Dr. Sneed is one of those doctors who actually listens to your concerns, makes you feel like your child is their favorite and talks to you like you have a modicum of intelligence.

When we moved to Alabama, I very seriously considered keeping Dr. Sneed. It’s only about five hours back to Arkansas and if I could have guaranteed that they would only need to see a doctor for well checkups then I might have kept her. But one visit to Urgent Care with two sick kids was enough to make me realize that we had to get a local pediatrician.

The Urgent Care doctor gave me a list of local docs and I looked online for doctors who had good recommendations. I wrote about Cara not liking the new pediatrician but he was competent and since I needed a doctor THEN, I would take competent.

Then we went for Ollie’s nine month appointment.

I was used to Dr. Sneed’s well checkups. She would play with the kids, carry on a conversation with us and the whole time she was observing the kids. She wasn’t overt about it but she definitely was making sure that the kids were where they were supposed to be developmentally and she asked good leading questions to make sure that I wasn’t forgetting to tell her anything.

This new pediatrician was competent. He was nice. That’s about all I can say about him.

He spent maybe one minute checking out Ollie and then he was ready to leave. I had told the nurse that Ollie had been having a really hard time with bowel movements-bad enough that he had lacerations. I watched her make a note of this. The doctor never mentioned it. I had to bring it up. Then, the guy just stood there. No questions about what I had tried. No questions about potential food alergies or if Ollie is breastfed or formula fed.

I had to tell him that I had been giving Ollie Miralax for a week. The doc didn’t ask what dosage I was giving. I had to ask if I should titrate the dosage down to a level that made things “easier” but not explosive [if you know what I mean]. I shouldn’t be the one leading the conversation when it comes to stuff like that. Basically, he gave me no additional information, advice or guidance. Nothing was gained from Ollie’s appointment other than getting Ollie’s new measurements and we could have done that at home.

When I take my kids to their doctor, I’m looking for information. Even if the kids are happy and healthy, I want to know that. I want to know what I should be looking for in the future. What’s normal for their age groups. I didn’t get any of that at this new doctor’s office.

SO, the day after Ollie’s appointment, I started searching for a new doctor for the kids.

I found an all women practice and stopped by the office to pick up the new patient paperwork. The staff was cool as hell and the receptionist even covertly recommended a pediatrician. I called yesterday and scheduled Ollie and Cara’s well checkups and was very, very proud of myself.

THEN, today I got a call from the other pediatrician’s office.

Shit.

I mean, I knew that I would have to call and cancel Ollie’s twelve month appointment. Really, I did. But that appointment wasn’t until the middle of September so I figured that I had some time to hide wait.

I could tell it was going to be a bad call from the second the woman spoke-she just had a “tone” to her voice.

Her: This is [I don't remember her name]. I’m with [pediatrician's office] and we received a  transfer of records request today. It’s our policy  to call and find out why our patients are leaving us.

Me: Um…OK. [I had no clue what she wanted from me.]

Her: Well, why are you leaving our practice?

Me: My daughter is more comfortable with a female pediatrician. Dr. Van Cleave is competent but Cara doesn’t seem to connect with him.

Her: We have a female doctor joining in August. She’s taking new patients. There’s no reason for you to leave. If you haven’t seen the other clinic yet then I see no reason why you shouldn’t just stay at this clinic…

Me: Thank you, but we liked the other clinic.

Her: If nothing was wrong then I don’t understand why you would want to leave.

Me: Um…thanks, but we really like the other clinic.

I WANTED to tell her that her office staff was rude. I WANTED to tell her that her tone was one of the reasons why we were leaving since it implied that they are the only game in town and that no one is better. I WANTED to tell her everything that I’ve written here. But, alas, I am a coward and just WANTED to get the hell off the phone.

I hope this new pediatrician is better than the last because I’m not sure I can do this crap again.

Image|Leo Reynolds

At least it’s a short song.

