning up against a wall. Until this point, she'd been managing the impressive feat of always using her litter tray (she wasn't able to climb in or out of a box), but now when she reached it she could no longer hold herself up and had to lie in the litter to do her business. We tried holding her up when we could, and it worked once or twice, but mostly she was better off lying down. And food? Forget it. She was too weak and woozy to hold herself up to eat. We tried everything, even feeding her in her bed and hand feeding. Nothing was adequate. She soon stopped showing any interest in food.
But, she still purred when we petted her. She still seemed able to find happiness in those moments. We saw in her a tremendous will to live, and we wanted to respect that while there was still hope.
But, she never really recovered after her extreme reaction to the appetite increaser. We called and spoke to the vet again, asking about whether there was some other way we could feed her, short of a syringe. (Cats tend to resist and aspirate on food when it's force fed through syringe.) What about milk we asked, like kitten milk, but for cats. No, she answered. She knew of nothing more we could do. Cats, she told us, don't tend to retain enough of a suckling reflex to be able to be bottle fed.
But, we remembered giving another cat nutritional paste from a tube. And, Sassy had actually been sucking on my fingers after I'd given her pills. Surely, there must be something. I went to PetsMart. They had kitten milk in cans, and bottles intended for kittens. They had the tubes of high-calorie nutritional paste. We usually just called it goo. We started feeding Sassy bits of goo and kitten milk. She rallied. For a day.
We kept doing everything we could to help Sassy keep her strength up. It seemed to us that the dizziness was less, but she just wasn't strong enough to feed herself. If we could just get her a bit stronger, she might start eating. We tried. But, for every day we thought we saw improvement, it seemed there was one, or more, in which she faltered. She started lying in her little bed, moaning unless one of us were petting her when she was awake, but sleeping more and more. She was little more than skin and bones. We wanted to cuddle and hug her, but we avoided picking her up because it seemed to hurt her and her head would hang limp and flop if not properly supported. Every time I checked on her, I was amazed to find her still alive.
Throughout this illness, we struggled with the issue of how much care is enough care, and when is it too much.
Finally, she started gagging on her pills, and on the milk and water we offered from the bottle. She no longer purred when we petted her. She turned her head away, if she had the strength, when she saw us or heard us coming. And we decided. This is enough. This is too much. We're no longer helping her. She's no longer happy in this world.
Did she still want to live. To tell you the truth, I think she did. But, her body was failing. All she had left was more pain and misery. And we just couldn't do that to her.
So, today, we took her to a vet. Not the vet who laughed at her, who prescribed the appetite increaser that made her too ill to eat, who didn't know that there are ways to provide nutrition to a sick cat that don't require a syringe. No, instead we went to a new vet, someone we hadn't seen before. We asked that she be put to sleep.
It was a terrible experience. It didn't have to be. We've had sick animals put to sleep before, by vets who were respectful and caring. The vet we saw this afternoon was neither, nor was her technician. Between them, they made a difficult situation even worse. But, Sassy did go to sleep. She will never wake. She will never purr in my arms again. But, she won't be dizzy and frightened anymore, either.
I will miss her.
P.S. I've disabled comments. An emotional story can be hard to respond to, and I don't want you to feel obligated.
February 17, 2016
New Words
Thanks to
gillpolack
, I learned a new word today: "idiolect."What does this mean, you ask? (You did! I'm sure I heard you.)"In linguistics, an idiolect is an individual's distinctive and unique use of language, including speech. This unique usage encompasses vocabulary, grammar, and pronunciation. Idiolect is the variety of language unique to an individual" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idiolect).Which makes me wonder what the linguistic term is for a family's usage. I know my birth family had/has some vocabulary that was rather unusual, at least for the region in which I grew up. I know that many of the more distinctive features of my idiolect are things I "inherited" from my father, who grew up in the Florida panhandle, but are modified by my mother's origins in Ohio.
gillpolack
, I learned a new word today: "idiolect."What does this mean, you ask? (You did! I'm sure I heard you.)"In linguistics, an idiolect is an individual's distinctive and unique use of language, including speech. This unique usage encompasses vocabulary, grammar, and pronunciation. Idiolect is the variety of language unique to an individual" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idiolect).Which makes me wonder what the linguistic term is for a family's usage. I know my birth family had/has some vocabulary that was rather unusual, at least for the region in which I grew up. I know that many of the more distinctive features of my idiolect are things I "inherited" from my father, who grew up in the Florida panhandle, but are modified by my mother's origins in Ohio.
