And then my cat died

It's been quite a spring. There was the brain tumour, then there was the 20-year old cat who had a stroke, rallied, then quietly died 2.5 weeks later on the table at the vet's office while I sobbed and sobbed over her tiny, frail body.

2016 has been a bit...challenging.

But what I'm finding pretty fascinating is that I seem to be handling it all with a shocking amount of competency (for me, anyway). I'm not sure if I'm just immune to trauma at this point, or if Therapist Lady was onto something when she suggested I try EMDR a few years ago. I very reluctantly agreed, and plowed my way through several agonizing sessions from the summer of 2014 through to early 2015.

They were unpleasant (understatement). But I felt calmer afterward - more relaxed than I had been in years. So when disaster struck and I thought I would lose My Beloved, my brain didn't implode; I didn't lose my mind. I went to the specialist appointments, I went to the hospital, I waited during the 3-hour surgery, I saw him lousy with tubes and hooked up to monitors and leaking blood from that precious head. All the hospital sounds, sights and smells - all those triggers.

And I didn't lose my mind.

I did come close to having what I suspect would have been an epic anxiety attack while we were in the pre-op waiting room just minutes before they wheeled him into the operating room. But I dug deep into my bag of "Calm the hell DOWN, Kristin!" tricks, remembered some breathing exercises I could do without him noticing, and managed not to pass out, throw up, or run screaming from the room.

I admit I'm bone tired. My nerves are frayed. If possible I'd like there to be a nice long break before the next crisis arises (because one always comes). But I am still putting one foot in front of the other.

So kudos to Therapist Lady, the family and friends who once again stepped in and offered exactly the kind of support we've needed over the past few months, and to My Beloved for somehow managing to host the best possible kind of tumour in his noggin.

And as for you, Lucy, you were the best kitty that ever lived. Even though you were, in the end, barely 6 pounds, you've left a huge hole in my heart and in our house. Miss you, pretty princess.