Gabby

Pictured above is Gabby and her "sister" Luna playing their favorite fishing game on my wife's tablet. I put sisters in quotation marks because they are not blood kin, but rather are the last of my wife's brood of nine cats. Luna was a Tuxedo and Gabby, a black Burmese. 

We lost Luna to a heart attack a few years ago.  Luna adopted me as her human as soon as she met me. She was my first cat master.  I was a dog kinda guy before her.

Gabby, when I met her, was the cat that didn't speak. She would move her mouth, but nothing came out, unless it was 2 AM in the morning.  Then she would find a toy and walk around the living room yowling at the top of her lungs.

Both cats belonged to my wife. But Gabby was HER cat and Sue was Gabby's human.  I have already told the story of how Sue and I found each other again after 48 years, were both single, got together and after a couple of years, got married.

Gabby and Luna came with us when Sue moved to Phoenix Arizona. And Gabby alone came when we moved to Windsock Ranch.  She stayed with Sue just as she always had.  Beneath her feet in the kitchen, sharing her chair while watching TV, and cuddled close at bed time.  If Sue got up in the middle of the night, so did Gabby, her four legged shadow for more than fourteen years.    

Somewhere along the way Gabby found her voice again. Whatever trauma had caused her to stop speaking before Sue adopted her from Pets-mart was forgotten while living with us at the ranch. 

Happy cat.

Gabby was struck down the day after Christmas by unknown medical causes.  We found her alone, here under my desk, unconscious, but breathing.  She was not responsive, and lasted but 3 hours before finally passing.

Gabby, the cat that didn't speak, who was my wife's closest friend and confidant was silent again. And, it may be cliche, but her silence is deafening. 

Be Well

When Cancer Comes for Christmas (2021)

 

     In August of 2021, my wife Sue had set up an appointment with a new pulmonologist. I had been having some breathing problems since we had moved from Phoenix and were living at about 3000 feet higher altitude. The first meeting went well and a CT scan and some breathing tests were prescribed for the following week.

     The tests turned out as expected. I have what appears to be a touch of Emphysema and COPD. Neither is a new diagnosis. There was however a surprise on the CT scan that required a different doctor and a more in depth scan. An unusual lump on my left kidney.

    I'd never had any issue with my kidneys.  This was a new wrinkle. A battery of urology and blood tests, including MRI with contrast, were ordered by my new Urologist. By the time I got to Tucson to meet the Urologist it was already November.

Surgery.  Definitely surgery.  Everyone was 98% sure it was cancer. Good news? It was smaller than a golf ball and the surgery could be done laparoscopically, by a robot. Well a controlled robot. 

It's all the rage you know.

The only question is when.  Before or after the holidays.

My wife, Sue, and I agreed. "Get it out. Sooner the better," we said. 

The soonest available time was early December. 

The time comes and we drive back to Tucson and check in for surgery and what was expected to be one or two days, if all went well.

It did. Better than expected, so far as the cancer... there was none. Just a really ugly benign growth that fooled everybody. So could I go home now?

Nope. I fell into the clutches of the "Respiratory Guys", who didn't like the way I breath. Not long enough, not deep enough, not fast enough, not slow enough, "you're a big guy... you should be able to suck that ball to the top and hold it there for two days..." there were three of them and they traveled together, always together... "do you ever need oxygen at home or at work? "

"No... and I'm retired.  It says so on that paper you're holding."

"So you had a desk job," they asked.

"No... I was an electrical rigger at a live theatrical venue. I climb into special scaffolding, suspended steel pipes and girders or grids and install special lighting fixtures for theatrical productions and rock and roll shows."

Combined gasp! "And you don't carry oxygen? Do you have an aspirator?"

"Nope. Never needed one. Can I go home now?"

"Well, your oxygen level drops below 90% several times an hour and that has us concerned."

"Maybe I don't need that much all the time. I've been laying in this bed for five days. Is this somehow connected to the surgery?"

"Oh, no. But we may have just caught something."

"Look," I said, "I'm newly retired. I've been taking it easy for a while. I'll admit I'm a bit out of shape, but I just bought a small ranch and I'm sure once we get into the swing of working it, all this will even out."

Two days later I got them to agree that if I make an appointment for a follow-up, and get a Nebulizer machine for home treatments. (it's still in the box).

So I'm home. Four to five weeks of no lifting and I'm back to being busy. It was a scare, but I'm glad this year we were one short for Christmas. Best gift I've gotten in years.