Climbers

Hi, I fell down the costuming black hole last week and I've just climbed out.  Twelve neck-ties and 2 dresses later, plus a pair of dance pants for my boy.  Which doesn't seem huge but that's on top of our already crowded life.  Anyway.  Grade 5/6 Production; tonight's the night.  Climber is that excited.  The showbiz bug has finally hit that kid, much to my stage-mother delight.  This was the note he left us this morning.

In a short while we'll be putting stage make-up on him and heading to the theatre.  But in the meantime, I thought I'd just make note of the fact that it's been 6 months since Basil was hit by the car.  Our bank balance is still dreadful but look!



Look at my kitty in a tree.

Basil Update

The anti-inflammatories are working a treat. I think every day he tripods less. The limp is less pronounced too. His fur is growing back, which considering how cold Melbourne has been lately must be much nicer for him. I don't think any cat enjoys the cold and wet, but with his bare back I think he was really feeling it.



When he first came home he was completely sooky, but he has regained some of his feisty ways, such as flying into our bedroom at about 11pm wanting to have a fight with Fixit. He's not fully bolshie yet, but I can see it on the horizon. When he rugby-taps our legs at feedin' time (if we walk the wrong way) then I'll know he's really well again.

The Good, the Bad and The Ugly

The Good...

• Cherub won the Caught Being Good Award this week, serendipitously on one of the few Mondays of the year that Fixit was also there at Assembly. The award commended Cherub's positive attitude in always doing his best even with a broken arm. I must say that I think kids are ace. If I had a cast on my arm I reckon I'd whinge about what a pain in the neck the cast was, how much I hated being one-handed etc. Cherub just puts a bag on his arm for bath-time and writes with his right hand instead. I'm sure there's a lesson to be learned there, but I'd still put money on me being a whinger if I was afflicted.



• Basil was put on a course of anti-inflammatory tablets after we told the vet about the tripod-edness. Since then he has gradually started to put more weight on the bad leg. Fixit and I can't stop pointing it out to each other. Did you see that? He's definitely putting some weight on that bad leg. We're still waiting for his fur to fully grow back but on the whole, Mister Basil is looking very good, he's put on weight and is a cheerful, smoochy well cat once more.



• The quilt block I sewed for the WhipUp 65 Roses Quilt was not rejected (as I worried it might be) and is now looking like it belongs in the middle of a really fabulous looking quilt which will help raise funds for Cystic Fibrosis.



• New purple tap shoes. Same as the old purple tap shoes but not trashed.



The Bad...

• Tooth trouble. The tooth where I had a filling, then a chipped bit, then another filling has now chipped off more and it's very uncomfortable and I have to put up with it for 3 weeks til my ace dentist can see me. Tooth trouble is deeply unsettling I think, it makes me feel as if my inner core is disintegrating.

• A blister from the new purple tap shoes. Not their fault. Should have worn socks instead of stockings if I wanted to break them in for the energetic 2 and a half hours that are the childrens classes. Decision to wear stockings that day based on fashion sense not common sense.


The Ugly...

• There is a Rodent Of Unusual Size (thank you Shula for that Princess Bride reference) scuttling brazenly between the underneath of our house and our compost bin. I saw it in broad daylight and it was so shockingly large (and also, I think, rather fat) that I didn't even scream or jump, I just said out loud, to myself -and I quote- : Holy Moley that's a big rat. Fixit is scheduling a rodent cleansing. I believe the cleansing implement of choice will be a spade. We also have mice running around, (oh my god you should see the hole under the sink in the kitchen where they've been getting in, enormous! I bet the ROUS has been inside oh god I don't want to think about it.) but in a little silver lining I must tell you that Basil caught a (regular sized) mouse the other night and that I think that is all kinds of good.

Three questions.

Q1. Did you watch the Pirate episode of Doctor Who? And if so, did you sit on the couch or did you need to get Inside a Box, Under a Doona like Cherub?



He ended up on my lap and made a lot of creeped-out groaning noises, but if you suggest to him that he's maybe too young for the show he denies it strenuously. I only let them watch in daylight so they don't have nightmares.

(Lots of people tell stories of watching Doctor Who from behind the couch when they were little. Suse told me a charming story of needing to jump up quickly after watching the show that was on before Doctor Who so she could turn the tv off before the scary Doctor Who music & titles even started. The stresses, she says, of life before remote controls were invented. I used to feel that way when my parents watched Callan, now there's a show with seriously creepy music and at the end of the theme was a gunshot. Scared me to death, I used to lie in bed with a pillow over my head until the music stopped.)

Q2. Has anyone got any tips about cat physio?



