Posts from — July 2007

I have so, so many things to say about Emma, but for now I just wanted to share all the photos we’ve been looking at the past couple weeks. I’ve scanned a bunch of photos from the pre-digital years, and compiled a few other ditties from Emma’s “modern era”. I’ve uploaded them all to my Flickr site and created a photo album — or “set”, in Flickr parlance — for you to enjoy.

It’s pretty amazing to watch the evolution of this cat — and her owners — as she moved through her life. All told, Emma had nine different permanent addresses in three U.S. states, wore two different collars (both short-lived), endured and survived two apartment building fires, and received in excess of 300 toy mice as Christmas presents over her years. Looking at these photographs tells a great story; Brenda & I have looked at the slideshow of these pictures a million times over the last few days and they bring back so many memories of our relationship. I’ve added captions to many of the photos (and plan to add more in the coming days, as well as update the dates and location information) in the hope that you all can absorb just a little bit of what Emma meant to us.

Enjoy.

For those of you new to Flickr, I recommend you click the “view as slideshow” link that appears in the upper right corner of the page, and then hover your mouse cursor over the image that appears. You will see an icon with the letter I in the center of the photo; if you click that, the image titles and captions will appear overlaid on the photos. Then you can enjoy the show complete with commentary. There are tons of other ways to enjoy the Flickr content and please browse the site for more information on ways to do that.

She was loved, she was our child; she will be missed.

Vino cracks, loses a half hour in the hills; his Tour is over. Next day, Vino takes a stage win in convincing fashion, thrills the fans.

Hmmm…

Son of a bitch, Vinokourov tested positive. The fuckin’ idiot doped during the Tour de France, testing positive and getting his whole team kicked out of the Tour with less than a week to go, taking teammate Andreas Kloden—sitting pretty in fifth position—with him. If I were Andreas, I’d be pissed, but then maybe I’d be hoping I didn’t get my ass caught too, since I’d be on the Astana team, a horrid joke of a doping conclave. Let’s not forget that this was the gang of idiots that couldn’t even field a goddamned team for last year’s tour, since half the team was under suspicion of doping by association with Dr. Fuentes. Oh yeah, and if you’re enjoying watching Alberto Contador lighting up the road this year, and maybe catching a case of smug satisfaction watching him toy with Rassmussen (the other big doping story of the ‘07 tour) on the Pyrenees, don’t forget he too was on Astana last year.

Man, this just sucks. Roid Landis invalidated his Stage 17 comeback last year, and after 12 months of discussion about doping and how cycling needs to clean up its act, and the cycling press really handing it to the dopers and suspected dopers, we’re back in the same pile of shit this year.

The thing that really pisses me off is the smug reaction from colleagues and the mainstream media who look at cycling like it’s a circus. I mean, it is, but being a football fan and looking down your nose at professional cyclists is like being a catholic and looking down your nose at child molesters.

Are they all doing it? No way. But I’d say most are. Still. And that’s what I find really sad. But I can tell you this: I can’t wait for tomorrow’s last stage in the Pyrenees. It’s a great sport, filled with skill, danger, speed and pain. And I enjoy the contests and the scenery. And, P.S., the other sports have the same problem, but better unions, so shut up and enjoy the rest of the Tour.

You spend sixteen years with someone, you learn to read signs. The funny thing is, your optimism also gets the better of you. And so, we’re playing that game now. Good moments are blown way out of proportion, bad moments are horrifyingly painful to watch—and quickly pushed back to the cobwebs of the brain.

Spent half the day at the vet today. It’s the same old shit, same conversations I had three years ago regarding my father. The word “disease” being said far too frequently. Emma’s not doing so well.

From the information sheet on Emma’s latest cancer medication:

WARNING: Although this is a cancer medication, chlorambucil can cause another type of cancer…

Greaaaat. I wonder if the medication for the cancer that chlorambucil causes, causes cancer too? Round and round we go, Roche, Pfizer, Merck-Medco! Sheesh.

So, the harsh reality is that Emma’s cancer is so progressed, she’s not ever gonna beat this. We discussed our various options with the vet today, and have decided to continue with the Prednisone and she got a shot of something else today too, some Elspar-something-or-other. IV fluids and “Pred” are the plan of attack. We’re essentially opting for the junior varsity squad; the other, more aggressive options carried too many negatives for us. Heart risks with one protocol, bone marrow issues with another, and all of them would require Emma to take a ride to the vet on a weekly basis for shots and probing and general unpleasantness.

And, all of them end with Emma dying anyway.

Lymphoma in cats is often classified by the anatomical location where the cancer is found and whether the cancer is lymphocytic or lymphoblastic. Lymphocytic lymphoma is a cancer of mature lymphocytes and is a much less aggressive form of the disease. Lymphoblastic lymphoma is a cancer of the lymphoblasts and is a rapidly progressive form of lymphoma…

Guess which kind Emma has?

