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Mar. 20th, 2010 11:13 amMiss Miller's appt. was not the joyous, "Everything's all better!" news I wanted to hear. The first two sentences out of the vet's mouth included the words "quality of life" and "chemotherapy", and I pretty much bawled the rest of the visit.
It's ugly. When we found the lump, her usual vet was like, "It's probably a cyst. Do you want to operate to know for sure?" And we did. And then they called us and were like, "Okay, it was cancer, but its really low grade, if-you-must-have-cancer-this-is-the-cancer-to-have cancer. We think we got it all, but you can go to an oncologist if you'd like." So, all through this we're getting "good" news, and then at the oncologist appt., it's suddenly 6 months to 2 years?
She has a test in two weeks which will hopefully tell us whether it's 6 mos/nothing to be done or 2year/do you want to try chemo? Luckily, we have the money for chemo, if it comes to that. But, geez, I don't know if I want to put her through that. And, being in the business I'm in, I feel grossly guiltly about having 3 grand for cat chemo when there are people out there stuggling to scrounge 30 bucks for groceries for their kids.
In other even lamer news, I'm a chick and I have issues with food. It's funny how you think you've got food figured out when you really don't. In my case, I have two working, open-ended quasi-rules:
1. The only things that go into my mouth, food-wise are:
a) stuff I need: water, veggies, fruit, protein, fiber, a little dairy.
b) stuff I absolutely love
2. Eat really well most of the time so that I can eat what I want occasionally.
Rule 1 works awesome for me because I get to focus on all the stuff I get to eat instead of all the goodies out there that I'm letting pass me by. Rule 2 normally provides for guilt-free indulgence and motivation to prepare and eat good choices.
Rule 2 crashed and burned this week. We had a lunch meeting at the Machine Shed that I knew about in advance. I ate well for the week prior because I knew I wanted to eat French Onion soup (Hi sauteed onions, full-fat beef broth, cheese and bread in a big ass bowl) and either meatloaf and mashed or a big-ass sandwich and fries. I was okay with that.
Until my soup came. Not only was it crowed in tons of bread and cheese but it also came with a bale of onion rings. I LOVE ONION RINGS and I ate most of them. Plus my sandwich (though I did ditch one layer of bread and eat it open-faced) and the majority of my fries (EVEN THOUGH I JUST ATE A PILE OF ONION RINGS). The rest of day, I beat myself up over those stupid onion rings, going back and forth between LET IT GO and YOU ATE THEM BECAUSE THEY WERE THERE NOT BECAUSE YOU ORDERED THEM IF YOU WANTED THEM SO BADLY YOU WOULD HAVE ORDERED THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE AND THEN YOU ATE YOUR FRIES AS WELL OINK OINK OINK.
Stupid, fucking onion rings.
In happier food news, I met my sister for lunch yesterday and I enjoyed flounder and I felt like I had the Precious sitting near me making up flounder jokes for his Twitter.
It's ugly. When we found the lump, her usual vet was like, "It's probably a cyst. Do you want to operate to know for sure?" And we did. And then they called us and were like, "Okay, it was cancer, but its really low grade, if-you-must-have-cancer-this-is-the-cancer-to-have cancer. We think we got it all, but you can go to an oncologist if you'd like." So, all through this we're getting "good" news, and then at the oncologist appt., it's suddenly 6 months to 2 years?
She has a test in two weeks which will hopefully tell us whether it's 6 mos/nothing to be done or 2year/do you want to try chemo? Luckily, we have the money for chemo, if it comes to that. But, geez, I don't know if I want to put her through that. And, being in the business I'm in, I feel grossly guiltly about having 3 grand for cat chemo when there are people out there stuggling to scrounge 30 bucks for groceries for their kids.
In other even lamer news, I'm a chick and I have issues with food. It's funny how you think you've got food figured out when you really don't. In my case, I have two working, open-ended quasi-rules:
1. The only things that go into my mouth, food-wise are:
a) stuff I need: water, veggies, fruit, protein, fiber, a little dairy.
b) stuff I absolutely love
2. Eat really well most of the time so that I can eat what I want occasionally.
Rule 1 works awesome for me because I get to focus on all the stuff I get to eat instead of all the goodies out there that I'm letting pass me by. Rule 2 normally provides for guilt-free indulgence and motivation to prepare and eat good choices.
Rule 2 crashed and burned this week. We had a lunch meeting at the Machine Shed that I knew about in advance. I ate well for the week prior because I knew I wanted to eat French Onion soup (Hi sauteed onions, full-fat beef broth, cheese and bread in a big ass bowl) and either meatloaf and mashed or a big-ass sandwich and fries. I was okay with that.
Until my soup came. Not only was it crowed in tons of bread and cheese but it also came with a bale of onion rings. I LOVE ONION RINGS and I ate most of them. Plus my sandwich (though I did ditch one layer of bread and eat it open-faced) and the majority of my fries (EVEN THOUGH I JUST ATE A PILE OF ONION RINGS). The rest of day, I beat myself up over those stupid onion rings, going back and forth between LET IT GO and YOU ATE THEM BECAUSE THEY WERE THERE NOT BECAUSE YOU ORDERED THEM IF YOU WANTED THEM SO BADLY YOU WOULD HAVE ORDERED THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE AND THEN YOU ATE YOUR FRIES AS WELL OINK OINK OINK.
Stupid, fucking onion rings.
In happier food news, I met my sister for lunch yesterday and I enjoyed flounder and I felt like I had the Precious sitting near me making up flounder jokes for his Twitter.
