Hematology Follow-Up and a Kitten’s Great Onesie Escape

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today included my hematology follow-up appointment, which meant the usual routine had to make room for doctors, blood tests, and medical logistics.

We first discovered my kidney problem after my brain stroke. At the time, the doctors wanted to try a treatment that would stop iron from leaking into my brain, but one of the requirements for that treatment was healthy kidneys.

That was when we found out mine were not healthy at all.

Back then, my kidney function had fallen close to stage 5.

I have also dealt with anemia since childhood because of a Mediterranean blood condition similar to sickle cell disease. After my stroke, I needed injections to increase my red blood cell count. I went through that treatment for a few months nearly ten years ago.

Earlier this year, my doctor noticed that my red blood cell count had dropped again, so now I am back in treatment mode.

My wife asked me how I did not notice the anemia returning.

Honestly, I did not.

Since I have lived with anemia for most of my life, feeling dizzy from time to time does not feel unusual to me. I know I cannot take regular iron pills because of my blood condition, so I mostly accepted it as normal.

My wife found that strange. She used to struggle with anemia herself, and for her, the symptoms were very noticeable—especially feeling lightheaded after standing too long. In her case, the problem came from not getting enough protein and iron for her activity level.

So now, I am committed to this treatment plan until May. I have to see the hematologist twice a month, which feels slightly ironic because every visit includes them taking three more vials of blood to monitor the blood problem.

Apparently, treating anemia involves donating a surprising amount of blood first.

When I returned home, my wife and I planned to inspect our kitten’s incision. Today was supposed to be the day we decided whether she could finally retire from her onesie.

As it turns out, our kitten made that decision herself.

Sometime between my wife waking up and me getting out of bed, she successfully escaped from the onesie. Apparently, she had officially reached the end of her patience with recovery fashion.

At that point, we looked at the incision, saw that everything appeared healed, and decided not to put the onesie back on.

She has been absolutely full of energy ever since.

Today she has run around the house, reclaimed her territory, and played more than thirty rounds of fetch. Clearly, she feels completely recovered and ready to return to her normal life of speed, chaos, and relentless enthusiasm.

Honestly, seeing her back to normal made the whole day feel much lighter.

Kitten Recovery Update: Escape Attempts, Endless Appetite, and Onesie Battles

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Another Kitten Recovery Update. Our Kitten has been recovering very well. In fact, she is recovering so well that she is sure she does not have to be in her onesie.

This morning began with breakfast, coffee… and a jailbreak attempt.

The moment I opened my office door, our cat made a bold dash for freedom. After more than a week of confinement, she clearly believes she has served her sentence. Now every door opening feels like a high-stakes negotiation. I have to move carefully, or she will slip past me like a tiny, determined fugitive.

As if that were not enough, she had also escaped her surgical onesie—again.

Impressive, honestly.

At first glance, her incision looked fine, but I plan to do a more careful inspection with my wife later. In the meantime, I reset the situation: recapture the cat, reinstall the onesie, restore order.

Temporary victory.

Her Restless Kitten Syndrome continues at full strength.

After securing the onesie (round two), I gave her another dose of pain medication, followed by food and fresh water. Her appetite, by the way, is thriving. She has already finished four bowls of food—and it is only midday.

At this rate, the onesie is not shrinking. She is expanding.

My wife noticed the same thing last night while adjusting the onesie during another escape attempt. Between limited movement and increased eating, our little patient has entered what I would call a very successful recovery phase.

On the bright side, I have become surprisingly skilled at giving her medication. My wife taught me the technique: distract generously, act quickly, and make sure the cat never fully realizes what just happened. Efficiency is key. Confusion is helpful.

So far, it works.

Despite all the chaos—the escapes, the climbing, the constant supervision—I am genuinely happy we have her. She has added a lot of life (and activity) to my days. I have always been a cat person, and even this tiny troublemaker has completely won me over.

Now we are both waiting for the same thing:
the end of the onesie, the reopening of the room, and her return to full freedom.

I suspect she will celebrate that moment dramatically.