October 10, 2015
Alter Egos
So much of my friends feed is filled with people at Sirens in Denver, Colorado. Traveling is not in my budget, so I am not in Denver. Instead, I'm at work, taking a brief break because there's only one student (nope, as soon as I wrote that he checked out, so now there are no students) left in the learning center. Or, at least, none looking for help with reading or writing. The math tutors still have a few students.
Over at
writerunboxed
there's a post on alter egos.
Like many folks, my childhood alter egos were all about action; they were fearless investigators and explorers, ready to solve mysteries one day, climb mountains or ford raging rivers the next. But, as an adult, I see things a bit differently. I've realized that I wear different personas for different situations.
My unnamed alter ego as a mom is always calm and collected. She always knows what to do and what to say. She's fantastic at getting things done, so there's never a need to panic over impending deadlines or sudden guests. All the linens in her linen closet are carefully layered with lavender flowers and never develop moth holes; to this day I prefer lavender-scented laundry detergent. The original was a mom in a book I read when I was a teen; as a mom, I've never managed to live up to her example, except for brief moments when channeling her helped me to get through a few parenting crises.
Interestingly, I seem to draw on her for my tutoring work, as well. This week is National Tutoring Week (aka International Tutor Appreciation Week), and my supervisor shared the following note with me:
I can hardly believe she's describing me!
Then, there's the alter ego associated with the little shop my husband and I have on Etsy. There, we take turns with various shop tasks, including writing posts and answering "convos" from customers. For that, we try to do a bit of a mind meld and write with a single voice. Not that we're necessarily all that successful at maintaining the same voice, but we do seem to have at least some of our customers guessing at which one of us is responding to their messages.
But, what about my alter ego as a writer?
When it comes to writing, I try to celebrate my creativity. Here's the ultra-short version of my standard writer's bio:
The details of that bio are amazingly close to reality. (No. Really. My mother claimed the severity of her allergies were because she came from another planet; my dad was an organic chemist and pret-ty darn strange; and various people really did try to buy me when I was still a baby.) It's the breezy, carefree attitude that's the expression of an alter ego.
I wish I had that kind of blast ahead, all engines running, take no prisoners temperment when it comes to writing. Instead, I'm most likely to drag my feet all the way to the keyboard and sit there moping, every word pried from my mind with all the generosity Scrooge showed doling out coins to the Cratchit family before that notable Christmas so delightfully documented by Dickens. To make matters worse, I have a terrible time sending stories off. One motto my children heard many times was, "If you don't ask, the answer is always, 'no.'" But, when it comes to asking if publisher XYZ would like to include one of my stories in a magazine or anthology, I'm terrible at asking. This is especially true when I've scraped up the courage to ask once and the story has been returned. Please, please, don't tell me about how I need to write and submit. The message has been received. Thoroughly. The problem is, it's also been chewed and mangled by my psyche. I'm working on it.
My Facebook alter ego might be said to have multiple personalities. I rarely share personal news there, especially when it's bad. I don't feel comfortable sharing news in that space, in large part because I've got two or three complete strangers on my friends list for every friend I've actually met in person, and the ratio's far worse when it comes to people I know well. So, it sometimes becomes my soapbox for expressing myself politically, and sometimes for sharing stuff I find amusing, interesting, or useful. And, now that I've got a decent camera in my phone (thanks to my wonderful son, Keith), I sometimes even post pictures of food I'm about to eat. Really yummy, made-from-scratch food requiring discipline to stop long enough to take a picture before digging in.
