Avatar apps are fun...

It's me, your friendly neighborhood goof, here to regale you with a bunch of random nonsense again...

I decided that, after my last entry, an update was needed. Why I don't know... Honestly, I don't think anyone reads my weird blog entries, but what the fuck... My last entry dealt with something a bit concerning. So on the off chance that someone reads this shit I babble, I figured that person may wonder how I was doing...
And that brings us here, to this entry...
I'm feeling a lot better now. It's 7 weeks today since my surgery. I had my post-op appointment and am now cleared to do pretty much everything. I can take a bath! Praise the powers that be! Granted, I was allowed to shower the day after, so I haven't been all gross and smelly for over 6 weeks (don't get the wrong idea). It's just that, when you're not allowed to do something, that's all you want to do. And it didn't help that some of the things my best friend got me for my birthday included a Pina Colada bath bomb and a set of Calgon Hawaiian Ginger bath products. So a few days after my appointment, I took the time for a bath. It was amazing! I soaked in hot scented water and read a book until the water started to get cold. How wonderful! And those damned scabs on my incisions finally fell off. It's about fucking time! I was getting tired of them peeling up and getting stuck on my clothes and pulling. That didn't feel pleasant, not at all...

My dear Sasuke...

And it seems that, since some things have changed in me physically, I decided I had to make some other changes as well...
I decided to break down and buy a new car!
Meet my little red Chevrolet Spark, Sasuke! Isn't he a cute little thing?
It's been a very long time since I had a brand new car. The last once I bought (which was also the first brand new car I bought) was my dearly departed Setsuna back in 2007. Sadly, Setsuna met his demise a little over 3 years ago when some stupid bitch wasn't paying attention and slammed the SUV she was driving head on into my car. That was a dark day... In all honesty, I don't know how I didn't kick the living shit out of that idiot...
But I'm getting off track, here...

7 miles! A concept hard to grasp...

I had actually gone looking for a newer used car and realized something... Aside from the fact that there are a lot of salesmen (sorry, salespeople... we want to use the correct vernacular) that are complete douchebags who are only out for themselves and have no problem fucking you over, I learned that a newer used car with tens of thousands of miles on it are almost as much as a brand new car! I'm sure that's some sort of conspiracy... Jack up the prices of the used cars to make the new cars more appealing... "Gee, this 6 year old car with over 60,000 miles on it is over $15,000 and a brand new car is only $2000 more. I'm going for the new car!" Just give that some thought... It's pretty obvious that's why they jack up the prices of used cars with high mileage. And it makes sense that, if a car like that is so expensive, you may as well spend the extra few grand for a brand new one. But some people would rather save the couple grand and buy the overpriced used car. To each his own...

He's sporting my vanity plate...

Now... I have to make mention of this... When it comes to cars, I'm old school.
I mean that literally... When I bought Setsuna, the salesman kept asking what the car needed to have in order to get me in it. My reply was, "A CD player and air conditioning..." That's when the sales pitch started. "Don't you want power windows, power locks, blahblahblah...?"
To this I sternly replied, "I want a CD player and air conditioning..." My only other stipulation was that it be a two door hatchback. All my cars, since the first, have been hatchbacks. I can't give that up. I prefer rack and pinion steering to power (though I'll accept power rack and pinion), I like having to move my seats manually and I prefer crank windows to power because they don't fail on you.
Funny story about crank windows... I once had a friend who was many years my junior get in my car (this was Setsuna). She asked if it was alright to smoke in my car. Mind you, I was smoking in my car at the time. I should have messed with her and said it wasn't alright. The thought crossed my mind... Anyway, she lit one up and began looking around in confusion. She then looked at me and asked, "How do you put the window down...?" I was dumbfounded... I asked her if she saw the little handle on the door. When she replied that she did, indeed, see it, I told her, "Turn the handle..." as if she were mentally retarded.
I'm not sure if this makes her look stupid or makes me look old...

Air traffic control...?