Image|furryscaly

Sometimes I get stuff that looks cool or is a something that I think others might be interested in but I’m not willing to spend an entire post on it.

So, this is a link post of sorts.

Maybe this is a good compromise between not writing anything at all and forcing myself to write 500 words on whatever the link is about?

1. Needle Free Ear Infection Vaccine
2. Interview with TOMS Shoe Company, Blake Mycoskie
3. Sustenance and Hope for Caregivers of Elderly Parents: The Bread of Angels
4. GAO Calls for Stricter Labeling for Bottled Water by FDA

Image|glennharper

I called last Thursday to check on Oscar since Mondays and Thursdays are surgery days and I should have known by the receptionist’s voice that something was up-instead of being friendly and chatty, the second I asked after Oscar, she quickly informed me that the vet hadn’t made it in yet and that she would have him call me.

Well, he called and told me that Oscar had died on Wednesday while Oscar was anesthetized so that they could clean him up and shave him for surgery. Apparently Oscar just quit breathing and they couldn’t get him back  to good.

I expected to be a lot more broken up about Oscar dying than I was/am. Don’t get me wrong here. It fucking sucks that Oscar is dead. Sucks. I had to face one of my biggest parenting fears-explaining death. And what’s funny [or maybe sad/pathetic] is that I used just about every option that I could think of.

Oscar went to live with someone else? Check ☑

Oscar isn’t going to come home again because he died? Check ☑

Sometimes when animals get really, really sick they go away and then they feel better? Check ☑

Honestly, I was grasping at straws and I held it together really well.

OK. That’s a lie.

I held it together until I saw Oscar’s litter box and then I just had to get it out of the house. Seeing it was too much. I called the vet and asked if they knew of anyone who needed a couple of bags of super premium cat food and a really nice litter box and tech. told me to just bring it to them.

Since I had errands to run that day, I tossed the kids, the litter box and the food in the car and went to drop the stuff off [not the kids] at the vet.

Hello, big time idiotic mistake of the month!

Cara was watching a DVD and didn’t realize where we were initially. BUT, when I got back in the car, Cara was WAILING about Oscar. “I want MY CAT! OSCAR!!! COME HOME! Oscar, I NEED YOU!!!”

I lost it. Plain and simple. Granted, I was driving and had to make sure that I didn’t run off the road or any of that craziness and I made sure that I was quiet with my snot snorting and all of that but it was still rough.

I think that I always knew that Oscar was never coming home again. I just didn’t really think that he was going to die. But watching Cara completely not understand why she couldn’t have her Oscar Cat back was the proverbial straw.

Cara seems to be taking it all in stride now. She’s mentioned Oscar once since the vet and that was today when Cara was petting Sophie’s belly. Cara said that Sophie was sick and that Sophie needed her cat to “make her happy”.

The resilience of a two year old never ceases to amaze me.

Tucker and I have batted around the idea of maybe getting a shelter dog once we get a house. It was Tucker’s idea and I think that he is trying to fill some sort of void that’s been left by Oscar not being here.

I haven’t written in a while not because I didn’t have anything to say but because I didn’t want to have to write this post. Then again, it’s not like I could jump into people being douche bags and dropping “friends” because something they said pissed them off without letting people know that Oscar has gone to that great big litter box in the sky.

Maybe breakdown is a tad bit extreme but my emotions were extremely raw and close to the surface. At that time, I couldn’t handle reading one more heartfelt tweet, email, or comment from people who were willing to offer their support without asking for anything in return.

This morning I got up and read over everything and felt such thankfulness to everyone who listened to me bitch and moan and complain [and cry] over Oscar.

I called to check on Oscar yesterday and though he was doing better, he was still stopping up the catheter and the vet still thought that surgery was the best option. All weekend, Tucker and I had discussed Oscar’s options and we decided that if Oscar didn’t make a miraculous recovery then we would opt for the surgery. If there was a chance that the surgery could save Oscar’s life then we’d go with it and know that the vet would find Oscar a good home.