So, who am I, really? Some days, I'm not entirely sure myself. I'm complicated.
ETA: This post was started at work, but completed from home. I don't get that much free time, even on Saturdays. In fact, during the week, I find it difficult to find time to take even the smallest break. Also, I was thrilled to discover that at least a few of the songs by one of my favorite albums are available through the Internet Underground Music Archive(IUMA). I highly recommend that you use the link provided in the Music field to listen to the beautiful and haunting song, "Still My Thoughts."
ETA2: Just in case it's not entirely clear, when I say my alter ego as a mom was always calm and collected, I am absolutely not trying to suggest that my actual parenting style bore any resemblance. I'm sure my kids would be very amused at the very idea. Or, indignant. Their mom, calm and collected?! Nope. Didn't happen. Except when she was. Which happened about as often as a supermoon eclipse.
Over at
writerunboxed
there's a post on alter egos.Like many folks, my childhood alter egos were all about action; they were fearless investigators and explorers, ready to solve mysteries one day, climb mountains or ford raging rivers the next. But, as an adult, I see things a bit differently. I've realized that I wear different personas for different situations.
My unnamed alter ego as a mom is always calm and collected. She always knows what to do and what to say. She's fantastic at getting things done, so there's never a need to panic over impending deadlines or sudden guests. All the linens in her linen closet are carefully layered with lavender flowers and never develop moth holes; to this day I prefer lavender-scented laundry detergent. The original was a mom in a book I read when I was a teen; as a mom, I've never managed to live up to her example, except for brief moments when channeling her helped me to get through a few parenting crises.
Interestingly, I seem to draw on her for my tutoring work, as well. This week is National Tutoring Week (aka International Tutor Appreciation Week), and my supervisor shared the following note with me:
I can hardly believe she's describing me!
Then, there's the alter ego associated with the little shop my husband and I have on Etsy. There, we take turns with various shop tasks, including writing posts and answering "convos" from customers. For that, we try to do a bit of a mind meld and write with a single voice. Not that we're necessarily all that successful at maintaining the same voice, but we do seem to have at least some of our customers guessing at which one of us is responding to their messages.
But, what about my alter ego as a writer?
When it comes to writing, I try to celebrate my creativity. Here's the ultra-short version of my standard writer's bio:
Pamela D. Lloyd was born to a witchy alien fortuneteller and a mad scientist. A sock salesman once tried to buy her in exchange for two suitcases of socks and a realtor later offered an entire house, but her parents, not knowing when to cut their losses, held out for more, only to get stuck with her. It’s no wonder she turned to writing fantasy and science fiction. It was either that, or take over the universe, and the keys to the spaceship had fallen down a rabbit hole.
The details of that bio are amazingly close to reality. (No. Really. My mother claimed the severity of her allergies were because she came from another planet; my dad was an organic chemist and pret-ty darn strange; and various people really did try to buy me when I was still a baby.) It's the breezy, carefree attitude that's the expression of an alter ego.
I wish I had that kind of blast ahead, all engines running, take no prisoners temperment when it comes to writing. Instead, I'm most likely to drag my feet all the way to the keyboard and sit there moping, every word pried from my mind with all the generosity Scrooge showed doling out coins to the Cratchit family before that notable Christmas so delightfully documented by Dickens. To make matters worse, I have a terrible time sending stories off. One motto my children heard many times was, "If you don't ask, the answer is always, 'no.'" But, when it comes to asking if publisher XYZ would like to include one of my stories in a magazine or anthology, I'm terrible at asking. This is especially true when I've scraped up the courage to ask once and the story has been returned. Please, please, don't tell me about how I need to write and submit. The message has been received. Thoroughly. The problem is, it's also been chewed and mangled by my psyche. I'm working on it.
