I broke my foot, in an incredibly stupid place, and in an exceptionally dumb way. I was in a cast for a while; I lost my job, because obv I could barely do desk work with all the pain meds I was on (the bones broken were pretty weird—the three middle toes, way up high on the foot, almost to the point of the ankle, only on the front. It was
bizarre beyond belief).
During the gauntlet of doctors I ran through for my foot, it was discovered that I'd inherited from my uncle a serious cardiac condition. I've always had a rather fast heartbeat—it was dismissed as I'm a naturally anxious person. (Keep in mind "normal" heart rate is 80 beats per minute; I averaged 120 bpm.) For some reason, I spiked to 140 bpm, and spent several nights in the hospital for observation. No computers allowed. No electronics at all. Books were okay. That was about it.
I'm out of the cast now, but I still have a severe limp and incredible pain whenever I try to put weight on it. They're still trying to figure out what
that problem is now. I don't think they'd believe my suggestion of "somebody hated my family and put a curse on us," but I'm pretty sure that's what happened.
While this was going on, my stepdad brought home a cat he'd found in the construction site he'd been working in. He'd found dead cats and cat skeletons in the area, likely crushed by the machinery, and he's a great guy and didn't want that to happen to this little sweetheart. About two months later, his little sweetheart gave birth to six kittens.
They're about ten weeks old now, and cute as all get-out. We
cannot keep all of them, as much as I want to (
I HELPED DELIVER SOME OF THEM MOMMACAT EVEN LET ME IN TO HELP IT WAS AMAZING). One of them has actually become a fully certified service animal—he helps with my anxiety and prevents outright panic attacks, so he's allowed in stores and so forth. It's pretty cool.
Stepdad also found a puppy someone had tied up on the freeway.
The. Fucking. Freeway. It makes me want to murder, it really does. Just... murder.
As one last kick from God in my nonexistent balls, the dog I've had since I was thirteen now has oral cancer. She's still running and playing, but the tumor is spreading across her mouth and down her throat. I change the dog's water bowl daily because it's filled with blood. We're feeding her Blue Buffalo food, which is expensive as hell, but worth it for her. I have a Paypal set up for anyone who'd like to help out—it's
[email protected], and everything will go towards buying the food. But, and I stress this
highly, don't feel bad if you can't help!! Even just virtual hugs over the internets is an enormous help, more than you could ever know.
♥
It's devastating. It is absolutely devastating. If you've read this far,
thank you. I didn't want to come off all whiny, which is why it's spoilered, but... it's been so... I can't even find an emote to express my gratitude and love for each and every one of you. You feel like my family, and I mean it, absolutely.