Caregiver: My MG Story

Caregiver: My MG Story
The Struggle is Real

My wife Anita and I are now in our sixties, we met in our late forties. We hit the ground running early in our relationship. Anita had already published a book about her first two mission trips to Ghana, West Africa. That opened the flood gates for me and we published another book about my life, in the first nine months of meeting. We traveled as far west as Hawaii and east to Africa. North to Nova Scotia and south to Belize. Anita was always happiest in the most inclusive and diverse conditions. A memory that stands out is a small dinner in our home with new friends from Sri Lanka, Mexico, China and Ghana.

Today, I am a Caregiver for the best human I've ever known, my wife Anita, who was diagnosed with MuSK+ MG in 2018. Witnessing the onset of what seemed like life threatening symptoms and the frustrations of finding any solution was the scariest time of our lives. Mind you during this time I was the only caregiver for my mother who suffered from Dementia. I am a disabled Marine Veteran diagnosed as BiPolar and PTSD from a Helicopter crash whom at times needs Caregiving myself.

I have a passion for those in the "Newly Diagnosed" category today. The onset of MG turns your world upside down. From my perspective as a Caregiver, MG life is all about Caregiving. In an ideal scenario an MG patient is diagnosed and treated under a Physician's Care. The MG patient learns their limitations and Cares for themselves. And the Caregiver fills the gaps.

It grieves me to hear of relationships failing under the stress of the life changing symptoms of any type of MG. MG patients don't have a choice. Caregivers do. Not everybody is up to the task and I have discovered Caregivers need care too. MG, like an addiction or other life altering condition affects the entire household. Immediate and major adjustments need to be made and endured.

To demonstrate how much of a impact MG has, we went from this to this in the blink of an eye. 

A Caregiver will often realize and accept that MG is not going away before the patient accepts it. There is a toll on every aspect of life. It consumes your psyche. All of your energy is in seeking information to understand what you're up against. You scour the internet, read medical journals, medication trial results and learn more medical terms than you ever cared to. Your sleep, intimacy, finances, diet and exercise is out of balance. You're balancing on a ball and juggling flaming knives; hyperalert.

My wife went from the highly educated witty super active woman that I met and married to being unable to hold her head up. She had difficulty chewing, double vision and when she spoke she sounded like Elmer Fudd. She began having difficulty breathing to the point where she couldn't sleep. She'd sit on the side of the bed in the middle of the night and gasp for breath. She couldn't bathe or dress herself.

Three trips to the ER in thirty days in the back of an ambulance finding frustration in the lack of knowledge by medical personnel about MG will get you into an incredibly aggressive or completely defeated state of mind. I was scared to death that my wife was going to die. She lay on a gurney still barely able to breathe, using a CPR resuscitator bag on herself, and no one is doing anything to help!

 Anita was finally diagnosed the day she was discharged the second time, still suffering from the same symptoms. Prescribed a useless medication that had the same symptoms for under dose as over dose.

We sought help elsewhere. Online research revealed Duke University Medical had a highly respected Neurology department in the area of MG. I drove Anita to appointments, four hours one way. She rode along utilizing a battery operated breathing machine, aka, a Bi-Pap that we obtained from a Pulmonologist she'd already been seeing for Asthma.

In a wheel chair that we'd brought along, I pushed her down the long unfamiliar hallways of a distant hospital.

 

Wide eyed I absorbed everything the Doctor told us. By the end of the visit, we understood the treatment. We both breathed a sigh of relief. We felt seen, cared for and hopeful that the current conditions could and would improve. We loaded up and made the four hour journey home. We stopped for a rare treat to celebrate. A Wendy's Frosty. Little things like that seem so wonderful when you've been wandering in the wilderness searching for answers.

We made one more trip to the ER due to a choking episode where the EMTs found us on the living room floor recovering. Her lips had turned blue and her eyes rolled back in her head while I desperately tried all I could to save her. Once again, I'd thought I was going to lose her. My hypervigilance grew. I can't count how many times I'd lay in bed or have a quiet moment and feel that MG is such a bully and wish it had attacked me instead of Anita. I'd take it all away from her if that were possible.

The future held appointments with her General Physician, a Neurologist, a Pulmonologist, an Optometrist, a Dentist and an Ophthalmologist. High dosage Prednisone induced Glaucoma, spurted growth of cataracts and created a macular crease. It also cracked a few of her teeth. A few surgeries later and weaning off of Prednisone things were better. You're fighting one battle after another.

Life didn't stop while we played catch up. I dropped 70 pounds. Grand kids were being born, events we could no longer attend were still being held. We lost Anita's Parents in a tragic car accident and my Mother passed away two weeks later. Talk about kicking you when you're down! The various stages of grief that were already evident in our lives were now amplified.  Then a pandemic arrived. More hypervigilance and less getting out and about. We pressed on.