My Facebook alter ego might be said to have multiple personalities. I rarely share personal news there, especially when it's bad. I don't feel comfortable sharing news in that space, in large part because I've got two or three complete strangers on my friends list for every friend I've actually met in person, and the ratio's far worse when it comes to people I know well. So, it sometimes becomes my soapbox for expressing myself politically, and sometimes for sharing stuff I find amusing, interesting, or useful. And, now that I've got a decent camera in my phone (thanks to my wonderful son, Keith), I sometimes even post pictures of food I'm about to eat. Really yummy, made-from-scratch food requiring discipline to stop long enough to take a picture before digging in.
So, who am I, really? Some days, I'm not entirely sure myself. I'm complicated.
ETA: This post was started at work, but completed from home. I don't get that much free time, even on Saturdays. In fact, during the week, I find it difficult to find time to take even the smallest break. Also, I was thrilled to discover that at least a few of the songs by one of my favorite albums are available through the Internet Underground Music Archive(IUMA). I highly recommend that you use the link provided in the Music field to listen to the beautiful and haunting song, "Still My Thoughts."
ETA2: Just in case it's not entirely clear, when I say my alter ego as a mom was always calm and collected, I am absolutely not trying to suggest that my actual parenting style bore any resemblance. I'm sure my kids would be very amused at the very idea. Or, indignant. Their mom, calm and collected?! Nope. Didn't happen. Except when she was. Which happened about as often as a supermoon eclipse.
February 4, 2015
A Good Day, with Recipes
Recently, I spent the day with my oldest son. Our visit was centered around food and discussions of creative projects, so it was a really satisfying day.
I'm a vegetarian; my son is not. He's become very interested in finding meals he can serve me, but that also meet his taste and that of his roommate. Our menu: broccoli & tomato quiche in a potato crust, paired with cream of mushroom soup. A bit rich for everyday fare, but wonderful as a treat.
The recipe we used for the potato crust we found at Taste of Home, in their Potato Crust Quiche Recipe. We lined a large, round, deep casserole dish with this. The crust turned out okay, but was not as good as we had hoped. The coursely grated potatos weren't as suited to a crust as mashed potatos might have been, and the crust seemed a bit undersalted. I'll admit, too, that I would have preferred a pastry crust, even though I was willing to experiment.
The quiche filling we put together blended elements from a couple recipes and made a few adjustments of our own. The primary recipes we started from included Broccoli Garlic Quiche from epicurious, and Tomato Quiche from Taste of Home.
Broccoli & Tomato Quiche Filling
Ingredients
1/2 cup onion, chopped
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup broccoli florets
1 cup pear tomatos (like cherry in size, but more oblong), cut in half; plus, 2 pear tomatos, sliced (used as garnish)
2 large garlic cloves, chopped fine
6 large eggs
1 1/2 cups half and half
1 1/2 cups sharp white cheddar cheese
1/4 cup parmesan cheese; plus more as garnish, to taste
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
Directions
Preheat oven to 375°F.Saute the onion in the butter until translucent and golden. Add the garlic and saute for 30 seconds to 1 minute. Add the broccoli, tomatos (reserving the sliced tomatos), salt and pepper, nutmeg, and thyme and continue sauteing for 2-3 more minutes. Take the pan off the heat. In a bowl, whisk the eggs until well blended and a little frothy, then add the half and half. Blend the cheddar cheese and 1/4 cup of parmesan cheese into the egg mixture. Put about 1/4-1/3 of the vegetable mixture into the crust, then blend the remaining vegetable mixture with the egg mixture and pour this on top. Gently lay the tomato slices on the surface of the filling and sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Bake 40 minutes, then check for doneness. Custard needs to be golden brown and set, with only a slight jiggle. Let sit 20 minutes before serving; custard will continue to set as it cools. (We needed to cook ours for an additional 20 minutes, or so, probably due to the depth of the dish we cooked the quiche in.)
