4 weeks of Joy.
Within a week of Lola moving in, exploring her new territory and for all intents and purposes taking over as Queen of the house, it was as if she had been here forever. It shocked me that in such a short time the addition of a curious, loving and lovable ball of fluff could make such a difference to my life.
Those who say cats don't have the same loyalty as dogs, have never been blessed with a cat like Lola. On the few occasions I do leave the flat, when I return she will jump up from wherever she's been dozing to greet me as though I've been gone for a month, rubbing her little cheek on mine as I creakily bend down to say hello.
She's come to expect a treat every time I go out, and if it isn't immediately forthcoming a thorough sniff of my pockets and bags is a certainty.
She deserves every treat she has ever been given.
My world was about to change in a massive way, though neither me nor her knew this of course, and we spent a glorious month enjoying getting to know each other.
I had 4 precious weeks being thoroughly entertained and thrown into awe from day one when she crept tentatively out of the carrying basket I had brought her home in. The first few moments weren't what I would describe as pleasant - the car journey had understandably frightened her, causing not only frantic meowing for half of the 5 hours we were on the road (M25, never a short journey) but also a bowel movement that emitted a smell similar to that of a sewer rat with diarrhoea. The poor little thing had to sit in her own stinking mess which trust me, wasn't a bowl of roses for me either, cooped up in a car in the middle of January in a rainstorm that necessitated closed windows! By the time we made it home, both exhausted and with burning eyes and nostrils, my first job was to put the kettle on and Lola's first task was to have a bloody good wash! Naturally I supervised until I was satisfied that I wouldn't be cleaning the gaff for months afterwards as who wants an errant feline running around the place with shit hanging off their arse?
From then on it was all wonder and awe. From the first use of her shiny new litter tray within an hour of her arrival, to the funny little way she hops like a bunny when she's in a rush to get to her food bowl or playing with her toy mice.
This precious little girl entertained me from the minute I woke up till the minute I went to sleep. I could watch her antics for hours.
And then it all changed.
Almost a month to the day Lola came home, I heard the words I had been dreading for the past 6 years.
The nagging pain in my right hip that had been bugging me for months had finally been acknowledged as more than 'just a little weight gain causing a bit of pressure - you ARE in your late 40's after all' that my bitch of an oncologist had explained it off as.
*This particular oncologist will from now on be called 'The Donky'*
I had managed to secure an appointment with another oncologist who is part of the same team as The Donky, but has a much more desirable bedside manner, and whom I like immensely.
*This one will be affectionately known from now on as 'The Onky'*
Following a bone scan, a CT scan, an MRI and several blood tests, the most important and telling of all being my tumour marker test, i was informed that my breast cancer had spread to my spine. My lower spine, directly above that big round bone that I can never remember the name of but that hurts like a mofo when you fall and land on it.
I was now Stage 4. Inoperable. Terminal. Bolloxed.
I can't recall my exact thoughts directly after hearing this news but I'm pretty sure I must have looked much like a stunned mullet. Several leaflets were given to me which I blankly placed in my bag, including one for a new drug that I was to begin taking immediately. The drug was part of a clinical trial which the NHS were at this time refusing to pay for, so it was being supplied by means of some charity or other, which I'm ashamed to say I've never found out the name of.
The drug I was to be taking every day until further notice was chemotherapy in tablet form, a fairly new advancement in the world of chemo which enabled us 'lucky'
patients to ingest lesser dosages, thus experience fewer and less harsh side effects than regular chemo. The disadvantage being we take it every day and have no let up in any side effects we do have, as opposed to those taking regular chemo, who get to have 2/3/4 week breaks but with harsher side effects.
I couldn't decide which was the better option.
I left the appointment with a prescription for these magic pills as well as several other new drugs, mostly to treat side effects, and the side effects of drugs that treat the side effects, feeling like someone had inserted an egg whisker into my brain and was frantically whisking for an entry into the Guinness Book of Records.
Lenny had returned.
And Lola stepped up.
