The Ides of March

March is not my favorite month. Last year Mr. GG was in Australia for the whole month. And things on the domestic front went to hell in a handbasket. It snowed a couple of feet and the snowblower broke. The garbage disposal broke. The shower drain malfunctioned. The city did something to the water pipes, so I was without water for a few days. But the worst was that Furbutt went on a pee rampage. All of a sudden she started urinating on everything – bedding, the wall to wall carpet, the tile floor, everything. My standard cat pee cleaner could not handle the job. So I got on the internet and found a recipe that involved using water, dish soap, peroxide and baking soda, which smelled only marginally better than cat pee. And Furbutt took to peeing on the baking soda mess. And then I screwed up the vacuum cleaner sucking up all that baking soda after it dried. Yikes. The vet gave me kitty Prozac to rub in Furbutt’s ear, and it was all I could do not to rub the stuff in my ear, too. When the Prozac goo didn’t help, he switched her to people Prozac. Eventually Mr. GG got home and the whole pee thing stopped, but not before I was seeing the entire world through yellow lenses. It was hideous. Furbutt came really close to being a permanent outside cat.

Well, deja vu, all over again. Furbutt is peeing on stuff again. We watched her from across the room as she squatted and aimed perfectly into my red and white embroidered Chinese slipper. Back to the vet. No physical problems, so she is on another antidepressant. Which has to be made up at the people pharmacy. And Shamu has thyroid problems – she lost 5 pounds (from 22 to 17), and apparently it wasn’t the prescription diet cat food. So she has thyroid medication (another trip to the people pharmacy) and it seems like I spend half my life squirting liquid down little kitty maws.

In the last week, I have been to the Clinic 5 times, and the Vet 3 times. Plus that trip to the emergency room. Sucks. My doctor decided (against my no-Med school opinion) that my IUD needed to come out. So I went to a new gynecologist, who was really late for his appointment cause he was delivering a baby. But he managed to find the MIA IUD, and held it up triumphantly as he said, “Wow, that’s a first! I didn’t know these things could come apart!”. I did not share his enthusiasm for this new experience – seems like part of the copper came off the thing, so he had to go fishing around for it, and couldn’t find it. He kept apologizing for the pain I was experiencing, and I made some smart ass comment that it was too bad copper wasn’t magnetic. He agreed. “Then you could just sit on a big ole magnet”. I like this doctor.

We have agreed to meet again in a couple of weeks so he can get some kind of scope and fishing hook to take a fantastic voyage through my girly plumbing to look for the missing copper. Blah. And my regular doctor wants me to go to a neurologist, even though my MRI shows my brain is functioning just fine. Just to be on the safe side. I suggested that maybe I was just nutso and being a hypochondriac, and that a neurologist was overkill, but she looked at me and said, “My lawyer would not like it if I diagnosed you as nutso, so you are going to the neurologist. And by the way, your cholesterol is too high. Do you want to see a nutritionist, or do you know what to eat, and are just not eating right?”. Huh. I guess that was a rhetorical question.

Oh wait, stop the presses. The OBgyn’s office just called to say that I need to have an ultrasound to see if that copper chunk is still in my uterus – that’s what the manufacturers recommend. So another trip to radiology tomorrow. Maybe I should just endow a room at the Clinic. I mean the little receptionist with all the studs bristling from her ears already squeals, “I always check you in!” when she sees me.

Nope, March is not my favorite month. And I still haven’t done the taxes. Maybe I’ll go find that old Simon and Garfunkel song “April, come she will”, and listen to it a few hundred times.


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