Basil re-visited the vet today, because although he is recovering magnificently, he still won't put any weight on the bad leg and has instead turned himself into a very efficient tripod. The Vet sedated and x-rayed him (ouch!), and seems to think nothing is actually amiss, just that Basil needs to start working it to reverse the atrophying nerves and muscles. He's giving us some anti-inflammatories soon, and meanwhile we have to jiggle Basil's gimpy leg around a bit to encourage movement and weight-bearing. Just call us the Amateur Feline Fizzy Old Therapists. Apparently swimming is excellent therapy. That would be fun wouldn't it, making your cat swim.

Q3. Are you my Perfume Fairy Godparent? I ran out of my lovely French perfume around the time Basil ran under a car, and decided I couldn't afford to buy more until the finances were healthier. But this morning in my mailbox were two little samples for me, and I don't know who left them there.



Gosh I'm happy about it though. Smiling from ear to ear. I was pining for the Samsara, I was. Now I'm not. Thank you, thank you Kind Perfume Fairy.

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

Well, no actual arrows, but here are the slings in our life. Cherub is back at school although yesterday he only lasted half a day. Fair enough. At first he thought the sling was a nuisance and asked if he had to wear it. The doctor said it was a good idea, if only to let other people know to be gentle near him. By the end of that first day Cherub was really feeling the weight of his splinted arm, and both mornings since I've been awoken by Cherub standing next to my bed asking me to help him get the sling on. The poor kid is starting to realise the ramifications of being maimed. No swimming, soccer, tennis, trampoline, running or climbing. No two-handed games on the computer either. Even lego is difficult. I suggested he could read books but apparently that was boring too.



As for the kitty, he still really, really wants cuddles. He limps around after me sometimes, looking up at me pathetically. But I can't always be sitting in a chair, there is dinner to cook and stuff to do. So yesterday I tied the ends of a pashmina together and he snuggled in.



He was pretty happy with the arrangement.

Carnevale and Chickies

Aaaargh. I'm soooo behind on my blogging. First there was craft camp, then when I came back there's been school holidays/cat care and plus I was a little bit sick for a day or two. I really want to do a post about the gorgeous craft camp, but I need photos of some stuff I made, and two of the items -fleece pants for the boys that they wanted to wear straight away - are now malingering in the festering mound of dirty clothing in my laundry waiting for it NOT to be raining in Melbourne so they can be washed, dried and photographed.

So in the meantime, here are the disguises the children wore to last Friday's Carnevale Parade at their school. Climber opted for a simple mask and cloak, and looks, I think, rather like a golden child.



Cherub, currently obsessed with the Plants vs Zombies game, chose to go as a Zombie and when he walked slowly at you mumbling Brains it was quite terrifying.



I much preferred it when he removed the mask.



Elsewhere, Basil has started to act like a well cat, albeit a gimpy-legged one. I took him to have his stitches removed, except it was really more of a check-up seeing as he'd already ripped every single stitch out by himself: disgusting! He still really, really wants to be with people as much as possible. If you sit down he will limp over and look up at your lap and you have to pick him up before he attempts to jump up there. He also managed, by dint of enormous perseverance and sheer bloody-mindedness, to break out of the battened down suitcase that he is supposed to sleep in overnight. What else could we do in the face of such determination but let him sleep on the bed with us? Fixit constructed a pillow-y ramp so he could wonk his way up there, and we were rewarded with happy purrs as soon as he reached the doona. It seemed like his whole journey since he dragged himself home to us had been leading to that point really.

And a little craft camp sneak-peek: I made Myrtle & Eunice's gorgeous Easter chickies. Pattern works fine, Tania, although I might need some advice on how to do neat blanket stitching on the beak... I hope you approve of the very free-form and relaxed feet, I really tried to stay true to the spirit of your instructions.

The Ministry for Silly Walks

Basil's recovery continues apace. Mostly he lies around in the suitcase or a box, getting lots of zzzs. But if one of us comes to sit on the floor next to him, he wonks over to sit on our laps.



If we [thoughtlessly] sit on the couch he deadset thinks he's going to jump up there to sit on our lap. He has nothing - nothing - in his hind legs at the moment, can barely balance on them and yet he reckons he can make it up to our laps. Insane kitteh. I am still taking him outside for a daily spot of glorious Autumnal sunlight, which I think is good for him. He again shows some misplaced confidence in his abilities by trying to go for little walks though. Just sun yourself, kitty. Seriously.

