Thursday, July 1

It’s Thursday. Which means, another trip to the oncologist’s office. Today is the third of four radiation appointments for Julie. 

It’s a new routine I’ve begun to adjust to. Leave at around 8:30, which means I need to have Julie in her carrier before that time. This morning, I lure her out for a few morning treats, then pick her up and load her in. She doesn’t resist much. I guess she’s used to the routine, too. 


They know me quite well at the oncologist’s by now. “You’re my favorite cat dad,” one of the assistants says to me this morning. How is one to respond to that? 


After her drop-off, I go to a nearby Balkan restaurant, where I’ve fast become a regular. The owner, Mike, appreciates the business and goes out of his way to suggest specials I’d like. I haven’t told him what brings me to this part of Clifton, NJ each Thursday morning at around 9:30. 


Last Thursday, he made me eggs. 


“Over medium,” I request. 


“We have a special way of making them,” he says. “Just wait. You will like them."


He’s right — they’re delicious. I suppose they are closest to what I’d call baked eggs, with sausage baked in there too. Paired with the Turkish coffee, it’s a hardy breakfast. And that’s where I am now, sipping my coffee, waiting for my eggs, and wondering about my Julie. 


These appointments last about an hour. They’ll call when Julie is ready to be picked up. She needs a few minutes to recover from the anesthesia. 


“Why,” I once asked, “is anesthesia required for radiation?”


“To keep her still,” the oncologist says. “We need to deliver the radiation to a concentrated area. If she moves, it could affect other areas, such as her brain.”


Last week, she was remarkably perky after the appointment and in top spirits. Today, well, we will see. But for the last week-plus, she’s been the old Julie again. I’ve woken up every day with her either on me or next to me. She’s eating. She’s running to the door when I get home. She’s not minding the medication as much as she once did. 


Here’s to many more days of the old Julie. 


(You can’t see me, but I’m holding up my Turkish coffee in a toast.)

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