Chaplin did wind up needing more surgery, unfortunately. The good news is that it was the less severe surgery (ACHTUNG!: Guys should think twice about whether they really want to click that link), which has a much lower rate of complications.

Hopefully I’ll have him back on Sunday. This entire experience has been incredibly emotionally draining for me, and obviously pretty physically draining for poor Chaplin. He’s now down to 16 pounds, and looks even skinnier because they had to shave off all his belly fur for the first surgery.

Anyway, thanks to those of you who have been keeping your fingers crossed for him, I really appreciate it. Hopefully he’ll get better quickly and I can go back to writing about how goofy LA is instead of the horrifying blog cliché of health updates about my cat.

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 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.

So the surgery is taking place Thursday, June 7th, or 364 days after I first hurt this bad boy, or one day before my birthday.

The good news is that I will be on some very excellent drugs for my birthday. Nothing I wanted more this year than to be high as a kite! Well, perhaps that this would have gotten better months ago like it should have, but I digress.

Mom, who I’d managed to hold off from coming so far, has taken over dad’s traditional role of Helpful but Overreacting Parent, and is coming out for the surgery.

It will likely take me until she gets here to get this place clean enough to prevent her from having a heart attack at the sight of it on arrival. And she’ll still say “God, this place is filthy!” no matter how long I spend cleaning it.

It’s official: I need surgery. Sometime next week, not sure when yet. Whee!

It’s pretty insane how much my left leg atrophied over three weeks. It really looks like it’s from a different person, particularly when compared to my right leg which has been carting my fat ass around all this time.

I’d post pictures but a) the pictures don’t really capture the difference and b) my leg still looks pretty hideous given that it was imprisoned for weeks.

The small solace is that I can at least hobble in the boot until the surgery. The pegleg will sit to the side, since I’ll need it for another 3 weeks after the surgery. But for now: Hobbling.

The leg hurts like a motherfucker (I’m sure all the muscular atrophy isn’t helping matters there), and I’m still supposed to keep it elevated pretty much all the time, but at least I can take out the trash now.

Yay?