His wonk-walk -which I try to prevent - goes like this:
(1) left front leg [fairly upright]
(2) right front leg [bit wobbly but still upright]
(3) left rear leg, the one that is a bit damaged [wobbling like fun, tilting to side]
(4) completely *knackered rear leg [gracefully falls down on side]
(5) haul self up, start again.

He goes surprisingly fast.

*which no longer has a ball joint connecting legs to his wired-together hip & is held there only by muscles which need to adapt)

In other outside adventures, the non-eating cat, because of still being tube fed so not particularly interested in real food, ate some blades of grass yesterday. Not to make himself sick either, as far as I could tell. Just because he felt like it. And he completely freaked out when he heard the postman's motorbike ride by our house, and I mean completely. Can't decided if this is just sensible fear of all things motorised or if Australia Post owes me a small fortune in vet fees. Where is the CCTV when you need it?

Best of all though, was watching him wonk-walk as far as the door last night, whereupon he lay down next to the rug there and started to fight it. Take that rug! I got no back leg strength but I still take you!

What else?

Well, I won some very cool packing tape from the lovely Miss Pen at Cottage Industry, and it arrived yesterday along with some extra purple love. Spoiled, I am. Thank you Pen!



I've run out of my expensive French perfume, and wondered briefly if I ought not forswear such luxuries in light of the embarrassingly large vet bills (I've decided not to add them all up as actually I don't want to know just how much we spent). So I've been using up an inherited sample which is Tresor by Lancome, and yuck! It's just not me. I hate smelling it on me. Whereas the Samsara was perfect on my skin and I received lots of compliments when wearing it. Anyway, in one of those weird I-hate-my-brain-things, I keep thinking of Angela's Ashes, where the kids were starving but Angela still found the money for her cigarettes and wondering if buying the perfume I like would be the same but even worse, or allowable because we can still afford to feed the children. First world problems, eh? I suppose I could go back to Dewberry Oil from the Bodyshop for a while, recreate my teenage aroma...

I made an apple and rhubarb pie, adapting this recipe. I used 6 small granny smith apples and a bunch of rhubarb, but note to self; always check your mixture before cooking the final dish. Could have done with more sugar, I think both the rhubarb and the grannies were on the tart side. It's still lovely but gives you mild lemon-face when you eat it.



And I'm off to another Crarf Camp tomorrow with non-blogger friends - I know, here I go again with luxuries but this has been booked for ages and is my last one for the year so I think I can rationalise it to my own satisfaction. I am not at all organised for this one, beyond knowing that I'll be making apple pie for Saturday dessert and Jenny has kindly decreed that I can have The Princess Room (double bed, room to myself) in light of all the cat-stress. And on that note, I should really go pack.

Meester Fawlty.

Apart from the fact that he is not very interested in eating actual food, Basil is on the mend.  He is getting plenty of nutrients via the oesophageal feeding tube so I'm not too worried about the lack of eating; although if he could manage a bowel motion I'd feel he was really getting back to normal.   But he is still on a morphine patch, which is, as my nurse-friend puts it, very binding.  He is definitely showing signs of feeling more himself, he quite often makes the effort to get himself on the litter tray, he has started to do a little bit of grooming, has managed some weight-bearing on the side with the iliac subluxation (in other words, the side that has the problem we are treating conservatively rather the completely shattered side that required the surgery)  and best of all he is seeking out cuddles.  Indeed, if one of us sits anywhere near him he drags himself over to our laps.  I've taken him out for some sun both days, believing, as I do, in the restorative powers of sunlight and fresh air, and he was very happy about that.  I also put a towel down in front of the lounge-room heater last night and kept him company while he slept contentedly.  He most definitely resisted any attempts to put him back in the suitcase, and really, can you blame him?

In other news, Cherub woke me the other morning with a request to make his breakfast because his stomach was so hungry it was meowing.

My little tap student H, from this post looked at the new posters I have in the tap hall, specifically one that looked like this...

and said in pleased tones to me: Hey! There's your brother!  Because boys of that age are of course brothers.


And Climber had his cricket presentation last night.



He received a bowling award and mention was made of his excellent fielding talents too.

Home

The kitty is home. He looks a mess, he has a shaved back and leg, two separate sets of stitches on some ouchy-looking wounds, a feeding tube in his neck (makes getting meds and nourishment into him easier), a few bandages; he's filthy and he's already trying to pull the sutures out. But he knows where he is and he is happy about it.  So am I.

I have to keep him confined for 6 weeks to help his hip heal. I don't want to be defeatist about this, but I can hear the little voice in my head saying yep, good luck with that once he's starting to feel more like himself! Ah well, we will face that when we get to it.

