From August 2023. Not sure why it hasn’t posted before. In fact I think it did but was back in drafts. Apologies.

We made the decision together to book our cat Roxy in for the operation we’d been recommended she needed to remove the lump from her mammary tissue. Martin was quite literally selling his possessions to fund it, while I was jiggling money between my accounts to make sure there was a little extra available, just in case. We managed to access some funding from a local animal charity because of our being on Universal Credit. We had it covered; adamant we were going to give Roxy the very best chance we could. She was generally in good health, and was 100% happier again since the kittens had left. In fact she had just begun to sleep on our bed again at night, something she’d ceased since we introduced the kitties.

We dropped her off on the morning of the operation, and due to Martin having a call with a health professional that afternoon, I went and collected her later. She looked absolutely adorable in her hot pink petshirt. They handed me all the instructions, her painkillers and so on, and I took her home where she devoured an early dinner, and then made herself at home on our bed. To all intents and purposes she was fine. They told me the operation had been a success, and that they’d scanned her too, and found no further lumps. Aside from being a bit sleepy and wobbly from the anaesthetic, she seemed good.

She slept at my feet that night. I was afraid to move in case I hurt her. But I loved that in her most vulnerable time she still wanted to be close. As the day went on, I happened to notice her breathing was a little noisy. I told Martin and we agreed to keep a close eye on her. I wish now I’d taken her back to the vet there and then. Later I noticed the wheeze seemed to have gone again, so was reassured. Then, early evening she came from our bed out to the hall and sat outside the kitchen door. I was in the kitchen beginning to prep dinner. Suddenly I saw her keel over. I yelled Martin who scooped her up and laid her on our bed. I held and talked softly to her while he called the vet. By this time she was gasping for breath.

The vet agreed to see her immediately. But it was too late. She breathed her last with Martin on one side of her, me on the other, surrounded by our love. I was rubbing her chest as I cradled her in my arms, wrapped in a towel, hoping against hope that somehow this was reversible. Martin dropped me at the entrance to Pets at Home and I rushed through the shop to get to the vet, with our beautiful girl, limp in my arms, yelling at people to please get out the way.

As I presented her to the vet, I announced, “I think she’s already gone” almost calmly. Déjà vue much from the night my first husband died; when they rushed me through from the relatives room to his beside, where I saw all the monitors flatlined and the alarms ringing. Before anyone said a word to me, I said, again calmly, “He’s gone hasn’t he?” I always say, you can take the girl out of nursing, but you can’t take nursing out of the girl.

I look after people. It’s what I do. Even when my gut instinct tells me to walk away and look after myself.

So that evening, when Martin decided that drinking himself to death seemed like a good option, smol wife was the one who refused to let that happen. Aside from accidentally bumping the knob for the hob, where I’d dumped the stuff I was preparing earlier when the cat collapsed, and nearly causing a fire, husband also fell off the bed onto the floor and was unable to get up. There was no way I could remedy this situation, I just offered suitable receptacles in an attempt to keep assorted bodily fluids off my new carpet. I was pleading with him to not upturn his vomit bowl, but was repeatedly told, “I don’t care. My cat died.” I have to say, despite his drunkenness, I felt disrespected on a whole other level. I don’t intend to hold his behaviour against him, we’ve discussed it, but I’ll be honest, it made me question our relationship. I called my son to be with me, as I was feeling so absolutely broken. I also spoke to an out of hours doctor who sent out paramedics. In the meantime Martin had sobered up enough to want to get off the floor, with Chris and I assisting. We laid him on his side on the bed and waited for the opinion of the ambulance crew. Their main concern was his blood sugars, being diabetic, since we hadn’t eaten all day.

Satisfied he was not at risk, the paramedics left us to it. I’d sent Chris home previously and I spent a very long night considering the events of the previous couple of days. Roxy’s op and subsequent demise. Racing through Pets at Home with a dead cat in my arms. Averting a kitchen fire. Dealing with a drunk husband with a death wish. Not a great week so far.

It has been put to me recently that once again I find myself in a domestic abuse situation. And that I have absolutely lost my spark. It was always my concern that given both our histories of trauma and mental illness that Martin and I would exist in a co-morbid relationship. Certainly in recent weeks with everything that has happened, and our ongoing mental health issues, it has felt a bit like that. We find it near impossible to communicate effectively with each other when we’re struggling. We’re worlds apart. Our needs remain unmet. And we’re unable to breach the void. I say this not to point fingers; it’s merely an observation. We need to do better.

Also, our finances continue to worry me. It’s hard to be chipper when constantly weighing up whether we can afford the essentials, let alone the treats I rely on for my self care. I’m bipolar, I buy stuff to cheer myself up. But currently I can’t. I’m aware it sounds totally selfish, but I’m finding that a challenge. So much change and loss, for us both. If I could afford to go back to my counsellor I would. But I can’t. I’ll just try to process it all myself I guess.

Things I know

I miss RoxyCat

I love Martin unconditionally and intentionally

I’d like another cat sometime

I continue to be stronger and more resilient than I ever give myself credit for

This too shall pass