The Return of the Vile: Arthritis Strikes Back

My dearest friends on the internet,

First of all, yes. we missed yesterday’s post.

Second of all, I am furious about it.

Apparently, when I am in pain, everyone becomes too busy to let me dictate my usual column. I was ready. I had thoughts. I had grievances. But no. She said, “You’re too tired, Bob.” She said, “You need to rest, Bob.” She said, “I’m too busy trying to keep you alive, Bob.”

Honestly. The woman’s priorities are deeply flawed.

Anyway. After my brief but glorious 24-hour window of relief earlier this week, my arthritis came stomping back in like it had unfinished business. So once again, I’ve been refusing food like a proper tragic figure, and she’s been syringe-feeding me around the clock like an underpaid soup maiden.

I’m still on Gabapentin, which makes everything fuzzy and causes me to briefly tolerate Daisy’s ridiculous attempts to nurture me. She’s been kissing my head, patting my nose, and generally behaving as if we’re best friends in a coming-of-age road trip movie. I’ve tolerated it. Mostly because I haven’t had the energy to object. But let it be known: I remember everything. Seriously, everything.

Today, I was carted off to the vet…our regular one this time…for something called a Solensia injection. It’s a regularly scheduled monthly treatment specifically for feline arthritis, and we are pinning many hopes on its magical properties. The woman cried while explaining my pain levels to the vet. I didn’t cry. I simply stared directly into her soul to remind her of the seriousness of my suffering.

But wait…there’s more!

Friday morning, I’ll be visiting a cardiologist (yes, a heart doctor). At our last appointment with Dr. Kenny (our resident angel on Earth), she noticed something odd about my heart rhythm. So, naturally, I must now submit myself to more poking, prodding, and professional concern. I’m not thrilled. But I do understand the gravity of the situation.

It’s been a hard week. For me. For her. Even for Daisy, who seems worried enough to forget she’s a chihuahua and not a nurse.

But we’re hoping…hoping…that the cardiologist gives us a clean report. That the Solensia kicks in. That I can soon eat like a proper gentleman again instead of being force-fed like an ungrateful duckling.

We’ll keep you posted. I always do.

Yours in chronic indignation and cautious optimism,

Bob