When I decided to buy Sasuke, I knew he was the perfect car for me.
He had manual locks, crank windows, a hatchback (what they're now calling a "lift back"... whatever) and, though he had four doors, the back doors were made in such a way that it looked like a two door car. And he's red! All my other cars were bland neutral shades... I wanted something colorful! I didn't even test drive him. I wanted one for years, I was buying him!
So once the paperwork and red tape was waded through, the salesman (the only one I trust) gave me my key and we went out to my new car!
He wanted to show me how some of the features worked as well as help me set everything up. Okay, I'm down with that... We got in the car (I was in the driver's seat) and I noticed something... There's no CD player... I was wondering why a brand new car in this day and age would have no way to play your own music. Hell, when 8-Tracks and cassettes came on the scene, car stereos had players for them! I was downhearted... I asked my salesman, "There's no CD player, is there...?" to which he replied there wasn't and proceeded to explain why. Newer cars are designed to work with your phone/mp3 player/what have you! How cool! It's definitely a really cool feature that, over the last few weeks, I'm finding to be really convenient for so many reasons!

Have to have my L'Arc~en~Ciel hanging...

But there is one thing that was decidedly inconvenient in the beginning...
This may seem simple to everyone else, but for old school me, this looked like air traffic control! I have to admit, I was pretty intimidated by my new stereo. It took me a while to figure out how to use it...
And I still haven't figured everything out yet...
So far, the only things I've mastered is how to access my iTunes music on my phone as well as the playlists I'd made, how to answer the phone when I'm driving and how to ask Siri to call people, read me any texts I have and how to reply to them.
Although Siri butchers some things when sending a text... I had sent one and used the name Setsuna. What my male, Irish brogued Siri turned that into was "set sooner". It was kind of comical, actually!
But, as you can see, there are a whole plethora of other things on my stereo that I have no clue how to use or have no idea why they're there. For instance, why is Pages on my stereo?! Does the car manufacturer think I'll be reading over things I wrote while driving?! Do they think I'll dictate to it?! Siri can't get shit right! Neither can autocorrect! Kind of doubt I'll be dictating things to Pages while I'm driving... But it would be cool if it would read to me while I drive...

Hello, Oreo!

And there has been another new change...
This is my new bunny, Oreo!
It's no secret that I have a lot of anxiety issues. I was in dire need of an emotional support animal. That sounds cruel when you consider the fact that I have 2 dogs and 2 cats... Actually, they tend to cause anxiety... My oldest dog is 12, has seizures, cataracts and dementia (which causes him anxiety, so we feed off each other). Sadly, his twilight years are at the beginning of the end. My other dog is 9... Both are the same breed and both are very excitable when encountering other people (or going for walks, rides in the car, a piece of cheese...) Neither are good candidates. Cats, as we know, don't exactly like being in the car and aren't usually very receptive to the leash and harness thing to travel with you. And they cause me anxiety on occasion, especially when they get into mild cat fights... Cats are also very independent. As long as you make sure they have food, water and a clean litter box, they could care less that you exist. Affection comes when they want it and they'll certainly let you know if they don't...

Isn't she cute?

So I got a bunny!
This is my little cotton ball, Oreo! I'm assuming it's obvious why I chose that name (her coloring) and she was so little, I wasn't sure what sex she was. I've had animals all my life... Sometimes, if they're very young, what lets you know their gender isn't always visible right away. It often takes time for genitalia to be visible. So I chose an androgynous name that would work for either sex. However, over the past few weeks, I haven't noticed anything. In my mind, no balls means it's a girl, haha!
But I could still be wrong...
Either way, she's been wonderful therapy for me. She's helping me to get over my germaphobe issue, she helps ease my anxiety (who doesn't feel calm holding and stroking a soft, sweet little bunny?) and she loves being a diva and having a fuss made over her.
I've also discovered that she's really weird...

Seriously, wtf?!?

Every morning, she performs the Bunny 500 where she races back and forth across her pen for about a half hour like she's psychotic. She's also a little smart ass... I bought her a litter pan to make pen cleaning easier. I told her if she was good and went in her potty, I'd give her treats. And, if she didn't, she wouldn't get any. She went to sit in her litter pan and I was sure she did something, but she didn't. Yet there she sat, staring at me as if to say, "Where are my treats, bitch...?" I simply told her that she didn't go in her potty, which meant no treats. She still continued to stare at me in that fashion, as if miffed that I promised treats and didn't deliver. And, as you can see, she sometimes lays in odd positions... I know rabbits stretch out when they lay down, but I've never seen one flop their hind leg into their food dish in such an uncomfortable fashion. She's weird! She's definitely my bunny...!
You can also see that, in just a few weeks, she's grown considerably... I'm not sure what type of rabbit she is (because the pet store had no idea either). She was the smallest there, so small that I assumed she was a baby. However, I don't know how much she'll grow. If she's a regular rabbit, she'll get rather large. If she's a dwarf, she'll stay relatively small. We shall see...