Within a week of Lola moving in, exploring her new territory and for all intents and purposes taking over as Queen of the house, it was as if she had been here forever. It shocked me that in such a short time the addition of a curious, loving and lovable ball of fluff could make such a difference to my life.
Those who say cats don't have the same loyalty as dogs, have never been blessed with a cat like Lola. On the few occasions I do leave the flat, when I return she will jump up from wherever she's been dozing to greet me as though I've been gone for a month, rubbing her little cheek on mine as I creakily bend down to say hello.
She's come to expect a treat every time I go out, and if it isn't immediately forthcoming a thorough sniff of my pockets and bags is a certainty.
She deserves every treat she has ever been given.
My world was about to change in a massive way, though neither me nor her knew this of course, and we spent a glorious month enjoying getting to know each other.
I had 4 precious weeks being thoroughly entertained and thrown into awe from day one when she crept tentatively out of the carrying basket I had brought her home in. The first few moments weren't what I would describe as pleasant - the car journey had understandably frightened her, causing not only frantic meowing for half of the 5 hours we were on the road (M25, never a short journey) but also a bowel movement that emitted a smell similar to that of a sewer rat with diarrhoea. The poor little thing had to sit in her own stinking mess which trust me, wasn't a bowl of roses for me either, cooped up in a car in the middle of January in a rainstorm that necessitated closed windows! By the time we made it home, both exhausted and with burning eyes and nostrils, my first job was to put the kettle on and Lola's first task was to have a bloody good wash! Naturally I supervised until I was satisfied that I wouldn't be cleaning the gaff for months afterwards as who wants an errant feline running around the place with shit hanging off their arse?
From then on it was all wonder and awe. From the first use of her shiny new litter tray within an hour of her arrival, to the funny little way she hops like a bunny when she's in a rush to get to her food bowl or playing with her toy mice.
This precious little girl entertained me from the minute I woke up till the minute I went to sleep. I could watch her antics for hours.
And then it all changed.
Almost a month to the day Lola came home, I heard the words I had been dreading for the past 6 years.
The nagging pain in my right hip that had been bugging me for months had finally been acknowledged as more than 'just a little weight gain causing a bit of pressure - you ARE in your late 40's after all' that my bitch of an oncologist had explained it off as.
*This particular oncologist will from now on be called 'The Donky'*
I had managed to secure an appointment with another oncologist who is part of the same team as The Donky, but has a much more desirable bedside manner, and whom I like immensely.
*This one will be affectionately known from now on as 'The Onky'*
Following a bone scan, a CT scan, an MRI and several blood tests, the most important and telling of all being my tumour marker test, i was informed that my breast cancer had spread to my spine. My lower spine, directly above that big round bone that I can never remember the name of but that hurts like a mofo when you fall and land on it.
I was now Stage 4. Inoperable. Terminal. Bolloxed.
I can't recall my exact thoughts directly after hearing this news but I'm pretty sure I must have looked much like a stunned mullet. Several leaflets were given to me which I blankly placed in my bag, including one for a new drug that I was to begin taking immediately. The drug was part of a clinical trial which the NHS were at this time refusing to pay for, so it was being supplied by means of some charity or other, which I'm ashamed to say I've never found out the name of.
The drug I was to be taking every day until further notice was chemotherapy in tablet form, a fairly new advancement in the world of chemo which enabled us 'lucky'
patients to ingest lesser dosages, thus experience fewer and less harsh side effects than regular chemo. The disadvantage being we take it every day and have no let up in any side effects we do have, as opposed to those taking regular chemo, who get to have 2/3/4 week breaks but with harsher side effects.
I couldn't decide which was the better option.
I left the appointment with a prescription for these magic pills as well as several other new drugs, mostly to treat side effects, and the side effects of drugs that treat the side effects, feeling like someone had inserted an egg whisker into my brain and was frantically whisking for an entry into the Guinness Book of Records.
Lenny had returned.
And Lola stepped up.
Great blog
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