Get out, and don’t you even think about coming back, you vile, stupid, wretched, awful year.

To a better 2009, and the setting of a very low bar.

I kept drunkenly telling everyone in the bar in Connecticut that I was ecstatic Northwestern was even in a bowl, let alone leading going into the 4th quarter.

But I’m not going to lie: I went apeshit when Mizzou missed that field goal, and I was so dissapointed that despite all our effort, we still lost.

But you know what? Our guys put up one hell of a fucking fight, and if a couple breaks had gone the other way, we would have won. The fact that it was that heart-stoppingly close was really encouraging, and with Kafka on QB next year, this team is going to be dangerous.

Go, U Northwestern. We lost, but we didn’t get our asses handed to us: We fought the good fight. And that’s very encouraging for the future.

Patient: My aunt
Status: Released from hospital
Notes: Significant improvement from when I first arrived in CT. Gnarly scar on her neck from carotid surgery that’s going to be lots of fun to explain to my grandmother, but otherwise on the road to recovery. Has 23 pound cat now providing round the clock snuggle therapy when not eating my aunt and uncle out of house and home.
Prognosis: Long recovery, but good.

Patient: Chaplin
Status: Still in hospital
Notes: They’re going to try pulling his catheter tomorrow to see if everything’s healed properly. Cross your fingers – if everything went well he won’t need any more surgery. Prognosis: Short term unclear, long term he’ll be fine.

Patient: My MacBook Pro.
Status: At Apple store, awaiting part (new Logic Board, supposed to arrive Monday).
Notes: I really, really, really hope they can fix my computer before I leave. I’m going batshit crazy without it as is, and really can’t afford to be without it when I go back because it’s my work computer in addition to my Distraction Provider.
Prognosis: Questionable. But frankly, I’m happy the inanimate object is the worst of my three patients.

More to come as I have it.

I made it to Connecticut! My computer broke and my landing in CT was one of the more nerve-racking I’ve experienced due to crazy winds, but I’m here!

The way my week’s been going, I consider it a win that the plane didn’t slide off the runway.

Will update more once I a) get my computer up and running or failing that b) convince my cousin to let me borrow his for a bit.

Merry xmas, y’all!

The preceding message was (mis)typed on a Crackberry.

Chaplin’s procedure went well this afternoon, so there’s a good possibility he won’t need any more surgery! And even if he does, it’s surgery that sounds a lot less severe and complication-ridden than the worst case scenario that they were discussing.

I can’t even describe what a weight this is off my mind, and how it lets me leave for Connecticut in relative confidence that he’ll do okay just hanging with the people at the animal hospital for a little while, so I can go focus on my aunt and the rest of my mom’s family.

I was being superstitious and not packing until I heard one way or another, so I’m afraid I have to cut this short and, you know, pack and otherwise prepare my house for the fact that I won’t be here for a bit.

Thanks so much to all of you who’ve been keeping my little guy in your thoughts, I really appreciate it.

I hope all of you have a very Merry Christmas and Happy Channukah, especially those of you who have also been going through a really, really trying time. I know I’m not the only one.

In case any of you were wondering, I am not the Ellen Shapiro mentioned in this story.

Hint #1 is that the story mentions she was married in 1968, whereas I was born in 1981. Also, I am not married. Also, I cannot legally get married (thanks, Prop 8!).

Hint #2 is that my father was a communications lawyer, not the owner of a Boston department store whose family foundation has recently been defrauded of over $450 million.

But it is ever so fun to know that our shared name is now going to get dragged through the mud thanks to Bernie Madoff and his Gigantic Fucking Ponzi Scheme That Apparently Defrauded Every Jew In The Country. Fun!

They’re going to take a shot at another procedure tomorrow that might, if it works and he gets lucky, keep Chaplin from needing any more surgery.

I’ll refrain from spelling out the details to spare the delicate sensibilities of the gentlemen in the audience, but let’s just say that if this works, the outcome is far, far preferable to if it doesn’t.

Please, keep my poor, stoned little buddy in mind tomorrow. He could really use a break from all the complications and pain. Thank you.