How lovely...

In closing, I'll leave you, my dear reader (if there are any of you) a picture of some of the lilacs I cut from the bush in my backyard. Aren't they beautiful...?
Lilacs are my favorite flower, and not just because purple is my favorite color...
When I was a child, my grandmother had this ridiculously huge lilac bush that probably stood at least 12 feet tall and was over 6 feet wide. It was so gorgeous... It was big and fluffy looking with all these lovely purple flowers. And they had the most heavenly smell! Every spring I would go cut the biggest bouquet of lilacs, which was no small feat... I would have to jump as high as I could and grab hold of a branch to bend it down far enough to clip off the flowers I wanted, then let it spring back up. I'd continue to do this until I had such a huge bouquet that I had a hard time finding a large enough vase for them.
Now my own lilac bush is so tall that I can no longer stand on my back deck and clip off flowers. It's now about 10 or 12 feet itself and I find myself still jumping up to bend down branches to snip off the flowers I want. It may seem like a lot of work, but, as you can see, it's definitely worth the hard work and effort!

Hysterectomy: A First Hand Account of Reproductive Failures

An apt way to put it...

A week ago today, I had a hysterectomy...
Again, I had taken to the internet, hoping to get a little more information than the head scratching medical descriptions the doctors give you. Amazingly, I found very little but the same medical jargon I'd gotten from the doctor. Not what I was hoping for...
It's amazing that no one shares first hand experience for other people who might be looking for the same sort of answers, a more personal account, so those of us anticipating such a surgery will have a clue what to expect from it. I understand, some people are still a bit uneasy discussing their private areas and any issues they have with them. But here, in the cyber world, no one knows who you are anyway, so why not discuss more taboo subjects that make you a bit uncomfortable?
Personally, I've never had an issue discussing topics that make other people uncomfortable and want to politely excuse themselves and slink away, tail between their legs and red faced with embarrassment. So, in the hopes that maybe I can help some other poor souls out there, I'm going to tell you what it's like when you have a bad breakup with your uterus and what to expect...

Words to live by...

Actually, my story begins over 12 years ago...
I really don't want to date myself, here... I have a birthday coming up in less than a week and I'm not feeling great about it. Like at all...
Let's just say that things did not turn out like the textbook explanation of womanhood that we're taught. I, like other women, was taught that girls began getting visits from "Aunt Flo" at around age 12 or 13, your hormones start to fluctuate in your 30s and sometime in your 50s, you go through menopause and will, from that moment on, be able to wear white pants whenever the fuck you want. Sure, there are downsides to menopause like not being able to have children anymore, hot flashes and you'll be temporarily insane until your hormone production ceases. But hey! You'll never see "Aunt Flo" again! No more cramps, pads, tampons... and you can wear white pants whenever the fuck you want! No more worries of having an unfortunate embarrassment! Most women, from the day "Aunt Flo" shows up, start counting the days until the horror is over and they reach the Age of Aquarius that is menopause.

Life sometimes screws with your head...

Like I said, my non-textbook story began 12 years ago with a pain that felt as if someone was pinching me on one side of my abdomen...
It was June or July when the pain began. Not horribly painful, just annoying. I tried everything to get it to go away. I tried rubbing in, changing positions, hoping it was just a bubble that was stuck that I could dislodge. None of these methods worked and I grew more and more annoyed with the pain. By August, I'd had enough and consulted my family doctor who referred me to a gastroenterologist. After a half-assed exam, he diagnosed me with IBS and sent me home with pills that, coincidentally, made me incredibly ill. They made me so ill that I couldn't work, so I stopped taking them. They never relieved the pinching pain anyway, so why take them?
I discovered the true nature of my issue the night of October 5th, 2006. I was at work that night and had to perform a strenuous task. I immediately felt pain in the front side of my abdomen, much like if I had pulled a muscle. The pain subsided for the most part, I reported it to my manager to cover my ass, downplaying it as the small issue I felt it was. Even when the pain returned and made me double over, my manager asking in concern if I was alright, I still brushed it off and told her it was only a pulled muscle, nothing more.
I left work soon after and soon after I arrived home, an excruciating pain shot across my abdomen, enough to make me drop to my knees. I just chalked it up to the fact that "Aunt Flo" was expected soon and went for a hot bath to relieve what I thought were killer cramps.