The mushroom soup we made was based on the Food Network's Cream of Wild Mushroom Soup. Our budget didn't stretch to wild mushrooms, so we just used 16 ounces of plain white mushrooms; we used dried thyme, instead of fresh; and, we'd managed to miss the need to buy leeks, so we substitued 1 cup chopped onion for the 2 cups of chopped leeks. Oh, and we didn't have any white wine, so we used 1/8 cup of gin.
The quiche and the soup were both out of this world.
I'm a vegetarian; my son is not. He's become very interested in finding meals he can serve me, but that also meet his taste and that of his roommate. Our menu: broccoli & tomato quiche in a potato crust, paired with cream of mushroom soup. A bit rich for everyday fare, but wonderful as a treat.
The recipe we used for the potato crust we found at Taste of Home, in their Potato Crust Quiche Recipe. We lined a large, round, deep casserole dish with this. The crust turned out okay, but was not as good as we had hoped. The coursely grated potatos weren't as suited to a crust as mashed potatos might have been, and the crust seemed a bit undersalted. I'll admit, too, that I would have preferred a pastry crust, even though I was willing to experiment.
The quiche filling we put together blended elements from a couple recipes and made a few adjustments of our own. The primary recipes we started from included Broccoli Garlic Quiche from epicurious, and Tomato Quiche from Taste of Home.
Broccoli & Tomato Quiche Filling
Ingredients
1/2 cup onion, chopped
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup broccoli florets
1 cup pear tomatos (like cherry in size, but more oblong), cut in half; plus, 2 pear tomatos, sliced (used as garnish)
2 large garlic cloves, chopped fine
6 large eggs
1 1/2 cups half and half
1 1/2 cups sharp white cheddar cheese
1/4 cup parmesan cheese; plus more as garnish, to taste
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
Directions
Preheat oven to 375°F.Saute the onion in the butter until translucent and golden. Add the garlic and saute for 30 seconds to 1 minute. Add the broccoli, tomatos (reserving the sliced tomatos), salt and pepper, nutmeg, and thyme and continue sauteing for 2-3 more minutes. Take the pan off the heat. In a bowl, whisk the eggs until well blended and a little frothy, then add the half and half. Blend the cheddar cheese and 1/4 cup of parmesan cheese into the egg mixture. Put about 1/4-1/3 of the vegetable mixture into the crust, then blend the remaining vegetable mixture with the egg mixture and pour this on top. Gently lay the tomato slices on the surface of the filling and sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Bake 40 minutes, then check for doneness. Custard needs to be golden brown and set, with only a slight jiggle. Let sit 20 minutes before serving; custard will continue to set as it cools. (We needed to cook ours for an additional 20 minutes, or so, probably due to the depth of the dish we cooked the quiche in.)
The mushroom soup we made was based on the Food Network's Cream of Wild Mushroom Soup. Our budget didn't stretch to wild mushrooms, so we just used 16 ounces of plain white mushrooms; we used dried thyme, instead of fresh; and, we'd managed to miss the need to buy leeks, so we substitued 1 cup chopped onion for the 2 cups of chopped leeks. Oh, and we didn't have any white wine, so we used 1/8 cup of gin.
The quiche and the soup were both out of this world.
February 2, 2015
Student Essays and Learning to Lie
A student came into the writing center, distraught over an assignment. The assignment was to write about the most traumatic event of their life and how it had changed them. I suggested that perhaps the teacher would be willing to let the student write an alternate assignment, but the student had already asked, and the instructor had not been willing to do so.
The student showed me the attempted essay. Yes, it was personal and traumatic. It was also choppy and disorganized, not so much stream of consciousness as tiny pools of consciousness scattered randomly across the pages, which fits with what little I know about how people may react to truly traumatic events. One of the hardest aspects of my job is being faced with therapy-grade outpourings, but being constrained to adress only the writing aspects of the story. It can be very difficult to separate content from style, discussion of story from discussion of a personal nature.
I suggested that the student didn't have to tell this story. "But, that's the assignment. That's what we're supposed to do."