In the past, the vet had said that he would do the surgery and then find Oscar a home. Yesterday, after asking my thoughts on the situation [I told him that we would rather Oscar have surgery, be out of pain and live with someone else than be dead] the vet said that once Oscar had the surgery and was healed then the vet would look for a good home for him. But, he also added that though he wasn’t making any promises that we [meaning he] might be able to “work something out” if we were still interested in having Oscar back once he’s back to good.

So today I have an overwhelming sense of relief.

Relief that my cat isn’t in pain because of bladder sand stopping up his urethra. Relief that we finally made a decision and the “alternate realities” are gone. And mainly, relief that the door isn’t completely shut on us getting Oscar back.

But you know, after worrying over this for…well…since we rushed Oscar to the vet, I can finally admit that if the vet were to find Oscar a new home where he was the only animal and the people could devote their full attention to him then I might be OK with him living with someone else.

I think a lot of my grief this weekend was selfish grief. I wanted MY cat back and I didn’t want to anyone else to have him and on and on. But maybe it would be better for him to live with someone who doesn’t have a two year old and a nine month old to chase after? Maybe it would be better for him to truly be the center of someone’s life?

Maybe some of that is me justifying our decision but I’m not going to worry about all of that right now. For now, I’m just going to bask in the absolute relief that I’m feeling. Oscar’s finally getting what he needed [probably all along] and the rest can wait for another day.

Image|*clairity*

I know!

Some of you are tired of hearing about my cat. I know! He’s just a cat but dammit! He’s MY cat. I’m the one who saved him from a hurricane when we first moved to Florida when Tucker joined the Navy.

Oscar was originally supposed to be named Zero [after the dog in Nightmare Before Christmas-one of Tucker's all time favorite movies]. I figured if I named Oscar after Tucker’s favorite movie then Tucker would like the cat better. Oscar got his name because he was so horrible at the vet and Oscar the Grouch just kind of became his name. Cara christened him Oscar the Cat because she’s two and she’s allowed to change his name.

Tucker loves this stupid cat. Don’t let him fool you. The cat seeks out Tucker and curls up next to Tucker on the couch. They love each other even if Tucker won’t admit it.

I got a call tonight from the vet who called just to check in which I thought was cool as hell. I hadn’t called today because we were out looking at model homes.

The part that makes me feel like a douche is coming.

The vet called to say that he had to re-catheterize Oscar. That’s not good. That means that the bladder sand is backing up again and stopping the urine. Oscar wasn’t drinking enough water to keep up with the urine production so the vet had now added an IV to the mix since the SubQ [under the skin] fluid injections weren’t keeping Oscar from getting dehydrated.

The vet gets that we are a “young family” and that the surgery that he wants to do [$600] would “take diaper money” and that he’s “been there and knows how it is”.

The vet was surprisingly understanding tonight.

He told me that he wasn’t doing anything different until Monday but that come Monday [or maybe Thursday] he wanted to do surgery on Oscar to see if he could fix Oscar. The vet suggested that maybe we give Oscar to him and the vet could do the surgery and then find a home for Oscar after Oscar has recovered.

My first thought was, “Well, if he’s gonna do the surgery and then give Oscar to someone new, why not give him back to the two year old who loves him more than life?”. My second thought was, “What the fuck is Sophie going to do?!” The damn dog belongs to Oscar. No. Really. The cat dictates when the dog eats, where she sleeps, when she plays…it’s almost sad. But, I know that it’s not fair to ask the vet to do his job for free.

In my head I know that but in my heart it just makes me so fucking sad to know that I won’t ever see Sophie chase that stupid cat around. Makes me so damn sad to know that Cara will never get to read to Oscar the Cat again.

So.