I need a lot of cookies...

But the bath didn't help...
I ended up passing out on the sofa and woke at 2:30AM, still in pain. By 3AM, it was unbearable... I knew then that I had to go to the emergency room. I'll never forget that horrible night... The doctor had 3 theories and the one he hoped it wasn't was an ovarian torsion.
You know it was the one the doctor hoped it wasn't...
I was rushed to a different hospital (with GYN facilities) and had to undergo emergency surgery. I learned, once I was fully awake and able to understand the doctors, that they had made a c-section incision and had removed one of my ovaries and coinciding fallopian tube. It seems I'd had a cyst the size of my fist (how it grew so large without that much pain, I'll never know) and when I had strained at work, the cyst moved which twisted the ovary and caused it to rupture. The cyst, amazingly enough, was fully intact. Wish I could have said the same for my ovary...

If only it were an ideal world...

I spent a lot of time feeling lopsided and mourning the loss of part of what made me female. It took me several months, but I finally grew accustomed to my new situation.
Then, that summer, the same pain began again on the opposite side of my abdomen...
I knew, from first hand experience, that I was experiencing the same issue. The trouble was convincing the doctor. I remember him telling me that the odds of experiencing an ovarian torsion were a million to one. Twice in the same person? The odds were astronomical. Astronomical... That was the exact words he used. But I wasn't convinced. I knew something was amiss, so I pushed for testing. They did imaging and found a cyst on the other ovary, "but it's small", he told me. Yes, I'm sure the other one started out small as well! So there I was, walking around and feeling like I had a ticking time bomb in my abdomen. And the pain was growing worse. I pushed for laparoscopic surgery to see what was going on.

Surprise...

Imagine my surprise (I say with a sharp note of sarcasm) when I woke up from my surgery on October 2nd, 2007, that they had to remove my other ovary and fallopian tube. Apparently the "small" cyst was wrapped around the main vein of my ovary and, had I not had the surgery, I would have suffered another ovarian torsion. Guess I'm astronomical then, huh...?
I was warned ahead of time that, if it needed removal, I would be thrown into surgical menopause immediately and that it would be a hundred times worse than normal menopause. They weren't kidding... The hot flashes, mood swings and depression over not being able to have children anymore were devastating. It took years for me to come to terms with that.
But what they didn't tell me were other important things... Losing your ovaries can up your risk for heart disease as well as osteoporosis. My mental illness became so much worse (I even developed a few new ones for shits and giggles). Physically, I'm technically older than my actual age and, man, do I feel it. My arthritis in my knees has gotten so bad I need replacements (that I'm too young for), I have arthritis in new places, I can't eat and digest foods I used to, I developed belly fat that just won't go away and I tire easily and need to nap often. Yeah, the last 11 years have been a real joy...

Enjoy your new-found panic...

But what was most unexpected was the post-menopausal bleeding... Any bleeding after menopause is considered abnormal. In 11 years time, I'd had an issue with this 4 or 5 times, had a multitude of tests and twice had procedures to find out why I was experiencing this issue and hopefully prevent it from returning. Both times they failed on all counts and, despite my desperate pleas and family history of uterine cancer, the doctors all refused to remove the only remaining part of what made me a woman, even though it was obvious that it, too, was defective...
I was beginning to think the doctors were involved in some conspiracy to torture me and possibly allow me to develop uterine cancer so they could use me as some sort of unwilling guinea pig... But then, as luck would have it, I found a doctor with some semblance of reason who agreed to finish the job and remove my malfunctioning baby box. I was thrilled! Scared (I mean, it is surgery), but thrilled!

It sounds cruel, but it's apt...

So here's where we get to the part where, no matter how informed you are, you're clueless and have no idea what you're in for...
I went in for surgery a week ago, feeling pretty confident that I knew what was going to happen. I was a little apprehensive because I had this awful feeling I would be in for a rude awakening, but I still felt pretty confident. I had all sorts of doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists... pretty much everyone and their mom coming in to inform me of everything that was going to take place. I was ready... Like a Nike ad, every fiber of my being was screaming, "Just DO it!!!"

Hospitals: getting you stoned the legal way...

