Well it’s been a long time so here I am to write a blog post. I have approximately 30 minutes to do it in which doesn’t bode well but here we go.
Things have been busy this month. Obvs I mean Christmas. I failed to send cards, although I have bought the calendars and did manage to buy some presents. To be honest, I spent most of the run up to Christmas finishing a book.
Yep, The Next One, or probably The Missing Links as I think it will actually be called, is with the brave beta readers now. Some have already sent back the stuff they’ve spotted, which is golden as I’m busy correcting all the many errors they have found. I’m hoping it’ll be out in April, although it slightly depends, I’ve booked an editing slot for February so fingers crossed.
Did you have a good Christmas? I do hope so. Mine was actually rather lovey. I got to have it at home, nobody died (even if we did discover that poor McCat is on the way out) and I got to sing at all the carol services, which I enjoy doing, including midnight mass, where I got to do all the descants for the carols which is a gas if, like me, you are nerdy and into that sort of thing.
Dad in law came down and spend Christmas with us, which was lovely, although I think he found the house a bit cold so I’m not sure we will get away with Christmas at home next year. Never mind. It was lovely
My Christmas Gift from the NHS was the date for my knee op, which is going to be on 29th January. This, rather terrifyingly, is a mere 25 days away.
On the one hand, I’m looking forward to being able to walk upstairs and have the kind of reliable knee I can land on without fear if, I dunno, I step off a boulder, a grass verge, a high kerb or something. On the downside, I cannot quite express how unbelievably painful it was last time. So … not looking forward to that aspect of the proceedings. Even so, I am aware that six months out I’ll be glad I’ve done it.
The Wide Mouthed Frog.
Also not unduly looking forward to the decision about anaesthetic. This will be General number FIVE and what with having a full house dementia wise I’m wondering if I can spare the grey cells. Gulp. There is an alternative, an epidural, but another part of me really doesn’t want to do that. My dad had a hip op like that and I remember him saying that the smell of burning as they sawed at the bone was a bit grim. Then there’s the scary stories you hear about people who the pain but are too drugged to say etc etc.
Probably best to wait and take a view on the day. The epidural makes me hurl just a copiously as a general so there’s no bonus there, and I’m not sure the op takes that long so there’s that, too.
Last but not least, I confess to feeling some trepidation about the opiates. Last time, even the one that had to be specially rescued from the locked cupboard and signed for by two members of staff didn’t really touch it. Added to which, after taking them for a week, I began to wonder if I would ever poo again. So there’s that! Mmm Mmm! Nitrile gloves at the ready.
So yes, in the next three weeks or so I will need to lose a bit of weight (the 3lbs I put on over Christmas hopefully) and then it will be brace, brace, brace for pain, physio, tiny walks and not much sleep.
On other matters, despite having terminal cancer, McCat is on great form. It’s clear he’s having trouble eating sometimes, tongue dexterity is not what it was, he can’t get the food out of the corners in the bowl, so to speak, so I have to keep an eye and scrape it all into the middle, at which point he gratefully hoovers it up. I’m having to cut the food up very small and I’m augmenting it with his dried food soaked so it becomes soft. He’s doing very well and so far is clearly on crashing form.
McCat curled up warm and half asleep in a box on top of the radiator.
However, I’ve noticed his back is a bit dandruffy and I suspect it’s because he can’t really manage eating grass anymore. I am supplementing his evening meal with some evening primrose oil but I think I may start chopping little bits of grass into his lunch (in tiny pieces like chives) just in case he’s missing any vitamins. I know it seems crazy but there’s no need for his last months to be itchy or uncomfortable if I can find ways round it.
The vet wasn’t sure how he’d do but told me the worst case scenario was that he’d be dead by now. I’m hoping he’ll make it to after my knee op. After the last one he spent a lot of time sitting on my lap as I sat with my leg up and clearly loved it. It made me laugh so much the way, the moment I took to the couch with and ice pack he would miraculously appear. If we can fix it for him to spend his last days like this, I know he will spend them happy. I suspect he will give up very soon after he can no longe eat, because food is his first love.
For now though, I am grating the cheese smaller, cutting up the food, soaking the kibbles and even breaking the snacks he loves into tiny pieces. I’ve got some liquid treat stuff which is a bit hit-and-miss, one make he loves one he doesn’t. I have a lot of fabulous prawn stock in the freezer, frozen in small 25ml chunks. I will lay bets he’ll enjoy those. If he reaches the point where he can’t swallow food. I won’t be feeding it to keep him here for us, but if he’s still happy, still purring and having japes and larks and enjoying his life, I’ll keep him here for him, so he can do that, as long as I can.
At some point the tumour will close his throat, or he’ll be unable to breathe, easily, or the lump under his tongue will just be too huge and unwieldy for him to swallow. I know I can inject water under his skin to keep him hydrated, the question will be if he wants it. I hope very much I will know when the time comes.
For now he’s clearly enjoying his life and is happy. He still makes a little purrp noise when I touch him—I think the internet calls that the cat activation sound—and while there are some days when he clearly is uncomfortable it’s nothing the analgesics we have can’t fix at once. Luckily, I think for the most part, he’s pain free. We will take each day as it comes. He knows he is loved and when it’s time, it’s time.
On a more chirpy note, Happy New Year. Thank you for reading my blog, my books and generally following me. May the worst bits of your 2026 be like the best bits of your 2025.
Namaaste and God Bless … (until next time).
M T McGuire Authorholic 
Hugs – and do ask the staff about all your medical questions. Maybe they have some new suggestions that would make it easier on you. Here’s hoping!
I’m sure McCat appreciates being cosseted – and I know you’ll not let it go one minute too long.
Thanks, here’s hoping and yes, I’ll definitely be picking their brains. Apparently they let you choose on the day so I’ll see what they say.
Hugs from me too. I agree with Alicia about asking the med staff, because I have absolutely no experience of that sort of thing.
Pets on their last legs from cancer I can do, though, and you’re absolutely right to do the max you can. The question is, when to say enough. After Victor’s second lump removal, which then came back, vet said we can keep him in, give him meds and feed around the clock, and he’ll have a fifty-fifty chance of being here in the morning. And I said, so if I take him home, give him meds etc round the clock, will he have worse than a fifty-fifty chance? Not appreciably. I took him home and he lasted three more days. Did he have quality of life? Not as he’d like it, but he was happy, he was cuddled and he went in my arms. It’s the best I can do. Much the same with Hugo four months later… and he was much older. Would he survive the op to remove lump. I thought he could live longer with the lump. Then the lump started bleeding and he was obviously distressed by it, so the lump came off, and he managed another week.
And six months earlier, Locksley had gone in my arms, because we hadnt even identified what was wrong. After these two, we realised he had had lung cancer, probably. Sigh. One of those years. Hopefully no more for a while (do you hear that, boys?)
Anyway, enough about my problems, you just have a good year and love to McCat. I’ll look forward to the next book 🙂
‘Bearable’ new year is the best wish I can think of…
Oh mate! Three in a year? That’s awful. Hope 2026 is more than bearable, and is good. Hugs back! xxx
With my first knee replacement, (July 2024) I had an epidural and a mild general anesthetic, and I woke up in hell .. they even resorted to giving me an IV ‘shot’ of fentanal – so, not a fan if epidurals. 2nd knee replacement, (July 2025) was with a straight out general anesthetic, and a much faster, (relatively speaking) recovery time.
Good luck, with whichever way you go. 🙂