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I had my Fuck It Moment™ in Taco Bell.
After the first consult with the specialist doctor–where she repeated my least favourite phrase “You’re doing all the right things, but…” (which I equate with “You can’t fix this on your own”, the thing I abhor more than anything) and it was clear that this autoimmune health thing is actually pretty serious and I have drugs and MRIs and weekly blood tests ahead of me now–I went for dinner with Mum at Taco Bell and had a bean and cheese burrito and glorious cheesy fries that nearly made me weep.
And I said fuck it.
It’s the moment of acceptance that This Is Your Life Now and Things Are Different and Stuff Has to Change. Counting spoons and adjusting to more than this new smaller body that I feel like an impostor in. It’s not the black moment from fiction we associate with epiphanies and realizations–it’s a much more calm, less scary sort of thing where you throw up your hands and say okay, this is how it has to be. I’m sick. I can’t make myself not sick. And there are loads of other considerations now that I’m juggling something other than my mental health. I made the decision in that Fuck It Moment™ that I need to take care of myself and prioritize my health, no matter what that entailed.
And I also realized I can’t take care of my pets if I don’t take care of me, and I can’t take care of me if I’m panicking while one of them is sick.
This is Temperance von Eviltry, Duchess of DOOM. AKA Doombuggy.
She ate Monday at 11:30am.
She has not eaten since.
We were at the vet Wednesday and she had something for the nausea; while she hasn’t been sick since, she still won’t eat, and she is not acting like herself. “Herself” usually involves things like knocking over my Christmas tree, cuddling with the dog, playing with Rodney Ballsnomore, terrorizing my poor beta male cats, battling with the other household alpha female, etc.
She’s young, not even three and a half, so the vet thinks the most likely scenario is an obstruction of some kind, though there is always the chance of kidney problems or something else. We just have no idea without running some tests. Even though she was a little perkier this morning, the loss of appetite is not good and I don’t want to take chances.
Tests cost money.
I told the vet I’d sell a kidney on the black market if I had to (look, it doesn’t have to be MY kidney). The thing is, I am completely tapped out at the moment. I’ve been in clinical remission for seven weeks, which is great, but I have six months of bad health to make up for–six months of lost routines, lost weight, lost finances, etc. I have been scrambling to stay afloat the past month in particular (when I was hit with another $750 in vet bills for other pets, le sigh–dog has Cushing’s, other cat has bladder cystitis) amidst running to the city to see my specialist and going in for weekly blood tests of my own. I need to buy my own medication next week, too.
Normally I’d just try to take on extra freelance work, I have large scale projects I’m finishing up for people at the moment while dealing with my own health recovery, and tossing more work on my shoulders will not be good for my stress level, which I’m trying to keep down to avoid getting more sick.
I’ve gone months before without groceries so that my pets can go to the vet; I’ve prioritized them over everything, every time, in my struggle to be entirely self-sufficient. Lost my job last year–didn’t ask for help. Couldn’t afford groceries last spring–didn’t ask for help. Got extremely sick for six months and was hardly able to work–didn’t ask for help. Asking for help feels like I’ve failed so I normally find something to sacrifice. But it’s impossible to focus on my own health at the moment with financial instability and I have no more sacrifices to make at this point.
So fuck it. I am breaking down and officially asking for help.
- Here’s our GoFundMe page. There is nothing fancy here–I already feel like I’ve failed at adulting and being a pet mom just asking for help, and I don’t like handouts and would rather to give people something for their trouble (so PLEASE check the options below)…but, I’ve got nothing. I don’t have awesome prizes to offer you or the energy for another Giant Evil Project. There is my deepest gratitude, however, plus I am less likely to put a horrible curse on people who help my pets.
- If you are a writer with a book to publish, you can pick up a pre-made cover instead right here and hey, that’s money that comes direct to me too (for something that doesn’t add a lot to my workload).
- Also, I have ebooks for sale direct, and again, that’s money that comes to me just as if you’d used PayPal except you get some urban fantasy for your trouble. I am a pretty good writer and spin a decent tale if you’re into female characters often deemed “unlikable” and violence and naughty words and stuff.
- If you dislike GoFundMe (and I am cognizant of the troubles with them), my PayPal is skyladawncameron[at]gmail[dot]com.
- If for some reason you’d like to give directly to my vet and have it earmarked for us, it’s English Line Veterinary Services and I don’t even know how that would work, but there you go. Call them and use my name. They know me well.
There are a lot of people needing help with things right now (hey, I know of this one–if you have pennies, toss them toward these kitties too). And it’s the holidays, everyone’s broke–I’m not even sending Christmas cards until next month. But my Doombuggy needs xrays, some bloodwork, and god knows what else, and I have no buffer left after everything that’s happened to me this year. I lost my beloved Blind Cat a few months ago and I can’t even bear the thought of anyone else being in poor health at the moment.
So if you can bring a little doom our way, we’d appreciate it.