Of course, that was probably the cocktail of meds they pumped me full of before hand speaking...
That was just the cocktail they pumped me full off to keep me feeling calm and relaxed on the way to the operating room. Once I got there, they pumped me full of more drugs to help me after the fact. By this point, I was thoroughly stoned off my ass and I barely remember the oxygen mask being put on before they injected the anesthesia to knock me out.
When I woke, I was in the most horrible pain... The nurse came to give me an injection of pain meds and I passed back out. When I woke once again, I was still in pain and received yet another injection of pain meds. I'm surprised I knew my name at that point, let alone what had happened to me. And, to make it even more fun, they prescribed oxycodone and had me take one before they had me get up to try and walk to the bathroom. I was so stoned that I was falling asleep while trying to eat graham crackers! I fell asleep multiple times with food in my mouth and they want me to try to walk to the bathroom... I did manage, but I felt like I was floating, not walking.

Most days...

But what you really need to know is what it's like after you go home (which, in the case of laparoscopic hysterectomy will be the same day in most cases). In my case, I have 5 incisions stretching across my abdomen that look a lot like Morse code... They look dreadful, and when the healing itch sets in, it'll feel like bugs are crawling around under your skin. You'll hurt, like you've never hurt before even with narcotics. Understandable, seeing as how they literally cut one of your body parts loose, yanked it out and sewed the top of what was left closed. But this is pain you can't possibly imagine. You'll need to hold a pillow against your abdomen when you get up, sit down, shift position... And god forbid you should have to cough or sneeze and you can't get the pillow in front of you in time because it snuck right up on you. You have pain when you pee because it pulls those sore, inflamed muscles. When anything moves through your bowels, it feels as if someone is stabbing you with a butcher knife. And the horrible pain you'll experience from the gas they blew you up with hurts almost as much as the surgical pain.

Boredom levels at maximum...

You also can't do much of anything...
You can't lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk for about 6 weeks. You can't drive for 2-3 weeks. You can only climb stairs twice a day. All in all, you'll be in pain and not be able to do much of anything for almost 6 weeks. The pain lessens as time passes (I'm told) but it will take a good 2 months to be considered fully healed.
So what can you do...? Not a whole helluva lot...
You're encouraged to get up and walk, a little further each day. I don't know who the hell would go outside for a walk... To be honest, walking a few feet to the bathroom or kitchen in enough, then I need to sit and rest. And believe me, your body will tell you when you've done too much. You'll feel very wiped out and just not right. Essentially, you'll be laying around watching a lot of TV, reading books, playing video or phone games, needlepoint, knitting, writing inane blogs... Anything to stave off the massive boredom you're going to feel since you can't do much but lay around or sit on your duff for at least a few weeks. Sounds like fun, doesn't it...?

And don't come back!

All in all, I can't complain...
It took 11 years to do something they should have done when they removed my last ovary instead of leaving it in there as an insulting reminder of what I could no longer do. And to save me another surgery...
I've had a few weepy moments since its removal, which I find odd. I lost my ability to have children 11 years ago and had come to terms with it. Now I'm suddenly finding myself weeping at stupid things and weird moments. Maybe it's because the last part of what made me female, made my body able to do something special, is now gone. Maybe it's because I just had surgery and don't feel well. That's enough to make anyone weepy.
Or maybe I'm just losing my marbles...

My Cat Had Gender Reassignment Surgery (Kind of)...

MY bench seat...

Normally, my blogs are... really random...? I suppose that's the best way to put it. I write about whatever happens to be bopping around in my brain at that moment. But this entry is different and I have good reason for writing it.

The big puffball pictured on the left is my reason... This is my Maine Coon mix, Sebastian. Recently, my poor baby had to have Perineal Urethrostomy surgery. I'm sure that most of you, even those that are cat parents, are sitting there asking yourselves, "Perineal Urethrostomy...? What the hell is that?!?" I know I had asked myself that very question, which led me to do some research online to find out exactly what that was.
I found the answers to my question... If you follow the above link, you, too, can have the answer. A word of warning; there are photos and they are NOT for the squeamish. So if your stomach turns easily, maybe you want to check out a less graphic explanation.
The problem is that, while technical or medical explanations are helpful, they really don't prepare you for what all of this really means in the long run or how difficult and unnerving post operative care can sometimes be. I was fortunate that I found two people who had written blogs about their own personal experience, which was the best information I could have read. And, since there were only two blogs on this, I thought I would add one myself.