I went to visit Chaplin tonight during the animal hospital’s visiting hours, and I’ve come back significantly reassured about how he’s doing. Especially after what happened last night.

After I posted last night, there were complications. While they were trying to cathetrize and manually unblock him, his urethra tore (cue all the guys reading this instinctively reaching for their crotches while sharply inhaling through their teeth).

They brought in a surgeon to give him emergency surgery, and while they did get a tube in to drain his bladder, they couldn’t repair the tear itself because he wasn’t stable enough.

So of course I was finding all this out over about two hour intervals over the course of the night, and I just completely flipped out. I barely slept last night, and I was really upset all day today.

But he seemed to be doing okay when I saw him. They basically have him stuffed into an oversized tube sock with little holes for his front paws to keep him from getting at the area where he had surgery last night. They had to shave a significant portion of his belly fur for the surgery, so that’s going to look pretty funny once he’s out of the sock.

And he is high as a kite. He basically had this look going:

So he was a little out of it, but he seemed much better than he did when I’d dropped him off last night. They told me he already ate an entire can of wet food and was well on his way to finishing a second when I came by.

He will need more surgery – depending on how his urethra does on its own, they’re debating which of two surgeries to do. But having spent an hour with him and listening to the doctors talk about how much he’s improved in the last day, I’m confident that whichever they have to do, it’s going to work.

The numbers they’re throwing around for how much this is all going to cost are just ridiculous, and I’m not even going to pretend that I won’t be going to the First National Bank of Dad for an advance on my inheritance to pay for this.

I prided myself on having been able to get through the last four years without having to take any loans from him, even when I was unemployed for four months of this year. Pride is out the window right now, though, in favor of getting Chaplin home.

The good news is that apparently my aunt’s doing a lot better. I’m trying to figure out a way to get to Hartford for a few days but come back significantly earlier than I was going to, but the way the airlines work it looks like I may have to go for the whole week or not go at all.

All in all, I’m not going to be completely okay until he’s been home for a few days, but I’m at least able to pry myself off the ceiling now. And frankly, that’s a huge improvement after last night.

I thought the earlier barfing incident was just Chap’s usual adventures in hairball-tasticness, but apparently not.

He got really listless and cranky tonight, and after puking IN his litterbox then barely being mobile and crying in pain, I took him to the vet. He’s got some sort of urinary blockage that they’re going to have to surgically remove.

The bill just to walk out the door tonight was $1800. The estimate on keeping him there 2-3 days, which is what they anticipate, is $3000.

As much as that upsets me, what upsets me a lot more is the dead silence in my apartment right now. And that’s why I’m paying the money.

He’s my little buddy. I can’t bear the thought of him not being here when I come home. Not trying to randomly bite my arm off. Not eating me out of house and home.

And frankly I feel bad about how bad I feel about Chaplin, because my aunt, my mother’s sister, is also in the hospital right now.

I haven’t really written about this much, but she had a major heart attack two weeks ago that led to a whole bunch of major surgery – triple heart bypass AND surgery on both carotid arteries. I found out this afternoon she’s probably going to be stuck in the hospital for Christmas.

And yet the thing that’s just destroying me right now is my cat. Physical distance is probably part of it – once I get to Connecticut and see my aunt it’ll probably hit me a lot harder.

But right now, just listening to the clacking of the keyboard and the cracking of the furnace, I miss the crunching of cat food and the yowling at the possum or the other cats that sneak onto the patio.

This is going to be a loooooooong week. Updates on all fronts as I have them.

One of my PAs who’s going to be in town for the holidays agreed to come by and feed Chaplin for a couple days (for a nominal fee, obviously) while I’m gone. In order to make sure he knows where I live and where everything is, I had him come by this morning.

So as I’m showing him around, Chaplin walks up, says hello, then immediately proceeds to the corner to go puke up a GIANT hairball along with a bunch of food. It was one of the more disgusting piles of puke I’ve encountered from him.

Of course this guy has never had cats, so he was like, “Uh, is that normal?”

Yeah. Yeah it is. Thanks, kitty!