We’ve accepted that this is happening to her, and we believe that the best thing for her is to be here at home, even if that means that she’s got less time. Feeding her highly poisonous chemo would keep her here for six months, tops. We’ve been told to halve that estimate, by going with the less invasive/abusive method we’ve selected. And I guess we’re ok with that. As always with cancer, we’ll just have to wait and see.

Let me start with a quote, because I heard it in my head repeatedly throughout my (two) viewing(s) of ESPN2’s new miniseries “The Bronx is Burning”:

“Ahhh, 1978, there’ll never be another year like that, not in my lifetime.”

That gem was uttered by a co-worker from an old job, back in New York. The same guy who got me tickets to what ended up being Doc Gooden’s no-hitter against Seattle in ‘96, Joe is the quintessential Yankees fan: lifelong, diehard, one-sided, true. And he’s the guy I think of when I watch Billy Martin (expertly played by John Turturro) kick sand on the ump in this great, great show.

I was just a kid when the Bronx Bombers were running from their mediocrity of the early 70’s, and I really didn’t understand or appreciate baseball. Then. But, growing up in north Jersey, I dutifully watched the on-field antics of the 1970’s Yankees, and have the names and scenes of many Patented Yankee Great Moments burnished in my brain. You can’t help it, if you grew up in the New York City area back then, no matter your interest in the game. To this day, I do not understand Mets fans.

Today, I’d call myself a recovering baseball addict, having discovered a passion for the game when I was just getting out of college and living and dying with the Phillies (and Mitch Williams’ destruction of the season with a hanging 0-2 slider to Joe Carter, but I’m not bitter), and later on the Yankees’ amazing New Dynasty of the late 90’s. And so I was more than mildly interested in this new miniseries being trotted out by ESPN2.

Turns out, it’s pretty fun. Watching the on- and off-field antics of these adult kids in the Bronx that were going when I was a kid myself is pretty great, and it’s bringing back a lot of great memories of my youth.

Oh and by the way, I’m especially enjoying the portrayal of Reggie Jackson as an arrogant, egomaniacal douchebag. Remind me to tell you about the time I had great seats on the first base line at Yankee Stadium when I was a tyke and I saw Reggie Jackson give his glove to a kid who dutifully ran down to the wall and asked Reggie for his autograph every inning, only to ask for his glove back as he took the field the next inning. That little plot, along with the two drunk Irishmen seated a couple rows in front and to the left of us, created a scene that will never leave me. Reggie got his glove back, the kid got a brand new glove and two bats, and the drunks got to stay and watch the end of the game. And, as an extra bonus, Reggie heard all about how much of a dickhead he was. It was an awesome display for this eight year-old.

Anyway, if you have access to ESPN2 and you are at all interested in New York City history (Yankees, Son of Sam, Mayor Beame and the Mayoral race of the time), you should check out “The Bronx is Burning”.

It’s Lymphoma; both the mediastinal kind and the alimentary kind. Stage IVb. And as we all know from Johnny Sack, there really is no Stage V. Emma’s in serious trouble.

Emma gets oral prednisone and IV fluids for the weekend, to hopefully keep her comfortable. Monday we see the vet in person to talk about the strategy going forward. Chemo is the only real treatment option. We’re probably gonna try it and see how she does on the crap, but survival rates with this cancer are fair to partly cloudy, even with good response to the chemotherapy.

My head is in a fog.

Welp, it looks like Emma’s probably got cancer.

Fluids were drained, things were biopsied. More tests underway; expecting results tomorrow or Saturday. Nothing to do between now and then but pet the cat.

Shit.

Well, we just returned from the vet, and our fears have been confirmed. Emma is at least in the beginning stages of kidney disease, and she may have cancer to boot. We’ve heard this crap before, and Emma’s always dodged the bullets, but white blood cell counts and BUN values don’t lie. The immediate order is for hydration, and so—armed with a large bag of lactated ringers and a fistful of syringes—I get to do my very best John Gage impersonation on Emma tonight as we try to gradually re-hydrate her in time for tomorrow’s scheduled ultrasound test. Hopefully the ultrasound will allow the vet to get a better look at both the kidneys as well as the mass the she feels in Emma’s gastrointestinal tract, see what that’s all about.

Emma ate quite a bit at the vet while we waited for results, and her first injection of fluids seems to be helping. So, it’s not the end of the road, but we do seem to be on that fuckin’ road. Now we need to find out how long a road it is. You just really never know. Kidney disease can be a long slow burn, so maybe she’s got plenty more quality time left. Monday, Emma’ll have a follow-up exam and we’ll get more results, and have more of a picture to look at. For the first time since she got diagnosed with hyperthyroidism three years ago, I find myself looking at Emma and wondering “how long”? It’s really a shitty mindset.