I am only verbose when I’m depressed, and I have not had an easy couple of days.
I found the second of my four foster kittens dead under my bed Monday morning, she had forced a few squirts of blood from her rectum before expiring. Probably panleukopenia, the feline version of parvo, and given by vaccination. I told the shelter worker I thought her too thin, but I was waved away with the reassurance it wasn’t unusual for kittens to be so thin while growing. Maybe I should have advocated better, maybe I was just too hopeful after her brother had died the week before.
I ask myself why I do such things to myself. No one has forced me to take care of such fragile things, other than guilt-tripping words on the shelter’s website. I feel some sense of duty due to my education, that I have all this knowledge going to waste. I also like taking care of such helpless things that often need toilet training and special nutrition. As I long for a baby that has not come in three years I satisfy the urge with the nearness babies I can find.
But I can’t stand when they die.
The same day I found out I have two collapsed discs that will take surgery to correct. With these collapsed discs I have now also developed scoliosis as my spinal health continues to deteriorate. How will that curve look in twenty, thirty, forty years from now without correction? It’s only been three years so far. I already have such pain where the curve is greatest as the bone digs into my muscle.
Right now, it would be a half an hour surgery with one or two nights in the hospital. The longer it goes, the worse it gets. Yet I must convince my HMO I need the surgery or pay out of pocket. The earliest I could even schedule the surgery is December with my school schedule. I am afraid to even research scoliosis and carrying a pregnancy.
“What do you have to be stressed about?”
This is also why I have largely retreated from social media as well. I can’t deal with anymore on my plate than what already sits there, festering. I mostly try to find what makes me laugh, check in on friends, and that’s all. It’s all I can take.
I’m trying to do a chapter a day on revising “The Ring and the Bridle” ahead of its release as an ebook. Yet I wish I had another story to write as a catharsis. All I ever cared about, after all, is that someone would read my work. As of now I only have a dream journal to try to glimpse the future as I dream alternatively of being disabled or abled.