Today, Anita's MG is well managed. She is driving to her own appointments, she's active with all her crafty projects and back to feeling good about being productive. I push her to achieve more than she thinks she can and I understand when she just needs to stay in bed longer and let her batteries recharge.

She's remained the most wonderful human I've ever known .
I have not always made the best decisions for my own care. When Anita regained her independence, I let loose and used alcohol to relieve the hypervigilance that gripped me. This was not productive for me and it stressed Anita and is counter to my role. I reacted to this with beating myself up,, having thoughts of, "I'm not a good Caregiver," which I prided myself on being. I gained 50 pounds back.

Caregivers must be as willing to accept their own shortcomings as they are for their patient's. You'll go through phases. You'll go from feeling incredibly determined to feeling completely defeated. From Energizer Bunny to complete exhaustion. But in time, I promise, determination and patience will prevail.

I try to find what I'm thankful for. We're thankful the kids have become compassionate adults and good parents. We're also thankful for Organizations, Groups and Individuals that seek to inform, treat and support families that experience the Monster of MG. MGFA and ARGENX to name just a couple.

Under great leadership they've pressured the system and made incredible, record progress with so many new treatments now available and in the pipeline as well as commercials on TV! MG is becoming a term people understand. It seemed relatively unheard of just a few short years ago.

Even with treatments that bring a tolerable sense of normalcy to the MG patients life and the Caregiver able to return to some activities that were sacrificed, I find that part of my psyche will entertain thoughts of impending doom in consideration of memories developed during the onset period of MG and now facing the long-term effects of immuno-suppressant medications on my loved ones longevity. I Try to stay present and celebrate the progress.

We try to give back. We've given our local EMT's literature on MG. We've shared with our friends and family what we've learned. We've found ways to give back.

Anita has volunteered for new treatment trials and is an MG Friend through MGFA. She gets assigned to individuals who have reached out wanting to be contacted and calls them as often as they desire. We wish we'd have found something like this in the early days. I am seeking to do similar for Caregivers. 

I donate plasma since so many MG patients utilize plasmapheresis as a treatment, and they even pay me for it! Did you know you can donate plasma twice a week? I highly recommend it if you're able. It's quite rewarding. (use this link for a referral we both can benefit from with information about a donation center near you.)

https://www.cslplasma.com/start-donating

Use referral code 0DLE5OWPDE or just tell them when you arrive for your first donation that you were referred by David Waters in South Carolina

This is the first step in doing the amazing at CSL Plasma. They collect plasma to make 24 life saving medicines for patients around the world. 

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 Today, life is good, we're thankful and closer than ever.

Please reach out. Find a group online or near you at the Myasthenia Gravis Foundation of America website https://myasthenia.org/

You need acknowledged, heard, understood, supported and cared for.

DW

RED Obit

Ruth Eileen “Bootsie” (Dover) Waters…

91, formerly of Columbus, OH, passed away peacefully at Pruitt Health in Ridgeway, SC, on Sunday March 1st.

Born on September 22, 1928, to the late Raymond Emmett and Ida Elnora (Cole) Dover, in Columbus, OH, Bootsie always had a zeal for life and music that never faded.

  

She met and married the love of her life, Thomas Alvin “Brother” Waters, in 1945 in Daytona Beach, FL. while he served in the Navy. In 1946 they moved to his hometown of Winnsboro Mills, SC. After the birth of their first two children, the local mill shut down and they moved to her hometown of Columbus, OH., where they remained and raised two more children until 1978 when Tommy passed away at the age of 51. Three of their four kids served in the military.

Bootsie then moved to California, Nevada, and finally settled down in South Florida.

Bootsie worked at General Motors, Suburban Freight, and even once as a grocery demonstrator. She also supported several community organizations, including the American Legion Auxiliary, Moose Lodge, VFW Auxiliary and the DAV.

Bootsie was known for being able to stretch a dollar, and loved going thrifting long before it was a trendy thing to do. No one knew what new treasure she may show up with after a trip to the thrift store or a local yard sale, but it was always an adventure.

While Bootsie enjoyed being independent and sailing the high seas, she moved back to Winnsboro, SC, to be closer to her son when her health began to decline. In her final weeks she especially enjoyed listening to piano music and viewing family photos with her son.

Bootsie will be missed immensely and remembered lovingly. 

She is survived by her sons Richard A., Terry D., and David L. Waters, eight grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. In addition to her parents and husband, she is preceded in death by her sister, Thelma E. (Dover) Krack and her eldest son, Thomas Alan Waters.