I'm not fat; I really am just fluffy...

But before I delve into a personal look at what I've been referring to as "feline gender reassignment surgery", let me give you a feel for my fluffy friend...
Sebastian knew from the start where he was meant to be. It began with a stroll through the mall pet store, a chance passing with a fuzzy little kitten in a cage with a few roomies... Every time I passed by the cage, there was only one kitten who meowed (loudly, I might add) at me. I've had cats all my life (it's a lot of years, trust me) and have never owned a male cat nor owned more than one at a time.
When I met this very vocal little guy, I already had a cat at home and she wasn't very fond of other cats... I mean, she hated other cats. I would often hear this strange thumping and find that it was her, thumping her tail harshly against the living room window because a neighborhood cat walked past the house. I wasn't sure another cat would be welcome from her standpoint, but if it was going to work, I knew it had to be a kitten, someone she could boss around and teach them how to cat. And it was obvious that this vocal, hairy little bit of fluff knew where he was meant to be in this world. What else could I do...? I gave it some thought, returned the following day and the newly named Sebastian came home with me.

Ah, there's no place like home...

Thankfully, the two dogs and other cat in my home welcomed this new addition, either with curiosity or indifference. Over time, he definitely won them over. And he stole my heart...
Sebastian is probably the best cat I've ever had the pleasure of sharing my life with. Look at that face! How can you not love that face?! Okay, that's cat mom bias, there... But he really is the best cat I've ever had. I was leery about having a male cat. They have a bad rep for spraying if they're not neutered as well as getting nasty as they age. Thankfully, Sebastian didn't spray at all before he was neutered at two years of age. He did hump... but it was only this old blanket, nothing else. And after he was neutered, his "girlfriend" broke things off (otherwise known as I threw her in a bag and put her out for the trash).
Sebastian has the best personality. He's very mellow and laid back. I often call him a marshmallow because he's such a softy. He's very affectionate and loving, is the most social of butterflies... He's even loving and affectionate with the staff at the vet's, which is unusual for a cat. I have never had a cat that liked the people who shoved thermometers up their asses...

Don't replace the microwave! I love this one!

For over 7 years, Sebastian has been an amazing part of my home. He's been the best companion, the most loving ball of fluff. Then, about a month ago, something suddenly changed in my feline friend...
One day, I noticed Sebastian squatting right in the middle of the living room floor! That wasn't like him. No what the condition of the litter box, he was never particular like some cats ("Omg, there's a tiny piece of poop in this box, IT'S TOO DIRTY!!") and never went outside the box. Yet, here he was, squatting on my living room floor. I tried to give him a gentle nudge, but he remained in the same position. Then I tried gently guiding him towards the direction of the litter box. He hissed at me... My marshmallow of a cat actually hissed at me! I was confused... even more so when he hissed again when I walked near him. I decided to back away and just observe him for a few minutes. He squatted several more times at various areas throughout the bottom floor of the house. But his squatting wasn't what was most concerning... What was most concerning was that, even with all this squatting, nothing was coming out. Not even one tiny drop of pee was to be found anywhere. Frantic, I immediately called the vet.

Silly human, thinking the chair is yours...

They informed me it sounded as if Sebastian had a urinary blockage and I had to bring him in. I made the appointment for later that evening as I had a few appointments of my own that day.
Thankfully, Sebastian was finally able to relieve himself (several times, on the bare floor where I would find it) before we went to the vet. He was a happy boy again! However, the doctor informed me that he was probably very close to having a full blockage and it could happen again... She sent us home with some pills to relax his urethra as well as a liquid pain medication. He seemed fine for a few days, until...
You guessed it; the squatting began again.
I had been reading up on the condition of a urinary blockage in male cats. It wasn't pretty... When I first took Sebastian to the vet, this sounded like the feline equivalent of kidney stones. And, in some ways, I wasn't wrong. Cats, particularly males, can develop crystals, stones and/or mucus in their urine which can block the urethra. But unlike most kidney stones, these blockages aren't always temporary. When I took him to the vet the second time, he was fully blocked and his tiny feline bladder was the size of a small orange and firm. I was told he had to be catheterized to try and unblock him. If I didn't, his bladder could rupture or he could suffer kidney damage.

This will be your cat on pain meds...