Meanwhile, I went looking in the spare/junk room for something I could use as a cage, something that we could move around so that he has family near him all the time. And I found our old suitcase, so old it still has some TAA luggage labels on it. As soon as I lifted Basil inside you could tell he thought it was cool. Kitties like a box, they do. He sniffed out his litter tray, then curled up on the blankies and settled for a sleep. He hasn't stirred yet.


*Thank you to everyone who commented here or on facebook, who sent healing thoughts or tried to send money (we are managing but I can't tell you how lovely it was that people wanted to help us, I do know some lovely people) or nagged for updates or worried on our behalf.  All of that helped get us through a difficult week.  Truly roolly xxx.

Blood-y hell

The family went to visit Basil on Sunday and as soon as he saw us, Basil started talking to us. I do speak a little Cat, so I'll tell you what I think he said: Family! Where have you beeeeeeeen? I'm all broken! I want to come hoooooooooome. Then he lay there soaking up the patting and loving and he purred for us. Oh my God, he purred. I nearly cried. It was so heartening. He's on a pain-relief patch and it is obviously doing the business.

The plan at that stage was to give him a blood transfusion on Sunday so that his red blood cell count was high enough to help get him through surgery, which was slated for Monday. Cat transfusions are tricky, there is no kitty blood bank and so you have to find a cat who is (a) the correct blood type and (b) virus free. We thought we'd be okay because Basil is the more common A-blood type, and the vets had a few donor cats, but the one that they knew was blood type A had recently donated, and the 2 they tried for us on Sunday were both the much rarer blood-type B. What are the chances?

Anyway, they rang to tell me this, and it was all starting to sound hopeless because the blood-typing costs me $200 a pop and the virus-checking ramped it up to $500 (!!!!) and we are already being stretched to the limit to cover the surgery and hospitalisation. They flagged the option of sending him home for a few days to recover his red blood cells on his own, which I thought was fine, only it delayed the surgery and meanwhile the poor kitty was flopping round for days with a broken back-half.

However.  Finally some better news. The specialist surgeon just rang me. He is very pleased with how much better Basil is looking and the fact that he is recovering his blood-cell count (it's gone up from 15% to 20% since Saturday). The upshot of which is that they've now said we don't need to transfuse, that they'll operate tomorrow (Tuesday) and he can also transfer Basil to his other practice where the overnight care will be much much cheaper. All going well, we should have a mended cat back home with us Wednesday.  Please keep sending more good luck vibes our way,  today I feel like they have started working!

The Show Must Go On

I had this very bad lead-up to the Merri Creek Fete performance yesterday, because I was so strung out about the sick kitty and therefore not fully able to keep all my balls in the air, so to speak. A morning's phone call from the vet saying Basil would need a blood transfusion and that that would cost an extra $700 sent the stress levels sky-rocketing.  Then I realised I had arrived at the Tap Hall without any ipod to teach class with, that it had probably fallen out in the car -which was at soccer with Fixit and the boys - and that Fixit was phone-less.  A few deep breaths were required before I worked out how to contact Fixit;  the ipod was delivered and the morning's classes went off smoothly.  Then it was time for lunch and Nell and I set off to the fete to prepare the tap boards while Fixit and the boys ducked home to get the forgotten good camera and normal shoes for Cherub (ie ones that were not studded soccer boots or tap shoes for him to run around afterwards at the fete in). And then as we stood near the stage in what we thought was an organised state, another glitch: several students had not got their tap-shoes for the show.  A quick discussion took place - the stage was running 15 minutes late and Pea's Dad was willing to drive Nell to the Tap Hall to collect spare shoes!  Only that meant a sort of bated breath wait because Nell is the ipod keeper at shows and the stage crew of course asked me for the ipod pretty much the minute Nell left.  They made it back with minutes to spare, and the shoeless children and I had a quick rummage to match feet with taps, while Nell sorted the ipod.



I walked on stage with the Tiny Tappers, preparing to dance the Yellow Submarine, but the music was playing up and there were no vocals at all, which bewildered the Tinies and made it difficult to get our cues.  So there was a bit of battling through with the dance and grimacing wildly over my shoulder at the crew to please fix the problem; and then Nell, in desperation, did something  (she still doesn't know what) to the ipod, and balance (and vocals) were restored.  From that point on, the show went really well.  The Tiny Tappers were divine as always:



The combined middle groups (beginner and intermediate level) were an absolute smash with their routine, Concrete & Clay (the Martin Plaza version).  The audience were spontaneously cheering and whooping during the routine - I think because a section of choreography echoed exactly what everyone really wants to do when they hear that bit of the music and the kids looked so deliciously happy as they did it - and that was an absolute tonic for me and a big happy high for the kids.  It's good to be cheered, it really is.  Look at our faces, we're loving it.