There will be a memorial service SaturdayMarch 14th at Lake Wateree Presbyterian church with visitation at 2pm and service at 3pm. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to Lake Wateree Presbyterian Church.

The pain, oh the pain. I miss you Mama.

*Special thanks and credit to my step daughter Melody Braswell for her assistance in composing this obituary.

Annette & Haskell Tarlton Eulogy 02-22-20

         

(Click Photos for Obituaries)

Let me begin by saying I am humbled and honored to speak on this occasion to remember and celebrate the lives of Annette and Haskell Tarlton.

Thank you to family for gathering around Anita and Becky when needed most and to our local and extended communities for the immense love, caring and concern. Your words and hugs have been comforting up close and from afar.

Words…

I think about words that come about in circumstances like this. Words like Unfathomable, tragic and horrific. And rightfully so, a VOID. We know that Annette and Haskell in their 64 years of marriage were pillars of the community as they demonstrated inclusion without judgment, grace and peace in their sphere of influence.

And while that may seem to leave a VOID, I look at the faces of their descendants and I see Expansion. I see a Legacy being carried on with the same positive characteristics they’re so deserving of being described as.

An apple is not just a fruit from a tree it is the birth of orchards.

I believe a little girl’s first love is her Daddy and Anita and Becky always told me their parents were their biggest cheerleaders. It was a role I knew I had to step into and that she was worthy of.  I’m sure Gene felt this as well. 

Anita has told me stories about walking the beach and picking up broken shells or finding a wounded critter at the farm and asking her Daddy to help it.

I was one of those wounded critters, one of those broken shells she  brought into this fold 15 years ago. And I have observed, healed and grown as a result.

What’s in a name?..

I’d been coming to SC all my life and no relative ever called me David. No, my name was YANKEE. I joined the Marine Corps and “once a Marine Always a Marine” was the saying, I had a new name.

When Anita and I were engaged she got a kitten from Jennifer and Kevin Ricketts. Anita was still working so I got to take to kitty to the local Vet. I was greeted as Mr. Tarlton.

Anywhere we went, Anita and Annette were known as Miss T.

Well we finally got married and two years later moved in together combining households in a house I’d just bought. I got my first pickup truck, because you know, Daddy always had one. (I wasn’t raised on a farm) and I set about using the truck and a chain to uproot some bushes.

With Anita watching I wrapped the chain around the base and pulled away. The chain just came undone and there sat the bush. I repeated the process with similar results. Anita held a hand up, signaling to not even get out of the truck. She wrapped the chain around the bush and I put it in gear and the bush came right out.

Anita rubbed her hands together and said, “there ya go, now I’ve got to go powder my nose.” A snark from the dainty feminine piano playing lovely woman I’d married.

We shared this story with her parents, Haskell just beamed and Annette leaned in with a glance at me and told Anita, “there’s a lot of city in that boy.” A snark from this woman of few words.

My initiation had begun. The new addition/ son-in-law was selected to make a mono-e-mono trip with Father-in-Law Haskell to the beach house to do some work. Off we went down the road with me driving his car. Now Mr. Haskell only turned on two things in a vehicle, the ignition and the temperature control. Never a radio or GPS.

So…. Silence…. I could barely stand to hear my own thoughts.

After about an hour, I said, “Anita is the most wonderful human being I have ever met.” And quicker than you can bat your eye he exclaimed, “THAT’S RIGHT!” While I pondered this instant cheer-leading for the next half our, he finally broke the silence with “There’s Annette’s favorite store.” Thumbing over towards Tractor Supply. A snark from this man of few words.

I was beginning to see the light of what I was in for. I learned to enjoy the silence.

Numerous times I’d get a call or be sent somewhere on behalf of the family and I’d be addressed as Mr. Tarlton. Lord knows we’ve been to a lot of doctors lately and they assume the same thing.

So, y’all can just call me MR. T!

It’s a name I proudly accept in light of who it originated from.

I’ve often said if you could go shopping for in-laws, after scouring millions of online pages and every mall, you’d choose Haskell and Annette Tarlton.

In walking around their home these past couple of days, which was Annette’s parents home, I looked up at a little cut-out in the ceiling molding and remembered Haskell telling me the doorbell used to be there and in their early days of dating, Haskell had brought Annette home and walked her to the door. One arm leaning against the house, he leaned in for the goodnight kiss, she leaned back and the door bell went ding!!

He said he was in the truck pulling out of the driveway by the time it went dong.