I’m stuck between “an easy out” because if Oscar got plugged once then there’s a good chance that will happen again. If he improves without surgery and we get him back home then there’s a really good chance that he’ll block again and we’ll be right back where we are now.

Surgery or no surgery.

And knowing that I’ve brought that stupid [loving] cat from Florida to Arkansas to Alabama. I’ve spent about six years of my life with that ass and washed way too many loads of laundry because he pissed on the dirty clothes and all I can think is how empty I feel when I go into the bathroom and see his litter box.

How fucking stupid is that? I see an unused shit box and I feel sad.

We spent the day looking at house. We spent the day thinking about the THOUSANDS of dollars that we would spend over a thirty year period and my cat was alone at the vet’s office and in pain.

That’s right. I win Cat Owner of the Year. I rock.

On an equally sucky note, my mom had to put her miniature dachshund yesterday. Makes me very happy that we aren’t in Arkansas right now. I don’t want to have to explain why “Lady Bug” isn’t at G’s house.

Motherfucker.

I’m sitting here crying over a cat that isn’t even dead yet but I miss him so damn much.

Image|maveric2003

After the appointment, I took the kids to see Oscar at the vet’s office. The vet had told me several times that we could visit Oscar anytime that the office was open. He’s said it so many times that I suspect that the man assumes that I don’t care about my cat.

What I doubt he realizes is that I have two kids at home and that if naps aren’t had then it’s pretty much hell for me to take them anywhere. The vet sounded pretty damn worried when I spoke with him today so I figured that if I was going to see Oscar alive then I had probably go see him today.

Cara wanted to read to Oscar to make him feel better and I got a very short video of it. What you can’t see in the video is that Oscar is covered in his own piss from about his shoulders down. Probably not such a bad thing that you can’t see that.

That’s around the time that I called the vet to check on Oscar and around the time that Cara started “calling” Oscar with our home phone.

You know it’s bad when you call to ask when you can pick up your cat and then the secretary connects you directly to the vet. Fucking cat tried to die last night and the vet couldn’t call me because he didn’t have my number available to him because someone didn’t do their job right. So, the cat stays at least another day at the vet. Hopefully, he won’t clog up the catheter again. Hopefully he’ll be able to come home tomorrow. But there’s a chance that Oscar’s urethra is basically torn up from trying to pass the kidney stones. If that’s the case then he’ll require surgery and we can’t do that.

Not only do I feel bad for my cat but I feel like an absolute douche for having to tell the vet [whose job it is to save my cat] that he can’t do his job because we can’t afford it. I’m also feeling huge amounts of guilt for not catching this earlier.

I actually apologized to the vet this morning. I had to explain to him that we DO love our cat. Really. We didn’t drag Oscar’s complaining ass from Florida to Arkansas to Alabama just to off the bastard without a second thought. While I don’t think that the vet is very happy with me, he did concede that if we didn’t love the cat then we wouldn’t have brought him in.

So yeah. I’m going to be REALLY pissed if this cat dies on me. And I know that I sound like a huge dork. He’s a CAT! It’s not like one of my kids is sick. I know this! But he’s like a dog in cat’s clothing. He comes when called. He plays tag with Sophie. He lets the kids crawl all over him. He pees on dirty clothes. He is a giant pain in the ass but he’s my pain in the ass…actually he’s more Cara’s cat.

And that’s probably one of the biggest potential issues.

Cara is two. A smart two, but two nonetheless. She doesn’t “get” death and I don’t think that she’s supposed to be able to “get it” at this age. Also, death is a hard ass thing to try and explain.

Give it a try. Seriously.

In your head, think about how you would explain it to a two year old. If you believe in God then you’d probably say that you go to heaven when you die. OK. So, how do you explain that?

What if you don’t believe in God? Do you try to explain about body decomposition and all of that?!

Do you lie? Do you say that Oscar went to live with the vet?

Do you just ignore it and hope she forgets? Cara has an amazing memory; she won’t forget.

