I’ve completed my last chemo. I’ve fought a battle and won – come out still kicking. I was proud. On top of the world. Master of my own destiny. Today I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. As if the evil I’ve been fighting wasn’t playing fair – and instead of going down in a brave battle of fists, just pulled out a gun, pointed it at me and pulled the trigger when my back was turned.
Today I had my first pre-op appointment with the plastic surgeon. A mere 2+ hour appointment to familiarize myself with all of the intricacies of everything that probably will not happen but could, so they ask me to read through all of the fine print and then sign – just in case.
I was prepared. Or so I thought.
During the course of discussion about what to be aware of following the surgery, and what I’ll need to do – the nurse asks me if we have any pets. Yes, I say, 2 cats. Indoor cats? she asks…. why yes, 2 elderly, indoor cats. She then informs me that fear of infection following this surgery is very serious (I had gathered as much from my discussion with my plastic surgeon as well – they are deadly serious about my susceptibility to infection following the type of surgery I’m having). Seems I’m not to come into contact with any animals following my procedure – not until after all of my 4 drainage tubes are removed – the last of which is likely not going to be until 3 weeks after the surgery. Hmm, I say….
My cat isn’t just a cat, he’s my companion when I’m sick. When I was dead on the couch with the flu that rolled into pneumonia last winter, he stayed with me. He kept me company. He was my constant companion. When I wasn’t sleeping at 2 am, he was snuggled up with me or wide awake with me, purring and comforting me. He was my rock, my constant snuggle bunny kitty. I had planned in my mind that I’d be spending the vast majority of my recovery on the very same couch upon which I spent 4 weeks when I had the flu and pneumonia. I had envisioned him and I in the same roles – me stuck on the couch while my body slowly heals and him as my furry hugging, purry pillow.
In telling me that I cannot come into contact with my cat for the majority of the critical healing time, the painful recovery time, they’ve effectively removed one of my best tools for handling stress and sickness in my life. I’m not sure I am ready to swallow that pill just yet. I’m pretty sure I am going to have to mourn my cat’s loss to me during this time before I can clear my mind enough to get it around what they need me to do.