Communication…

My memory is flooded with kind words and encouragement from both Haskell and Annette. I once brought up a hot topic so to speak and Haskell’s face got red and he started to say something with his finger raised, but he shook his head and his face returned to normal. He just wasn’t going to entertain ill thoughts and certainly not speak them. Annette was the same. Always smiling, always looking for the positive. Both of them were always teaching that the janitor was just as deserving of respect as the professor or dean of the school.

Annette taught kids to communicate with their fingers on a keyboard. Anita did similar. Becky communicated behind the scenes of the education system with numbers (something Annette and Anita claimed was a foreign language to them) and today, Amanda is an advocate for those with communication difficulties, Melody teaches college students to communicate by improving their writing skills, Drew communicates life-saving stats for the injured and teaches others that skill, Tommy communicates in terms of finances for clients, Ann Marie communicates on behalf of a huge collection of material in a library, Brett is the best at communicating with the kids. They mind, admire and respect him.

Haskell and Annette visited each of us. No matter the distance.

They communicated that we were all of equal value and important in their lives. They demonstrated the most effective, respectful and loving communication. They walked their talk.

Annette and Haskell are the ULTIMATE LOVE STORY in so many ways.

Not even in Death do they part.

When Annette passed after Haskell, I hugged Brett and said, “they were GREAT people and all we can do to honor them is try to be like them.”

Innerds & Stuff on Mothers Day

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I've been contemplating, mulling over, considering, pondering, thinking about things lately. Inner things.  I've always had a fascination with what makes people tick. What they believe and why. But lately the journey has been inward.

"Know Thyself."

That's a phrase that has defined a key to what I've found to be the most powerful of all knowledge. Knowing your tendencies, your strengths and equally important, your weaknesses.

I had some issues going on inside me. Physically and mentally. The mental things were causing physical things. The physical things didn't all show, weren't readily apparent. I was likely on the cusp of developing permanent damage or at least on the road to an autoimmune disease.

I went on the offensive and lost weight. I eliminated practices that weren't complimentary and changed my eating to primarily plant based, adopting a low-carb diet. 

The changes were a success and I now weigh sixty three pounds less. I look and feel great.  But on the inside, mentally and physically, the improvement that don't necessarily show were just as drastic and beneficial. All these pluses without much exercise, never missing a meal and eating chocolate nearly every day.

After a decade on medications for blood pressure and cholesterol, I don't have to take either now. My organs are thriving rather than struggling to keep up with an unproductive lifestyle. My demeanor is calm. I feel more at peace. I sleep better and I get more done.  

My doctors are impressed and cheering me on. I just had an Ultrasound and a CT Scan. Both reports came up with similar results, "Grossly Unremarkable."  I can't say that I've ever felt such joy hearing those to words to describe anything about me.

Today someone told me I looked twenty years younger. Another said I should teach a class on weight loss.

(Before)                                        (After)

 I think there's a slender person inside each of us. I read two books this year that oddly had to do with weight, the mental battles and physical challenges one deals with surrounding that subject. 

I enjoyed both books very much and hope you might to.

The Elephant in the Room: One Fat Man's Questto Get Smaller in a Growing America by Tommy Tomlinson


Heavy: An American Memoir  by Kiese Layman



So much of life is a battlefield of the mind. It's all between the ears as I like to say.

Recently David Hayaward, aka the Naked Pastor tweeted this graphic, which resonated with me.

If you don't mind, it don't matter is a phrase I'd heard in the Marine Corps a bit here and there over the years.

Dr. Phil tells us that we talk to ourselves more than any other person, animal or thing. More than your parents, your kids, your co-workers, your pets, your spouse, yes, even your god(s).

So that inner talk should be positive.

My wife, since being diagnosed with Myasthenia Gravis, an incurable neuromuscular autoimmune disease, blogged about talking to an enlarged and printed on canvas portrait I placed on the wall of her. She was seeking to the previous her. Missing her old self. Struggling with finding a new normal.

My great friend and fellow Marine Joe, aka "Guido," whom I consider a brother recently had to have the most invasive surgery on his heart because of some inner stuff that seemed undetectable even with a battery of tests. Thankfully his wife is a cardiac nurse and knew he needed a CT Calcium Score, even though insurance won't pay for it. Without that test, he would likely have continued to push through any discomfort he may have experienced and dropped dead in the middle of a workout or even a mundane task such as taking out the trash. He was a ticking time bomb that outwardly showed little to no signs. (Please follow the link and get this test done. The cost is usually about $100.)

We live in a reactive rather than proactive world. Government, healthcare, our personal lives are all wrapped in this mindset of if it ain't broke, don't fix it and the stats show we're reaping from it.