I asked whether, given that the first draft was already written, the student wanted to go ahead with working on this story.
But, no, this was simply not something that could be turned in. "Don't you think it's wrong that we should be given an assignment like this? And I couldn't possibly share this with the class."
"Perhaps you could choose another event, one less traumatic, and tell that?" But, that wouldn't work either.
"I just can't cope with all these emotions! I don't want to be a victim anymore. I don't want to write about awful things."
So, I tried again. "Lie. Your teacher doesn't know what your life has been like. She's not going to try to track down whether the events actually happened. So, just lie."
"I can do that? What if she finds out?"
"Of course you can do that. You have that right to decide what you are willing to write about and what you're not willing to share. You don't have to share anything you don't feel comfortable sharing."
"But, how can I do that? What would I write about?"
"Well, you've heard other stories, and you've watched a lot of movies."
"But, I just don't want to deal with all those emotions!"
"There are different kinds of trauma. What about people who've gotten themselves into some kind of accident. For example, kids playing on a hillside, only to have the ground give way and trap them."
"Oh! Oh, I've thought of something..."
Ten minutes of writing later, the student wails, "I feel so guilty!"
"Why?"
"Five people died! I just killed five people."
"No people died in the writing of this story," I replied.
"Would you like to read it?"
I did. Then I pointed out that the worst hadn't yet happened to the main character. What if this little tweak here meant that the main character could have prevented all those deaths, but had kept quiet instead. Then, I worried that I'd gone too far, gotten too caught up in the writing lesson and forgotten the underlying need to avoid unpleasant emotions.
But no, the idea was wild fire. There was more writing, which culminated in glee. "I never knew I could lie in an essay. This is so much fun!"
* * *I think I may have created a writer.
The student showed me the attempted essay. Yes, it was personal and traumatic. It was also choppy and disorganized, not so much stream of consciousness as tiny pools of consciousness scattered randomly across the pages, which fits with what little I know about how people may react to truly traumatic events. One of the hardest aspects of my job is being faced with therapy-grade outpourings, but being constrained to adress only the writing aspects of the story. It can be very difficult to separate content from style, discussion of story from discussion of a personal nature.
I suggested that the student didn't have to tell this story. "But, that's the assignment. That's what we're supposed to do."
I asked whether, given that the first draft was already written, the student wanted to go ahead with working on this story.
But, no, this was simply not something that could be turned in. "Don't you think it's wrong that we should be given an assignment like this? And I couldn't possibly share this with the class."
"Perhaps you could choose another event, one less traumatic, and tell that?" But, that wouldn't work either.
"I just can't cope with all these emotions! I don't want to be a victim anymore. I don't want to write about awful things."
So, I tried again. "Lie. Your teacher doesn't know what your life has been like. She's not going to try to track down whether the events actually happened. So, just lie."
"I can do that? What if she finds out?"
"Of course you can do that. You have that right to decide what you are willing to write about and what you're not willing to share. You don't have to share anything you don't feel comfortable sharing."
"But, how can I do that? What would I write about?"
"Well, you've heard other stories, and you've watched a lot of movies."
"But, I just don't want to deal with all those emotions!"
"There are different kinds of trauma. What about people who've gotten themselves into some kind of accident. For example, kids playing on a hillside, only to have the ground give way and trap them."
"Oh! Oh, I've thought of something..."
Ten minutes of writing later, the student wails, "I feel so guilty!"
"Why?"
"Five people died! I just killed five people."
"No people died in the writing of this story," I replied.
"Would you like to read it?"
I did. Then I pointed out that the worst hadn't yet happened to the main character. What if this little tweak here meant that the main character could have prevented all those deaths, but had kept quiet instead. Then, I worried that I'd gone too far, gotten too caught up in the writing lesson and forgotten the underlying need to avoid unpleasant emotions.
But no, the idea was wild fire. There was more writing, which culminated in glee. "I never knew I could lie in an essay. This is so much fun!"
* * *I think I may have created a writer.