Sebastian was sedated, catheterized and drained. Due to his urine not being as clear as they would have liked, he had to stay two nights. He was sent home with more of the pills, more pain meds and a liquid antibiotic that he promptly spit all over the floor every time I gave it to him. I don't know why they make them banana flavored... It's a cat, not a monkey...
Something to make note of... your cat will be stoned off his fuzzy little ass. That's not an exaggeration, sadly enough. I mean, your cat will literally be tripping balls. They will hallucinate, drool all over themselves and forget how to chew because they're so high. Sebastian came home Friday evening a very happy cat. However, I noticed he wasn't drinking or eating. I thought, perhaps, it was because he was so incredibly stoned. The first time he was on these pain meds, he had difficulty doing both for that reason. I thought he just figured the hell with it, he'd wait until he was in his right mind. So I cut back on the pain meds, hoping he'd sober up enough to at least drink. But no such luck... He still wasn't eating or drinking and he was running to the litter box often with urgency, grunting with effort and producing nothing. By late Monday, he'd taken to hiding by my drafting table and refused to come out of the dark corner he'd found.

My state of mind for the past month...

By the next morning, not only was he acting sick, he looked sick... I knew what that meant... When I had picked him up from the vet, the doctor told me that, if he blocked again, he was a good candidate for surgery. Now, I had also read up on that and, after my conversation with the doctor, I had wrestled with what I was going to do...
PU surgery is incredibly radical... To put it simply, they would charge me a large sum of money to turn my cat into a eunuch so he could pee on his own again. Literally... The urethra of a male cat is more narrow than that of a female, especially through the penis. PU surgery entails that the penis be removed (as well as the testicles) and the wider part of the urethra be rerouted down near the anus where they stitch it fast to the abdominal skin.
I literally wrestled with this dilemma when I noticed that Sebastian was still not functioning. Surgery sounded like some sort of cruel mutilation to me. How could I do that to my marshmallow?! Worse, how would I afford it?! At that point, I had spent well over $1,000 due to these blockages, the majority of which I had to borrow from family. How could I afford something as great as a major surgery?! So many people had told me to do the humane thing and end his suffering. Yet I didn't think I had the heart to do that...

A must have chart for cat parents

Sebastian will be 8 years old next month. In human years... he's probably close to my own age. I know I still have a lot of life to live yet and I know Sebastian does as well. I couldn't bring myself to snuff out the life of anything so young, especially my marshmallow feline friend.
I called the vet and was informed that Sebastian would need surgery and would have to come in right away. I had to make a 30 minute drive... in a snowstorm... in a Toyota Yaris... Yes, I was insane, but I love my cat. After all he's done for me, this seemed like a small feat to perform in order to save his life. I found out the cost, called a family member to borrow what I needed, then I made the trek out in the snow to rush Sebastian to the vet as fast as I could safely travel.
There is not a worse feeling in the world than telling someone to purposely mutilate your cat... Well... that's not exactly accurate. The only thing worse than that is having to sign a paper that states, if your cat goes into cardiac arrest, that you do not want them resuscitated. That is the most horrible feeling... I was so riddled with guilt over all my decisions and was terrified that this may be the last time I see my cat, my friend... Despite the road conditions quickly taking a bad turn, I took time to spend in a room with him, hugging him, tears streaming down my face, apologizing to him over and over again. Eventually, I handed him to one of the techs and promised that I would see him when he was ready to come home.

My mind set while my cat got his knob lopped off...

I came home a blubbering mess... I was overwhelmed with anxiety and guilt. And no matter what I did to try and distract myself, I found that it only made things worse.
I was relieved when they finally called me mid afternoon that day to say Sebastian had a successful surgery, everything went great and he was still sleeping off the anesthesia. He had made it! So I assume even prayers of atheists get heard and can be answered!
Okay, I don't really believe that... I just told you, I'm an atheist... Did I pray that day? In a way, yes. Do I really think that there is a being called God that answered said prayers? No. But I don't want to get into a religious discussion. They're unnerving and irritating. I'll have my beliefs, you have yours, and we'll just call it even...

Human, we need to discuss my lack of a knob...