Experiencing all of the above, I've learned a good bit about our guts. Not the brave type but our microbiome. The multitude of bacteria, good and bad that play a more significant role in our lives than we're informed about. Hippocrates, the father of medicine asserted that all disease starts in the gut. So, with the handful of things I was dealing with and the belief that my gut was the culprit, I set out to find and incorporate a remedy. I am a fixer after all, as my wife likes to point out. 

I was super fortunate to have another great friend who'd already started down this road and she, Jacqui has been an invaluable resource for guidance. She's a great cheerleader and is remarkably savvy at finding just the right buttons to press to get and keep you on track for any personality type. I happen to be a contrarian that will rebuff everything as hocus-pocus hogwash initially until I can wrestle with it and find sufficient evidence and get my mind wrapped around the idea I don't already know everything.

Today is Mothers Day. I started this post as soon as I got home from visiting my ninety year old mother. 

She's in a home and slipping away little by little due to dementia. We've always sang songs together and it's the one thing I can do to bring her to be present. She hears my voice, she recognizes the lyric and she joins in. Less and less so lately. I miss my mother's vibrancy. I miss her good singing voice. I miss the sparkle in her eyes. I miss the wisdom she'd share when I needed it most.

Anita once thanked me for not abandoning her when her world turned upside down. At the onset of her disease she couldn't bathe or dress herself. I was fully prepared to live like that for the rest of our lives. It hurt my feelings to think she could even imagine that I'd be capable of such a thing. Inside, from my perspective, she's no different from the woman in the photo. Her previous self as she calls it. But I understand her just being thankful. And we're both thankful that she's come a long way since then and is about to participate in her first Walk for MG, to raise funds for research and awareness. (If you'd like to donate or participate, please use the link) She is also about to start an MG support group in Columbia, SC. 

And I know, though Mama is slow to respond, 

inside, she's still the amazing woman I've had the privilege of calling Mama from my very first breath...

 Through the years

No matter her outward condition,

She's always...

Mama

Happy Productive New Year - Respect Beer

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2018 brought many trials and I feel as though I/we have weathered the storms and come through in better shape. On a personal note, I stopped drinking beer and went on a low carbohydrate diet and managed to lose 41 pounds in 60 days. #Bam

I went on a trash pick up walk down our residential lake front street on Christmas day, bagging four bags of mostly beer cans but found a variety of other stuff as well. Noting too that some of the residents, all of whom live on the same side of the street, blow their leaves and other yard debris across the street into the ditch. The same ditch that catches the trash that falls off of vehicles headed for the dump and the cans of beer from those who neither respect beer or property.

Today, wanting to start the New Years with being productive, I went on another trash pick up walk in the opposite direction this time managing to fill five trash bags in a one mile out and one mile back or other side of the street trip.

I got to taking note of what seemed to be the item I found along side the road the most. Among the many items were Bud Light, Miller Lite, Natural Lite and Michelob Ultra Lite beer cans. Bud light being the most numerous with Natural Light a close second.

Shitty people drink shitty beer.

Now I am fully aware that Bud Light is the biggest selling beer in the world. Very much so here in the Bible thumping South. Seems the local Bubba's toss their stash of empties on the way home so their wives or mommies or their wives whom they call mommy in a FOX NEWS watching Pence-onian way. They don't respect beer by drinking the crap they drink and they don't respect the community or other people's property by tossing it out of their vehicles.

Education in the South is notoriously lacking. The numbers don't lie. The average is below the rest of the nation. South Carolina has jumped on the band wagon fully with Trump and contributed to the country's demise with the likes of Nikki Haley, Mick Mulvaney and the current Gropenfurher-ass kissing governor McMaster. The state song should be, "Thank God for Mississippi." Often the only other state lower on the totem pole.

I found very few water bottles. Seems Gomer's are too wise to pay for bottle water. I mean you can get water for free from the lake that's full of coal ash heavy metals from upstream. But there were plenty of Gatorade bottles. The density reasons that sodium filled colored sugar water is worthy of their hard earned cash.

I found one sippy pouch thing. I would understand this. There's no helmet law in SC and these brainless wonders tote their younguns round in the back of the truck with the untethered dawg. Surely an unenvironmentally minded kid would toss a pouch or two.

I found a Modelo beer can. There have been a few Mexican crew's doing roofing and construction in the area.  Not bad, just one can from a a few crews.

I found a few Bud Light aluminum bottles. One of them unopened/full. To this person, you too get an F but with a gold star.

To the rest of the beer can tossers, you all get an F. You are lower than a feckless c*nt. You disrespect beer and environment. You're a lot like gropenfurher, unworthy, pathetic and juvenile.