I’ve lost animals in the past and it sucked but I’ve never had to deal with my own grief and the added stress of helping my kid to understand it.

I’m hoping against all hope that Oscar pulls through all of this. Mainly because I want my stupid cat be around so he can annoyingly try to sleep on my laptop and also because I’m a coward who doesn’t think that I have it in me to explain death right now to my two year old.

Image|FriaLOve

I took these pictures of the kids yesterday. When Cara was a wee lass, we took HUNDREDS of pictures of her. Every day I would take like 30 pictures. Some I would trash and some were kept but the point is that my camera was always in my hand. Now, maybe it’s because I’m chasing after Ollie and Cara but I don’t take so many pictures these days. Hell, Ollie’s lucky if he ends up with one picture a month.

Poor second child.

Also, I entered my bewbs in Lotus’s Bewb Fest ‘09. [I'm #27] I should have known better than to take that picture in THAT dress. There are a couple of reason why I took that dress back and one of them was because it made my boobs look lopsided. So in defense of my boobs, I present to you a better picture. To be fair to everyone else who entered, you should vote based on what’s on Lotus’s site.

On the Oscar front, I don’t know how he is today. I assume that he’s a-ok or the vet clinic would have called me but they are “closed” on Wednesdays and don’t answer the phone. I’ve posted the picture before, but here’s Oscar in all of his uppity glory.

And one last thing.

I tweeted about my awesome pork chops:

Why be modest when you know something’s really that good?

I got several responses asking for recipes and so that’s what I’m giving you now.

First off, I season all of my meat before I freeze it [with the exception of ground meat]. Usually I season everything with Kosher salt and pepper and depending on what I plan on doing with the meat at a later date, I’ll put garlic powder on it as well. Freeze it just like you would normally. Once it’s thawed, it’s like the meat has been marinated.

Here’s what I did to make my badass pork chops:

I grabbed a four pack of thick center cut pork chops out of my freezer that I had seasoned with garlic powder, Kosher salt, pepper and dried thyme prior to freezing.

Once they were thawed, I took two eggs, beat the crap out of them and added a splash of milk. In a glass pie plate, I mixed about two cups of flour, a big pinch of Kosher salt and some pepper. First I dunked the pork in the flour mixture, then the egg bath and then back in the flour.

I tossed the dredged chops into a big skillet that was set on medium heat with about a quarter of an inch of oil [use what you like] and left them alone. Don’t mess with them. Seriously. Leave them alone. Once the side I could see started looking “moist” and the edges of the chops that were in contact with the pan started turning brown then I flipped them. And left them alone again. If you mess with them then you’re going to loose the breading and that’s sad so don’t do it!

To tell if they’re done, you can either go by feel [if you push on the middle with your pointer finger, there should be very little "give"] or you can use a quick read thermometer right in the middle. I cook my chops to around 155 degrees. You’ll get a bit of carryover cooking while the chops hang out waiting on you to make the gravy.

Once the chops are reading a temp that you’re comfortable with then pull them out and let them drain on either some paper towels or a wire rack.

In the pan where you cooked the chops, drain off almost all the grease off. Take the flour that you used to bread the chops and sprinkle some of it in the pan. I don’t measure stuff so you’re going to have to play it by ear. I normally use enough flour to thinly cover the bottom of my skillet. Use a wooden spoon to scrape any yummy brown bits up into the flour.

If the flour is still white and dry then you need to add some more fat. At this point I use olive oil [NOT extra virgin, just plain olive oil] and add just enough so that you make a paste of oil and flour. You know you have the right mix when you can jiggle the pan and the rue spreads out a little. Cook the rue until it starts to smell toasty. Be careful here because your rue will go from toasty and awesome to burned and crap in no time flat. Low heat is best for this. It takes longer but it’s “safer”.

