I Have Become Elvis To Cecilia’s Priscilla
Does anyone remember that book Elvis and Me? The one written by his child-bride Priscilla? It came out in the mid 1980s, when I was just a young impressionable pre-teen enthralled by tabloid drama. Of course I had to read it. I probably snuck it, or borrowed it from my older friend (Lala) who always hooked me up with reading material not condoned by my mother.
I don’t remember a whole lot about the book, but I do remember that Elvis was constantly feeding Priscilla pills. Uppers, downers, sleep aids, whatever. They were definitely practicing better living through chemistry. Although I guess it wasn’t better living in the end since Elvis died prematurely.
Anyway. Just say no.
Unless you are Cecilia.
I think it’s pretty clear to most of you that Cecilia is in the twilight of her life. She’s 14 (ish). She’s got arthritis down her spine. She’s growing a tumor the size of a melon on her shoulder. And now she’s walking with the slow, careful, tottering steps of a very old animal.
My goal is to keep her as comfortable as possible for as long as possible. Thank goodness my vet is tracking with me.
Cecilia now has a daily regimen of NSAIDS and opiates. And I’m her pusher. Because it’s pretty hard to open those bottles when you don’t have opposable thumbs.
It felt a little weird when the vet warned me that Cecilia’s meds were “habit forming”. I mean, I’m not one to promote addiction. Heck, I don’t even drink coffee every day because I don’t want to become attached to caffeine! And yet now I’m sending my little girl to the Land of Nod.
Sweet dreams, Cecilia.
Don’t worry girl. I promise I won’t let you die on the toilet.