When I took Junior to College Station I was hoping to come away with some kind of idea about his condition. What I got was a bunch of A’s and B’s. That is, he could have cancer, but he might not. Treatment might help him, but it might not. Most cats are OK with being left in a hospital for a month, but some aren’t.
They only thing they would give me a straight answer for was that it was my decision and whatever decision I made would be the right one; there was no bad decision here.
That was the one thing they were very wrong about. As far as I’m concerned, I can’t make a right decision. Anything I decide now will be wrong later on. That’s the way I am; that’s the way it is.
I put a lot of thought into it, though. In the end I decided that I would let Nature take its course. I don’t want to subject Junior to the stress of being alone, being put under anasthesia every day (Monday through Friday) for a month, of having the radiation treatments which may (or may not!) affect him negatively. It was a difficult decision because, even though I want him around forever, I don’t want him around and miserable. I know this is the right decision, but I also know it’s the wrong decision. At some point I’m going to wish I had done things differently.
Right now, he seems happy enough. He’s active, he’s playful, and he can be a serious pain in the butt. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But that can change. Will change, one way or another. The only way I’ll get off the hook is if he doesn’t have cancer.
When Fallout 4 was announced I knew that NaNoWriMo wasn’t going to happen for me. FO4 comes out in November; NaNoWriMo happens to occur in November. I’ve been waiting years for FO4. But, maybe, I can use it to my advantage. In the sense that anything I do is to my advantage. But, if I tell myself, “You can play Fallout if you write 1,667 words that day” then maybe I can finish this year. I can also stomp off to my room yelling, “Aw, man!” And then complain about what I jerk I am for making me write some stupid stuff before I can have fun. Then I can get into an argument with myself and say, “As long as I’m living under my roof I’ll have to follow my own rules!”
When the men in the padded wagon come offering me a jacket with too-long sleeves I’ll just tell them I don’t know what they’re talking about.
Last year, if you remember, was a bust because my face expanded thanks to some kind of gland infection. I was way too miserable to write anything down, mostly because I was in a lot of pain. And I certainly wasn’t going to any write-ins looking like I had the space mumps.
This year I’m hoping to keep my head’s dimensions more or less the same as they currently are. I just kind of wish the doctor had taken my suggestion and installed a spigot in my head so I could drain it at will.