Of nine lives, pain, and playing the waiting game–

I hate seeing you like this.

You’ve never pressed your nose against my tummy this hard before.  And even to them, never were you submissive in the past.  Thrice they’ve tried pushing the blockage out and flushing it in and out with no success, and that is painful.  They put you on sedatives to get you out cold so they could cut you open — a few hours later they cut you up again.  Your bladder’s three, four times its normal size and lined with sandy crystals that are supposedly only on a microscopic level, and your urethra already has infection.  Your liver and kidneys may be affected as well.  You were castrated, and you never even got to try it out.  Now you have a semi-permanent catheter in you with a new hole in your tummy, and it’s spewing out blood along with the urine from your bladder –at least it was a successful operation.  Let’s not mention the medicine aftermath.  

You’ve never been in so much pain.

I know you’ve gotten tired.  Your growl’s gotten wilder and so has your pain.  You won’t eat in your ward unless it’s from my hand, and you won’t let anyone touch you aside from me– and that’s just your head.  You won’t even let me near your torso with your cone of shame. And honestly I couldn’t be happier that you’ve started fighting again.

Three hospitals and more than 53 hours of nonstop agony for us, but we both know you’re strong.  You’re so much stronger than I am.

They say you’re very resilient.  You get up early from the anesthetics.  That your pain may have been going on for a long time, that you would just rather hide it than show that you’re weak.  They say you’re still playing along with Charles Darwin, that it’s the weakest who go first, and so you hide and you fight until you really can’t tolerate the pain and you just have to show us that it’s gotten really bad.  I’m so sorry we didn’t catch it early on.  I’m so sorry you had to hide.

You’ve been through so much, but you’re still pretty young so, no, I’m not losing you just yet.  I’m not giving up on you.  You’re the only one (other than my mom) who I’m pretty sure loves me as much as I love you.  I know we might be losing a few years from your life expectancy, but until then, I’m not settling for your ashes hanging around my neck.  I’m not settling for anything less than you living, breathing, enjoying, and getting annoyed by yours truly.

Baby, this is far from being over.
I love you, Charlie.  Keep fighting.

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