Soda cans you say? Yup, there were some of those. Not many. Guess which brand was found the most.  Not CocaCola or Pepsi, the highest selling brands on the planet. Nope. Here's a hint, we're in the South. Think density..... Mountain Dew. Yup the teeth rotting, jaw clenching energy drink of rednecks from 2 to 92.

Note that there was not one single Craft beer can or bottle. NOT A SINGLE FREAKING ONE.

Because Craft Beer Drinkers, respect beer and they respect the environment, much like the craft beer brewers.

People who drink lite or light beers, don't like the taste of beer, they just like to pee a lot. And to litter and to otherwise be unhealthy for planet earth.

Oh and you Mike's Hard Lemonade and Hard Cider drinkers, you suck too. There was one little cutesy Seagrams fruity drink glass bottle. A teen girl likely had her first drink ever and had difficulty walking much less carrying the bottle to dispose of properly. You get a pass this time but don't make a habit of it.

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Mia II

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It was love at first sight.

( 1st pic of Mia II at home)

Anita and I were out running errands and as she went to Bed Bath and Beyond, I went a couple stores down to PetSmart to get a bag of dry cat food for our two cats, Z, aka Mr Zeepers and Jazz, aka Kitty Kitty.

(Z aka Mr Zeepers)

(Jazz, Aka Kitty Kitty)

Well you can't walk into PetSmart without looking at the cats they have available for adoption. I scanned the windows and boom, there she was. The world stopped. My eyes were gazing on the most beautiful creature.

She didn't have much interest in me or anything, relaxing in her little cubicle.  I didn't even look at her name or bio, I just knew I had to have her. I snapped a photo with my cell phone and sent it to Anita, saying, "you've got to come see this cat." And while she was responding, "I'm in the checkout I'll be there shortly." I was already texting, "this cat is coming home with us."

By the time Anita arrived, I'd paid the $50 fee and was purchasing a pet carrier to transport Mia home. We call her Mia II because Anita had the original Mia, a beautiful white long haired cat.

(Anita and Mia)

Mia II had been "surrendered" by her previous owner. She was four years old which was the same as Mr Zeepers. We got home and let her out of her carrier. We soon gathered that she didn't like to be held and the other two cats came to investigate the newbie. Mia scampered off into our spare bedroom and into a closet. I set her up in that room with her own litter box, a food and water dish. The other cats didn't pursue or seem to care much.

Mia spent three weeks in her own room. Occasionally venturing out when we were all relaxing in the living room watching some prime time show on TV, the other cats resting on the couch with us. Mia would look around the corner, she was so small and so quiet. Like the poem by Carl Sandberg, "Fog."
"Fog rolls in on little cat feet."

She'd survey and if nothing was moving, she'd inch into the room, checking in all directions. We'd notice and if anyone moved, she'd go back to her room. We wanted her to join us. So we learned to not even breathe heavy.

Gradually, she made her way onto the back of the couch and if we moved, once again she'd scamper away. But little by little she got used to her new surroundings, even joining us out on the screened deck I'd built and that the other cats loved to go on and watch and listen to the many birds in the back yard.

(Mia loved to bask in the sunlight)

When Mia was finally pretty well situated, we moved... Our little family of Anita and I, with a dog and three cats packed up and moved to a much larger home on a lake. As the furniture in the old place disappeared over a few days, the cats were wondering what in the heck was going on so we decided to just bring them out to the new place and we figured Mia would find a closet and be out in a week or so. But much to our surprise, on the first evening after unpacking some of the stuff, while relaxing in the living room, all three cats were lounging about with us, like they'd been there their whole lives. We were relieved.  Mia was finally in her forever home. In fact, all three of them were as well as Scarlett the best ever Black Labrador. (Anita always says I bought the house for her and chose the yard for Scarlett, whose absolute most favorite thing ever was "get the stick" tossed in the lake.)

Much as I do with my wife, I never lost the joy my heart felt admiring Mia II.  She was quiet and had some quirks like we all do. She didn't want to be held but loved to curl up next to me. She loved to be pet and she followed me to bed every night and would purr in my ear, wanting attention.

Mia II was our special needs child/furbaby.  She had seizures and bounced off furniture and walls like a pinball. We tried medications and paid good $$ to find relief for her, but it wasn't until we stopped giving her flea treatment that her episodes became few and far between. At their peak, she had three in one day. She had them usually about three times a week. She'd be sleeping peacefully and the next minute she'd look like an acrobat flying around the room. Winding up in a heap pulsating with gagging sounds violently. We'd cover her with a blanket until she recovered. Her pupils would be dilated and any movement or sound was amplified and caused her to jerk in reaction. She'd meow and walk around re-familiarizing her self then find her food bowl and chow down a bit then find us and want some attention. It was one of the rare times you could pick her up and hold her.

