UPDATE: It is NOT FIP. This is wonderful news. The problem is that we still don't know why he is full of fluid: ultrasound scheduled for Monday morning should help us determine
if there is organ failure or a tumor or a rupture.
In the meantime, your kind words and encouragement have meant the world to all of us:
Is found in work
in the light aqua walls of my studio
and the sound of a good riveting hammer.
Solace is found in the hearty kick of my sweet Baby O
and in his very presence.
Last night when Anthony came back from the vets with Jones they said the
fluid they drained was yellow, which is in keeping with FIP, a very fast-moving fatal
There is so much fluid that his organs are all pressed up into his ribs, but they cannot drain until they know it doesn't contain much needed proteins - to drain at will could mean seizures and certain death.
Today when we got the blood results there was no indication of the Corona Virus, which is the precursor to FIP. His liver function was abnormal
and we are still waiting on the results of the fluid testing:
we should hear tomorrow.
In the purgatory of waiting for the results,
I hope and despair.
None of what it could be is good or indicates long life, but there are things that would be more treatable than others.
Last night Schmilly and I laid in bed and prayed and grieved together but when we tried to sleep
it would not come
so we got the last of the chocolate cake
and pulled up Tiny Furniture on Netflix,
losing ourselves in the misadventures of a young twenty-something for a few hours.
We are very much a united front of mutual support in the face of loss...isn't it amazing how the toughest parts of life show you the grace and beauty of your relationships?
I forgot how grief makes every breath hurt,
how different it is than simply being mad or saddened...
last night I remarked to Anthony that under any other circumstances staying up late and eating cake with him in our pjs would have felt so decadent and fun
but there was a nightmarish cast in our reasons for keeping such late hours.
it's strange and awful:
Jones's eyes are still sparkling, his demeanor (though subdued and mostly restful) still so much his own... and yet we will have to say goodbye much sooner than we all thought
unless something miraculous occurs
I am holding out for little miracles
while I work
in the solace
of my little blue room.