Saying Goodbye to Norman

On Friday night last week, Norman and I spent the evening with him snuggled into my left armpit while I was watching TV.   For most of his life, Norman's favorite spot was sitting directly on my chest while I petted him, but with the balance issues he had in his final days, this was really as close as he could get.   He was peaceful that evening, and I'm very glad I got to spend some time with him just relaxing and giving him some comfort.

Norman in classic chest-sitting position

Norman died on Saturday after a long fight with chronic renal failure (CRF) which is common in older cats, and lymphoma, which is, in all probability, what actually killed him.   During the final 6 months of his life, he lost upwards of 8 pounds, which was down from a fairly hefty 17 pounds.   The intestinal lesions from lymphoma, combined with the dehydrating effects of the CRF made it difficult for him to consume enough calories over a long haul.   We watched as his back legs deteriorated over months, and did what we could to make him comfortable until then.   A last ditch effort of steroids, IV fluids, and subcutaneous fluids gave him a few more days, but didn't provide the bounceback we were hoping for to give him a little more time.   Our veterinarian at Uptown Animal Hospital in Long Beach was amazing in helping us through this difficult process.

In the beginning of Norman's battle with CRF, managing his blood pressure was a concern, so that the high blood pressure that is common with kidney problems in cats would not add to further kidney damage--it's quite an evil cycle, but in Norman's case, it was caught quickly enough that he was able to go for a couple of years that he may not have otherwise had.   People sometimes asked me how you take blood pressure in a cat, and here's how they did it for Norman--a blood pressure cuff at the base of his tail.

Once, when we were having a rodent infestation in the house, a rat took up residence in our oven, and we had to have a technician come out from Sears to replace all of the insulation in the oven.   We thought we had actually gotten rid of the rat before the guy came over, but as he opened up the oven, the rat jumped out and ran through the house--I remember watching Norman bolt towards the rat, across the living room floor, through the dining room and ultimately back into the oven.   The technician said he wouldn't work on the stove anymore until the rat was gone--which is understandable, but good job kitty!

Norman used to drink out of any water containing vessel he could find.    We'd catch him drinking out of water glasses, hunched over the toilet, the dog water bowl, and on very rare occasion, his own actual cat water bowl.   When Brian and I moved in together, he questioned why I always got a fresh water glass to drink out of, and it didn't take long for him to agree it was a good plan once he saw Norman nearly get his face stuck in a pint glass of water.

When I first got Norman and his brother Milo from the SPCA in Hampton, Virginia close to 18 years ago, I was a co-op engineer (kind of like a summer intern) at NASA, Langley.   I shared an apartment with 3 other co-ops, and when we first moved in, we had something like 6 mattresses in the apartment--I don't really remember why we had that many, but a couple of them wound up leaning up against the wall of a hallway in between bedrooms.   My roommates and I would come home from work to find both of them had clawed their way to the top of the mattresses and gotten stuck and couldn't find their way down.    A while later, I rented a house for a summer in Austin, Texas that didn't have air conditioning (yes, the sacrifices you make as a student).   When my parents came to visit, they remarked how the cats would hang out by the back screen door, simply saying "Get us the hell out of here...now!"   Cats know when things can be improved.

And they are sometimes better judges of people than people are.   My family often remarks that Norman determined my ex wasn't worthy long before I did.   Norman had a certain penchant for pissing all over my ex's suitcase, which was pretty much the only time that he could be certain none of my stuff would be involved.   It would turn out that I wouldn't act on the problems in our relationship for years later (and a hell of a fight over a mortgage).   If I had listened to Norman, I may have saved myself a lot of grief.

Norman, like all cats, had a tendency to get into places he didn't belong, and to be honest, I staged this picture of him in the books in the closet--but I know he'd been in there before.   He'll be missed not only but Brian and I, but by his brother Max and his sister Josie.

I'm sure that Norman is now up in kitty-heaven with his brother Milo fighting over bowls of tuna water, running up mattresses and haunting Jeff's condo to find more suitcases to piss on.   I miss you, big guy!  Take care of yourself up there.
 

Goodbye, Norman!

Finding my way back

Two days ago, I raced in the Vineman 70.3 triathlon, and 3 weeks ago, I decided to quit doing triathlon forever. My road forward for the past couple of weeks has been (to say the least) a little bit rocky. To understand where I've come from, it's probably necessary to backfill with a little detail.

For the past several years (and possibly longer), I've dealt with nagging issues with my right hamstring, glute, and lower back. The pain would range from sharp stabbing issues that prevented me from running, biking, or swimming to dull aches and sometimes not be present at all. I've been horribly inflexible, usually unable to touch my toes, and it seemed that no matter what I did, nothing would release my hamstrings. I competed at Ironman Arizona last year while suffering from this dull ache, and happily got through it. Since that time, I've had a couple of flare-ups, that tend to knock me out of training for a couple of days at a time--until a few weeks ago, there was no change in how this long duration injury had been treating me.

That's when my coach convinced me to meet with someone trained in what's called the Egoscue method--which I won't go into here, but feel free to google it. Simply put, there are a number of stretches that I have to hold for set durations of time, and the total time for stretching daily amounts to between 1 and 2 hours, depending on whether I do the extra credit stretching. The results on my right side have been very promising--the pain is diminishing, near to being gone, and my flexibility seems to be increasing for the first time in a decade or two.

So, three weeks ago, I went out on what was, without a doubt, a hard training run--and I handled it reasonably well--nothing stellar. But it was a good effort with decent speed. I woke up the next morning to find that I could barely walk or support my weight while standing on either leg. The plantar fasciitis that has plagued me since about 1999 instantly overcame my left foot and was a more severe, sharp stabbing version of it than I've ever felt. My right side hadn't yet gotten to where it is now in recovery, and I could barely stand up in the shower--I wondered how I would make it from my car to my desk at work. I decided this sport wasn't worth the pain I was going through and made up my mind to end it. My coach talked me down off that cliff later that day.

It turns out that your body traveling back through previous injuries is a common occurrence in the Egoscue method--and (as painful as it is) a positive sign that the postural deficiencies I've accrued over the course of years are being corrected. To sum it up, plantar fasciitis drove me out of the sport in 2000, and as I came back to it in training for my first Ironman, my body compensated for my left foot and created the issues on my right side. Through the exercises I'm doing my posture is traveling back to where it should be naturally, which includes a stop along the way at the posture that exacerbates my plantar fasciitis.

Yesterday, I told a friend of mine (over wine) that I thought racing on Sunday might go down as one of the stupidest things I have ever done in triathlon. I ran a half marathon, while injured, after not having run for 3 weeks due to that injury. Actually, let's just say I hobbled through a half marathon. In reality, this may be one of the most tactical decisions I've ever made in the sport. I know this injury, and I know it's recoverable in a reasonable amount of time--and triathlon is as much about physical issues as it is about mental ones. I simply needed to belong to the sport again and suffering through 13 miles of running I probably shouldn't have done is what it took to get me there.

So I had really good swim and bike splits and then hobbled through a 2:18 half marathon. I think it's a great sign that I view that run split the way I do, because a couple of years ago, it was faster than anything I could have hoped for. Now it's time to continue fixing my injury and see where I go with racing for the rest of the year.