I dissolve in grief when I talk to someone about Sherlock. Tom is lying down on his respirator, preparatory to driving me to the hospital for my iron infusion. Saves me steps. I found I was pulled up out of my feelings when I remembered to check my hanging plant. It is a different kind of thing, like tiny petunias, pink and orange with green centers. It was dessicated. I gave it a whole watering can, a pint I guess. I thought about the studies that show that old people live longer if they have a plant to care for. A lousy plant, let alone a cat. Something that depends on you.
Then I thought how I have to update my calendars, all these new appts. for iron infusions now. So I sat and did that. The hospital created a mess, scheduling me for ten appts. without asking me, and now I have to reschedule two doctor appts, or two of the iron appts. They also woke me up at 6:55 this morning to ask if I was coming in. (We have to always answer the phone because of being on the transplant list.) I want to hate that woman for ruining my sleep, which it did, I would be mad at all of them if I had any energy, for doing what works for them without caring what works for me. The Vet, Dr. Stewart, could teach them some lessons. He just called to tell me they got the IV in and got Sherlock to eat just a little. I have always found that Vets are kind. Something about loving animals.