Once your rue turns golden brown then you add in the milk. Again, I don’t measure my milk so add a little and stir like crazy with a whisk and then add more if you need it. The ultimate goal is to have a gravy that’s thick enough to cover the back of a spoon. Keep stirring until the gravy gets all happy. Now’s the time to check for seasoning. If you used the flour from the dredging like I suggested, then you already have some salt and pepper in the gravy so season with care.

Guess what? Dinner’s ready!

I normally serve my chops with mashed potatoes and green beans but corn works great too. Gravy can be a tricky thing but with some practice, you’ll never use a premade gravy again.

And thus ends my “Wordless Wednesday”. *snort*

Shh image is by richard winchell and the other’s are by me.

It started out alright.

Tucker left for work after dumping Ollie in bed with me. Shortly after, Cara started calling, “SOMEBODY! LET ME OUT! ANYONE?! HELLO?!”. It was cute and I was awake so I let the toddler out of her room and the day officially started. I think it was around 6:30.

Oscar the Cat had been acting “strange” for a while. Not so weird to warrant a vet visit but he obviously wasn’t feeling like himself. I had just chocked it up to him not liking the cat food that I had bought him. Maybe two days ago I noticed that he was eating Sophie’s dog food and since he is SO ABOVE dog food, I replaced the offending cat food and Oscar ate in his bowl of cat chow in his usual messy ass way. [Does anyone else's cat take a HUGE bite and then spit out the food only to then eat what's on the floor? Only mine? I always knew he was weird.]

ANYWAY. Yeah. Kind of sorta got off topic but not really. Maybe just a really long meandering explanation? Crap! I did it again!

So. This morning.

We all got up, I had coffee. I took the dog out. The kids ate breakfast. I had coffee. We watched cartoons [and by we, I mean Ollie and Cara watched cartoons while I worked]. I had coffee.

Around noon or so, I realized that I hadn’t seen Oscar today. At all.

Finally, around 2 or so, Oscar showed up in our bedroom and was just staring at me and squalling at me. It was annoying and it was loud and it was abundantly obviousl that the cat was in pain.

I watched him try to pee [how's that for fun?] and he growled and hunched over and bitched and squalled…you get the idea.

I felt his stomach and realized that there was a hard mass where there shouldn’t have been-Oscar’s bladder. It takes a little while for a cat to get that blocked. I’m talking like a day or so. That means that the cat hasn’t been able to pee for at least a day and I’m the fucking rockstar pet parent who didn’t realize that Oscar wasn’t peeing.

A normal cat owner would have checked the litter box but since we have a pile of clothes right next to the laundry closet room and Oscar has an unnatural obsession with dirty clothes…well…I just assumed that he was still peeing.

Called the vet. Asked vet’s secretary how much we were looking at as far as cost. Felt like MAJOR dick for asking. Went to the vet. Waited an hour and a half to see the vet. The vet was very nice and after waiting another 45 minutes, he informed us that he had drained a pint [!!!] of urine and blood out of my cat’s bladder.

For those of you who don’t know, that’s a HELL OF A LOT OF PISS.

Oscar the Cat is bunking over at the vet’s house until Thursday. Then, I’ll give the vet a call and see if the cat is still alive [and he damn well better be since I'll kick his black ass if he dies. And that's not racist. My cat is black and white and his ass happens to be black.]

As far as cost goes, we’re getting a good deal since I think they vet’s office realizes that there will come a point when the cost of medical care will be too much and we’ll have to put Oscar down. After the show that Cara put on when we had to leave Oscar at the vet-”OSCAR DOESN’T LOVE THE VET!!! I WANT MY CAT! OSCAAAAARRRR!”, well, we don’t want to have to put the cat down.

On a positive note, I got two boxes in the mail of stuff that I have to review.

Sometimes it’s hard having my job.

Note: Cara isn’t crying because mommy drinks. Cara is crying because mommy won’t let Cara have the camera. Just thought I’d clear that up.

Image|waving at you