She never liked to feel trapped in any way shape or form. Holding her was one. She would wait and use the litter box at night when everyone else was asleep. We'd hear her and on the rare occasion it was in the day, if another cat walked in or we walked by, she'd fly out of the litter box like a bolt of lightning. She'd tend to that business later.  I often said maybe we should have named her Squirt, because she'd squirt by like a flash of light. We don't know what happened in her previous life. If she experienced some trauma that caused this behavior and or her seizures.  We just loved her and appreciated the loveliness she added to our home.

She was the smallest of our cats and the quietest, except her purr. She had the loudest purr. Like a diesel engine. It was comforting, soothing. She and Anita, with those beautiful blue eyes and quiet demeanor were so therapeutic for me, Mr Fearless and Chaotic was learning to appreciate, "chill."

Mia would always seek to be near me. She'd bounce from one couch to the other if I moved across the room. She'd lay on the couch part nearest me if I were eating a meal at the table. She'd curl up next to me, I think her absolute favorite place to be, if I were on the couch. She'd follow me into the kitchen, morning, noon and night. As though I went in there for the express purpose of getting her favorite treat. If I were busy preparing a meal, she'd wait patiently, tail wrapped around her feet and haunches. When I'd head for the fridge, she let out a "Mayo." "Maaaayo." Which eventually became, "MAY-O!"
She wanted her little dab of mayonnaise. Hah, who'd ever heard of a cat wanting mayonnaise? I offered salmon and tuna juice, ham and cheese. All the things the other cats liked. Nope, not Mia, she wanted her Mayo. Anita would snicker from the other room. And yank my chain about "somebody" having me trained.

Scarlett passed in December of 2016.
Kitty Kitty passed in February of 2017.
Mr Zeepers passed in September of 2017.

Here are the earliest photos of them.

  

So for a short while, Mia II was an only furbaby/pet/child.

But Anita was grieving her Mr Zeepers who died without warning on September 8th, from the same tragic Saddle Thrombus, within weeks I couldn't stand to see Anita grieving so much and I had to remedy the issue.

Ever the fixer am I... On Sept the 17th we got...

(MoonDance and SugarFoot, aka Jack and Diane.)
from F.U.R.R. in Charlotte

Mia was accepting of the new housemates... In her special way, she comforted their intrusion into her uncomplicated life.

So yesterday, Mia's last day as a soothing part of our household, I was absolutely wiped out. I'd missed breakfast because early yesterday morning Mia suffered, as did Mr Zeepers, from a sudden and deadly Saddle Thrombus. I thought I could get her to the vet quick enough to save her. Her feet were cold and her gums were blue. She was dying rapidly after we arrived. The vet put a heating pad on her and she expired peacefully. I was home and making lunch at 2pm. We had supper at 430pm. I showered and sobbed throughout the day. My eyes were blood shot and dry. I couldn't pay attention to what was on TV or read. I went to bed at 8:45pm.

I was up this morning at 3:45am. Missing Mia. I fed the two cats who now get a can of wet food split two ways instead of three. I picked up the one thing that was exclusively used by Mia, a scratch pad. It was gouged out on catty-cornerd ends as was her habit.

It amazes me how the quietest and smallest of things seem to make the biggest impact. I'm crying again this morning, not by choice. I'd rather be over the grieving. I miss my little Mia. I wish I could have done something to save her. Anita says I did, that I gave her the best years of her life. I understand and accept that. I just hurt. I hurt deeply. I didn't know this would be my response. I didn't grieve as fiercely with the others. Possibly with Scarlett. But with Scarlett I'd made a decision about her quality of life and chose her end. It was loving and responsible. This was unexpected and sudden.

I'm in shock. Once again my eyes are bloodshot and at times I can barely breathe.  My chest feels a void as it heaves in anguish. My throat is wanting. wanting to call out her name and see her come padding towards me. She always responded to my calls. Always...

Not any more...


I write for therapy primarily. You put a period at the end of a sentence that expresses a thought/feeling and usually you can move on.

I wanted to write today to give justice to Mia and the impact she had on my life. She hit me like a wrecking ball and enhanced my life. When she sought my affection I felt successful and grateful.
If another cat wanted to tussle with her, I'd defend her and run them off. She was kind and gentle. She wasn't a fighter. If another cat wanted to hog her food, she'd let em. I'd notice and make up for it. But I learned to stand guard while she ate and fend off the others. No bullying in my house. Not on my watch. I'd grown up with that crap. Nothing irks me more than a bully.

So, on this cold winter morning, my first without Mia, a fog is fading on the lake as the sun wrestles to break through the gloomy clouds and warm this day. I begin to let go, here, now, as I write. Knowing I did all I could to give Mia all of me and she gave to me her precious life and love.

