Attachments

I took a day off work today.  I needed to lay a kitten to rest.  It all started 3 days ago when this gorgeous little girl found her way to our house.  She was friendly, although underweight and non-active.  Once we realised she had no home, it was decided that she would stay here.  Paul named her Patches and settling in didn't take her long at all.  We honestly thought she just needed some TLC and good feeds.  Apparently not.  This morning was a discovery we didn't like.  Patches couldn't support herself at all.  She couldn't stand, let alone walk.  We put her on the bed and she promptly collapsed onto her side.  Off to the vet for her!

We went to the vet closest to our house (the only one in our town) and left feeling angry and unhappy.  They would only look at Patches if we paid in full and if she needed to be put to sleep we would have to pay for that also.  Otherwise we could surrender her to them but they would put her to sleep without trying to help her.  Payday was not today.  And we were not giving up on our Patches!  30 minutes away is another vet where we have taken other much loved pets and not needed to pay in full so off we went.  They were waiting for us and the vet who looked her over was amazing.  He did a test and came back with the dreaded news.  She was in bad renal failure, dying slowly and the kindest thing would be to put her to sleep.  Paul got angry and left the room as he couldn't deal with watching an innocent animal being "killed" so I stayed with her.  It was quick and painless.  It was also heartbreaking and guilt-wrenching.  The vet didn't charge us for putting her to sleep and he even put her into a little boxed casket for us.  His words were "At least you tried".  It doesn't feel good enough.  I failed her.

Paul, Patches and another cat named Floyd

 

 

Master Wyatt with Patches, Floyd and Tempest

 

 

Why must I get so damn attached so quickly?  Alot of people would turn their backs on an animal in need, but I just wouldn't be able to live with myself if I were to do so.  It was bad enough putting Patches to sleep, it went against everything I believe in.  But, I am grateful that she went quickly and without suffering throughout the failure of her organs.

 

Paul is still home from work with his bloody finger.  It has been 3 weeks now and he is getting twitchy.  He is not one to be able to stay still for long.  And he has finally realised just how much of a handful Master Wyatt can be.

 

A few days ago, he was put on antibiotics due to blood poisoning in his finger from the wound and luckily that has cleared up but alas there is still healing to be done so another week at home for him at the least.  I don't know how he will survive.  Hell, I haven't a clue how I am going to survive!  It means another body in the household day and night to make messes and to get in my damn way.  Actually, to be honest, he is pretty good........ for a male.  He still helps with the housework and has things done for when I arrive home from work which is pretty fucking awesome.  Don't get me wrong, the bastard still has his faults!

 

Paul's healing finger

 

 

How the hell does one finger manage to cause so much bloody inconvenience?!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





Not a visit for me.

Last night was a trip to the hospital, and for once it was not me being the patient.  It was my partner, and I got to see what it is like through the eyes of the person being there as support.  I like it as much as I like being a damn patient, and I never want to go through it again.  It was hard being the support person while fighting the build up of anxiety that threatened to send me into the land of meltdown.

The hospital and myself do not get along.  Everytime I enter that scary place I feel as though I am going to have a panic attack and last night was no exception.

Yesterday was a fantastic day.  The housework was done in the morning and bike riding was enjoyed in the afternoon.  Then everything turned shit.  It all started with turning the oven on for dinner.  The damn thing smoked the fucking house out which lead to us deciding not to use it until it was given a complete scrub out the following day.  Hindsight is oh so damn awesome.  Paul decided to use the electric whisk to beat some eggs for dinner and when the blade chose to fall out, he had the not so good idea of pushing it back in while his other hand was near the power button.  And then there was blood.

The culprit.

My mother (who lives across the road) came to the rescue with looking after Master Wyatt while I drove Paul to the hospital, which is about a 30 minute drive on a good day.  He does not make a good passenger!

Paul had to have 3 local injections to numb his finger which gave him an insight to what I have been through with all the ones I have had over the past few months and he did not like it.  I don't blame him.  Admittance for surgery, due to his finger being a hell of a mess and being that the silly bugger had hit bone, was almost carried out but the on-call surgeon decided to wait any longer would just increase the risk of him losing his finger so it was decided that stitches would hopefully suffice and help it heal, which meant being able to come home the same night thankfully.  Fuck having to drive home then back again the next day, I hate that fucking place!  I also would of had feelings of guilt and sadness if I ended up having to leave him there.  Now I know how he felt the times he has had to leave me in that horrid place.

Looking incredibly good after stitches and a cleanout.

Today has challenged me and had me near breaking point a few times.  I managed to trap my finger in pliers and Master Wyatt had a couple of falls which resulted in tears.  I have felt anger towards Paul for being such a stupid moronic fool and ending up being a one-handed idiot, thus leaving me to have to work harder and attempt to take control of everything.  Well, control is not happening.  More like chaos.  I would be safer in a den of lions I am certain.  Master Wyatt has chosen today to be a temperamental little shit which does not help matters.  Why can he not just understand that Daddy is more handicapped than usual and cannot be used as a jungle gym right now.  15 month olds are hard bloody work at times and then some.

*screams with frustration*

I do understand where Paul is coming from.  I know what it is like to be limited and have to rely on others more than usual.  I also know what it is like to be stubborn and to like feeling helpful, which is also what he is doing.  He really is trying, and he feels like shit which I totally sympathise with.  I am trying to be as understanding as possible, which should not be at all hard for me, but why the hell did he have to have his hand near the bloody power button?!