The Gliding Groovers class were next with their Goodies routine, complete with comedy falls at the end. The rule of comedy falls is to go up before you go down. Look how high up my Cherub went. (And well done to Fixit for catching that precise moment, what a corker of a shot!)  I love how good this class is and how well they do this routine.  They requested that I did it with them yesterday, they don't really need me but it was fun to be part of it with them.



The Tapsters started with their acapella number.  I could feel a very impressed vibe coming off the crowd when they did it too, and received quite a few comments afterwards about how much people loved that  bit.  They finished with a Shim-sham, and received a great big hand.  They really are super, those Tapsters.



Fixit captured the audience after we'd taken our bow. It really was one of our best shows ever.



I am lucky to be surrounded by people who help make it work - the kids, their families, Nell Fixit and Jenny. Thank you xx

Seeing the Specialist

I was handed the whole box of tissues as I walked into the specialist's reception today, the prospect of maybe having to decide between paying an unmanageably large amount of money or telling them to put him to sleep having reduced me to rubble.  The part of my mind that was saying come on pull yourself together woman was also wondering what I'd be like if I was faced with a potentially terminal health situation involving an actual person, like say one of the kids.  Even worse you'd think and yet I fail to see how that could be possible when I looked at how pathetically pathetic I was being.  But I suppose the thing about sick people is you rarely have to face putting an end to suffering based on financial grounds because we have a public health system here.  I am kicking myself for never having got Pet Insurance.



Anyway, while the [brisk and positive] specialist took Basil away for an examination, I successfully distracted myself by means of a Learn A Tap Routine Video on my ipod and was able to talk to the specialist when he returned without embarrassing myself or him.  Tap dancing is always my best therapy.  And when the specialist came back, it didn't sound too grim.  Just complicated.  If the weird blood problem sorts itself out and he doesn't require a risky transfusion, if there's no spinal or chest damage which is being assessed via x-ray now, if his colon isn't punctured and infecting his system and if he makes it through the weekend, then he could have fairly straightforward pelvic repair surgery on Monday and he'd be okay.
  
*edited to add: all clear on spinal and chest x-rays which is good news.



Waiting, waiting then.



I tell myself 2 things.  One is the fact that cats can survive things that no other species, including humans, could.  They are tough and resilient.  The other thing is that Basil has guts.  He dragged himself back home through the rain and the cold with a paralysed back half, using only his front paws, all the way to our window and called us.  That is some spirit.  Fight on, gorgeous boy.

Basil vs Car

We knew it was not a good sign when we arrived home from our school's Harmony Day Picnic at 7 o' clockish and there was no kitty tripping us up and demanding his dinner. And when he still wasn't home by bedtime, after I'd called and called, (he always comes when we call him, always) the alarm bells were well and truly ringing. I must have been sleeping with my ears straining for the sound of him, because at 1.30am I heard his meow outside our bedroom window, the sort of cranky meow he'd make if a cat he didn't like had come too close.

Fixit and I leapt up to see, and there he was underneath the window, but he was not jumping in and there was something wrong-looking about his back half.

So I gently brought him inside and put him on the sheepskin rug while we figured out what to do, where to take him. His legs and back half were wet, he had some blood on his jaw and he couldn't move his legs. He'd obviously dragged himself home over rain soaked terrain (including up a step to get himself under our window) and then called us. The bravery and determination of this breaks my heart.

By 2am with some hot tea in a leakproof cup, I was on the road to Essendon where there is a 24hour vet hospital. They checked him out and told me it looked like a broken pelvis but that at that point in time the main thing they had to treat him for was shock, his body temperature was dangerously low. He was given painkillers, iv fluids and put in a hot box. I drove home, thankful that I knew where he was and what had happened, but still unsure about whether he'd make it. I crawled into bed at around 3.30am.

By morning he had stabilised enough for me to go and get him and transfer him to the care of our local vet. He looked much better when I arrived and kept trying to move his useless back half around, displaying what the Vet referred to as Burmese rage when his body wouldn't co-operate. I took this a a good sign.

...


In the middle of writing this the vet rang. Here's what. He needs specialist surgery, and our vet can't actually do that. They're pretty sure his bladder is okay but if it's not I gather specialist surgery would be a waste of time and money. He needs to go back to the hospital because he requires 24 hour care and our vet doesn't offer that. I wish I hadn't moved him now. Shit. He's in a lot of pain. I don't really know what to do. Fixit is on his way home anyway.