Others need attention...

But Mia... You'll always be the star of my show... forever 💓💓💓💓

You simply take my breath away

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Mama Mia 2018 the year of LOSS

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Sometimes you feel like life has just punched you in the gut.

It's already been a very trying year. Loss seems to be the legacy 2018 desires.

I'd been feeling like I was in a good place. The one good loss was that I've just recently lost 28 pounds in about 40 days by doing a keto/low carb type diet. Mentally I'd processed the previous issues and was beginning to comprehend and absorb the silver linings. I was free from some things and better prepared to meet the needs of other things.

But that small ache that persists told me the impending doom that's known me forever still had something for me this year.

So with just 21 days left in the calendar year, a normal morning of get up, weigh myself and send in my report via some new gadgets and an app from the VA hospital weight loss program, fire up the fireplace to knock the chill off, turn on the coffee maker, prep Anita's tea, feed the cats their daily wet food which they're always anxiously awaiting, pour coffee, take medications, have a seat and proceed to check emails, social media, watch the news and debate breakfast or exercise first.

All seemed quite normal. Then....

Mia let out one of those familiar cat low and slow morning meows, a yowl. The other cats went on high alert. Anita came out of the bedroom and I was on my way towards the alarm. Mia was in the litter box. She came out, the other cats gave her a sniff and all seemed okay. False alarm.

Then Mia did it again. She's done this over the eight years we've had her. She's 12 years old now. It used to indicate she was about to have a seizure. Those have been few and far between this past year since we stopped putting the flea control stuff on her.

Lately she's made this mew when about to yack up a hair ball or just spit up her food.

She walked a bit, then just settled into a crouch and started the yowling again. I prepared with a blanket to cover her in case she was having a seizure to prevent her from injuring herself. Poor thing would run and bounce off things like a pinball and then lay in a heap having a grand mal seizure. She'd come out of those, re familiarize herself with the house, eat and then want some attention.

This time she wasn't happy about the blanket so I took it off her and she walked into the bedroom, crouched again and was panting.

Shit.... I've seen this before. Our Mr Zeepers had just passed away last September due to a condition called Saddle Thrombus which has the symptoms Mia was displaying.

Mia wobbled a bit when she attempted to walk again and she was still yowling and was having obvious breathing issues. I was thinking a heart attack. I thought I was going to have to do CPR on her. I put Anita's bi-Pap mask on her to help force some air but Mia didn't like it so I just grabbed my wallet and keys, put her in a pet carrier and headed for the vet hoping she'd survive the 25-30 minute trip.

She weakened as we traveled, I kept calling her name. She was weakening and becoming unresponsive. I called again and again. She tried with all she had to crawl to the cage door so I could touch her, her meow was getting weaker.

We made it right when they opened. The tech felt her feet, they were cold. I noticed her gums were blue. They took her back for an x-ray... what seemed like forever they came and told me she was dying, due to the same thing that took Mr Zeepers. With him it was on a Friday night and we googled his symptoms and took him outside and mercifully put him down.

I thought I could do something to save Mia. She gave it all she had to survive. I'm afraid I let her suffer more than she should have endured. Hope is not always a great thing.

We had Scarlett, our wonderful black Labrador euthanized when she could have lived longer but the quality of her life was not worth extending. I felt it was the right decision. I felt putting Mr Zeepers down was the right decision. It saved him pain. They both lived great lives. Miss Kitty Kitty was a shocker in that she had shallow breathing one day and I took her to the vet figuring we'd get some antibiotics and be on our way home. They x-rayed her and 3/4's of her chest cavity was filled with something, She would not survive. It too was a Friday and lab results would not be back until Monday and the vet said she would not survive until then. So Kitty Kitty was euthanized mercifully on the spot.

The losses have been piling up in less than two years, we've lost three beloved feline pets and one best ever canine best friend.

I feel they all loved me and showed their appreciation in their unique ways. I loved them with a heart that now feels an emptiness in their spaces.

It was about the time of Anita's Myasthenia Gravis diagnosis that I felt Mama wasn't going to make it through to the end of the year. To prepare myself and feeling it would free some time and attention to caring for Anita and meet the upcoming needs of her aging parents.

But it was Mia. 

I didn't see this one coming and its been that way with all three cats. I'd always been a dog person before I met Anita. Dog's age like people and you know they're closing in on the end of their lives.

Cat's seem to have a different course of action. That's my lesson.

Love em while you got em. Every last thing. Be appreciative. Cherish all of it. Process and grow.

 ❤ RIP MIA ❤

❤❤ Until we meet at the Rainbow Bridge ❤❤

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