Even though the vet makes sure you're well informed before surgery as to what you'll be in for, even though you do research and read people's personal experiences, I will tell you... you don't know shit...
I'm not saying that to be an asshole or to make it seem like anyone reading this is an idiot. I'm saying it because it is a simple truth... I spent hours online doing research, reading blogs, talking to Sebastian's doctor... Even she seemed so impressed that I had educated myself to the degree that I did. And I'm telling you, despite all that, I didn't know shit...
I had planned on confining Sebastian to the old dog crate I used for puppy training years ago for his safety. After all, he had a feline friend here at home that just loved to have wrestling matches and NASCAR races with Sebastian all over the house. There were also two crazy, hyper Shiba Inus in the house, one of whom has cataracts and dementia, both of whom will race after each other in the house without caring what they're about to run over. I had the special (and insanely expensive) cat food, a small, shallow litter pan for the Yesterday's News litter he needed to use while recovering (yes, they need special litter) and I bought bottled water, hoping that would be better for his condition than the hard water that came from the tap. I had an old mattress cover for him to lay on and I was hyped up like a Nike ad, "Just DO it!"

Your cat will not be happy with you...

Obviously, Sebastian came home sporting the "cone of shame" as he was not allowed to lick the incision. That was a no brainer... He came home with an antibiotic pill, four days worth of an NSAID, more pain medication and a heart medication because he was having difficulty regulating his heart rate. They weren't sure if this was due to surgery, the meds or a possible underlying heart condition. Personally, I think some of it was due to the polar vortex that had come through the area and made it feel as if everyone was living the movie The Day After Tomorrow...
Sebastian had to have his meds once a day (I got bit a lot) and his pain med twice a day. Every evening I had to wipe his incision gently with a wet washcloth to clean it, keep it free of any hair, and twice a day I had to apply sterile KY Jelly to the incision. Doesn't sound too bad, right...? Wrong... All cats give you a hard time swallowing pills, but Sebastian took this to a whole new level. I got bit more times than I care to think about when I tried to put the pills in his mouth before I decided to just spend the $5 to get a pill shooter. He goes to great lengths to spit the pill out no matter how far down his throat and spits it out in a mess of foamy drool that makes him look rabid. He tried conning me into believing he couldn't eat and drink with the collar on (he failed)... And all that paled in comparison to the incision...

Comfort takes a while to achieve...

Sebastian's crotch area looks much like Dr. Frankenstein sewed it together from pieces of other cats... I was in shock and terror the first time I saw it and not just due to the amount of stitches. Everything was so red and angry looking (eventually things began to bruise to make it look even more horrifying). Your nerves are on edge when you have to wipe it with a washcloth because you feel you can't possibly wipe gently enough or that you'll catch the stitches with it and pull. Your cat will give you the stink eye for having to put cold jelly on their sore abdomen and will shoot eye daggers at you for having to touch their incision (especially because you have to get pretty close to their butthole with the jelly). They leak pee for days, which will be tinged with enough blood to freak you out and make you think that they're going to bleed out. They'll be constipated for at least a week. And you'll find yourself throwing a party for your cat the first time he pees and takes a dump. Yes, you will look insane...

Much happier...

And this is not a short process... The stitches have to stay in for 10 to 14 days, during which time, they need to be confined and they won't like it. From leaking blood tinged urine, you cat will be covered in it and will not enjoy you trying to clean it off with cat dry shampoo. And your heart will break, hearing them cry because they want to be free, seeing the misery on their faces because they loathe the "cone of shame", especially because they can't wash or scratch. They'll hate you for having to limit their activity to absolutely nothing...
Worse, there's no guarantee that the surgery will be a complete success. They can still have a large stone that can't pass through the new, wider urethra. Scar tissue can form around the new opening and close it partially which requires yet another surgery. Every day, you find yourself checking to make sure they're still eating, drinking, peeing, pooping... What they make sound like an easy undertaking is actually more like caring for a dying loved one 24/7. It's hard, on so many levels...
It's been a week today since the surgery. The bruising is gone, he's no longer leaking or having blood tinged urine. He pooped for the first time yesterday! It's been a long week, but it's worth it to see my marshmallow returning to normal.

Serenity now...

So, in closing, if you feel you can spend at least a week of pure hell and anxiety, PU surgery is a good option for cats that still have a lot of life left to live. Difficult as it's been, all the scares and frantic calls to the vet to be sure my cat was okay and wasn't about to bleed out and die have been well worth it. Even though, in some ways, I feel I mutilated him (he doesn't seem to mind, he can pee), the affection, the rolling around all fluffy and cute, makes it all worth it. He's my happy marshmallow Sebastian again. And I wouldn't have it any other way...
Just ask the universe for the serenity to handle it...