Tiredness

I really want to finish up the PL/SQL stuff for Active Directory authentication. But I'm just whipped. Not sure why; worry, most likely. One of our oldest cats, Sam, had to have eye surgery today. The trouble wasn't the eye so much as the anaesthetic. At 17, the usual risks for having anaesthetic are a bit higher, although Sam is a tough old guy in pretty good shape.

He got through it well enough; he looks a bit like he shoved half his face under a running lawnmower, but that's not hard to live with. At least it isn't for us. I am sure Sam might have something to say about that.

It's hard to make decisions about quality of life or whether a procedure is worth the risk. In this particular instance, Sam had what's called a Sequester, which is sort of like a scab that won't fall off. What happens instead, if it is not removed, is it begins to rot, which can cause all sorts of terrible things to ensue. The other option is to give him drops 4 times a day for 10 or 11 months. The drops solution (no pun intended) has less of a success rate; in fact, most senior cats like Sam have to have the drops. Sam has been fortunate that he has had good medical care and good food all his life, so for a 17 year old he's in excellent shape. He's a bit creaky as he's a big boy (17+ lbs for the last 13 years at least) and his vertical jumping has been reduced to the odd hop. Otherwise he's pretty spry and still plays with his toy mice etc.

I've wandered off topic rather seriously here... back to the life-decisions stuff. Do you have the surgery and risk life, or do you interfere with the cat 4 times a day for 300 days? I guess you have to know your cat. Sam is a good-hearted guy, and loves his pets and scratches, and over the years he has helped me in his immutable way through some tough times. I remember my first serious bout of depression; Sammy spent the whole time by my side, purring mostly. In fact, he and his brother were instrumental in getting me up and around again. They won't clean their own litter boxes, and I wouldn't let them drive to the vets to get their own food, so it was up to me. And even though it was very difficult to do so, I got myself out of bed and back into a semblance of a life. Shortly after that, I went to a hockey game, and that pulled me out of my funk even more. The presciption drugs finally started to kick in, and within about 3 weeks I was ready to tackle the world.

I've made a fairly simplistic view of my whole depressive episode I must admit. I had quit a job to return to school (which wasn't starting for 3 1/2 weeks) and I had broken up with my girlfriend. And it was January. And everything was really complicated at that time... but within a couple months I had a new girlfriend and a better outlook. Back in school and enjoying it, I felt like all my decisions had finally born fruit.

I don't need to mention that it all collapsed again about 2 years later, but this time I didn't retreat to bed. I just kept on, and eventually landed a good job; in fact, it's been 13 years since my serious depressive episode and I've never been back. I medicate daily of course, like pretty well every other intelligent person I know, but it's a small price to pay.

Back to Sam - I keep wandering away from the topic of Sam, but I suppose that's because I can only talk about what he's meant to me and how he has helped me so many times in my life. I guess I've returned the favour by keeping him in the best shape I can for the last 17 years.

Sam took to my wife the first time they met. He took one look and said, 'Yeah she's the one' and promptly went back to sleep. Sly, his brother, sat between us on the couch. My wife says he was protecting me; I say, 'No, he was accepting you. If he didn't like you he would have said 'Your own your own, douche-bag!'. He would have run off had he not approved.'

Sam is sort of like a real live teddy bear except he has not one single quality of a bear aside from immense girth. Sam, when properly activated, is capable of shattering China with his purr. His purr, which sadly is never heard by the vet, is astonishing. He is loud, so loud he is squeaky. It's hard to explain, but if you heard it you would agree.

I think I'd better sign off and check on the old lump (another nickname for Sam - he has several - but lump stuck because, well, he has a lump on his tail (been there for about 10 years) and he is sort of lumpish - Sam will get up, walk 6 strides, then have a 2 hour nap).