That's my life this year. Waiting.
Waiting to figure out what was wrong with Simon. Waiting for the election with the same hyper-alertness I usually reserve for severe weather outbreak days. Waiting for information on Second Dad. Waiting for Sweetie's fatty tumors to turn malignant.
The waiting is over for those issues, except for Second Dad, but that has turned into waiting with treatments.
Now, waiting for Caleb to heal or die.
Those are the choices, really. Because if his medical condition was kidney infection triggered by the stress of losing housemates and a grieving human, I have four other potential patients living in this house, and I cannot afford emergency or long-term treatment for all of them.
So I wait for enough time to pass to get a clear blood test to confirm kidney infection vs disease. I wait for Caleb to decide what food he will eat, and I wait to see if he can keep it down. I wait for him to pee normally, and I wait for him to stop peeing and require further medical intervention. I choose to wait, and I wait to choose.
I wait for Toffee to either stop screaming at two hour intervals all night or for it to happen long enough that I kill her because sleep deprivation has deprived me of all reason. There is no way to muffle a yowling Siamese in an 823 square foot house.
I wait for Skamper to fall ill, since he is the one who should be having bladder problems. I can't afford it if he does, so I'm basically waiting for him to die, too.
This is an extremely whiny post, and more than a little self-pitying. I apologize. I hope by writing it down, I remove its power over me.
I am not a fighter. If God wants to remove my cats, I can't stop him, and I won't try anymore. I could be down to two by Spring.
I am currently waiting for a Feliway multi-cat stress-reducing pheromone dispenser to arrive. Then I must wait to see if it works.
Dear God, let it work.