- March 1 – Discharge Summary – slight decrease in white blood cell count…likely due to previous chemotherapy treatment but not low enough to cause a delay in treatment. No significant abnormalities noted in CBC chemistry or ECG.
- Number 2 treatment. Check. Catie looked a little tired and scruffy when she got home; too much excitement coupled with some understandable anxiety. And of course, the administration of an intravenous catheter with nasty medication in her left hind leg.
March 2
And so it’s Tuesday. An uneventful night, a solid performance at breakfast. A mid-day report, before my husband goes to work: Catie seems fine.
A good day, all in all. I’m in a hurry to get home after work but think I can quickly duck into the grocery store to pick up a couple of things. A miraculous 15-minute run into Costco; a 10-minute stop into Safeway; I pull into the driveway. The car’s still running as I open the door, simultaneously hitting the trunk button, get out and slam the door shut just as I realize the trunk didn’t open after all and I must have pushed a wrong button. My heart sinks. Which button?
Yes indeed. The car is locked. No matter how many times I peer in the window and pull on the door, the car is unequivocally locked. And running.
A trip across the street to my neighbour, a call to my in-laws, yes, they have a key to the house. All is well.
Riley says: You have GOT to be kidding me. It wasn’t quite as composed as that. I heard the car pull into the driveway and Catie and I ran to the front window. Hm. I can hear the car. Mom runs into the garage. Mom runs out of the garage. Mom looks at us in the window and jabs the lock with a screwdriver. I bark: Yay, supper’s coming! Mom disappears around the corner. Is that her at the back door? She reappears on the front step, and stares at the door, rattles the knob, looks at us and runs across the street like a madwoman, almost slipping on some ice on the sidewalk. I’m confused. When it looks like she’s not returning any time soon, Catie and I sigh heavy Golden sighs and go back to our pillows. Things are weird around here sometimes but I’m sure she’ll come back.
Catie doesn’t eat all her supper. I don’t think it’s because of my delayed arrival; she manages about half and then looks up at me. I don’t think she’s feeling all that well. Riley’s lurking around. The bowl goes on the counter and Catie gets some hugs and kisses before I let them outside.
Riley says: Ok. Number one: what a waste of excellent kibble. Number two: Mom is obsessed with Catie’s personal business. She watches Catie poop and pee and cleans it up in gloves and an outfit like someone from her favourite movie Space Cowboys. Not to mention she won’t let me pee where I want to.