When I get the chance to talk with family of my patients, I order them to take care of themselves, go eat, try to rest. If it seems right, I add that I know how hard it is to be on that side. I waited twice for D, four long eternities the first time, only 3 the next. Most of them won't, or can't, but I nudge them anyway.
This morning, Moby was sleeping on my ankle, to instantly bounce to life at my movement. Food! he knows. Food! he enthuses. He must be petted and held, then Food! he insists.
But this morning is different from all other mornings. This morning, I will drop D and Moby at the Vets, then on to work by 0700. He jumps up to sit on the table beside me as I eat my cereal, drink my tea, purring at me with intent.
You wouldn't forget the Cat, now? I Always get food by now! I really appreciate that food, you know.
We love you Moby,
Yes, yes, but can't you say it in food?
Then the BAG. I couldn't get him in first try, as usual. Second, he knew I was serious, but so was he. I'm bigger, and nurseruthless. I zip the bag.
Dropped the guys off, and made it to work on time. D struggled with busses to the gym then home. I was on the blessed (that Other Hospital Never Had) Out Early list. Meaning, they let excess people go, if possible, in the order on the list. This is the Eve of a Big Local Holiday, with a small surgery schedule. By the rules of the List, I could go at 3pm, or get bumped down the list a bit, and take my chances on not getting out until 7.
I ran.
But, as expected, Moby was not ready. The tooth extraction was more extensive than anticipated, he was brewing an abscess, already infected. I considered waiting two to three hours. Then I thought how much better to have D hold him for the trip home. I came home.
And waited.
Stewed.
I know he will be fine, he's in good hands, all will be well.
But my eyes remember what can go wrong, and just how badly.
I nibble, unable to eat properly. I pace.
I feel guilty for not getting definitive treatment earlier. Though I myself had a tooth abscess, and the symptoms were vague for a long time. We had checked him out, and took the advice given.
It's pouring now, hard huge spatters. Not cooler, just more humid, but welcome. Moby hates rain, and thunder. He won't much notice today.
There, it's about time to go fetch him.
5 comments:
I so hate when people don't leave well enough alone and think they know better than you what's right for you. Ach. I guess you do reach an age where you can more easily detach from it and see it as their opinion that doesn't have to have any bearing on you. But some people still manage to push buttons.
...and a lot of pacing no doubt.
Oops. I see I put this in the wrong comment bin.
"Yes, yes, but can't you say it in food?"
A commonality of cat culture, I think.
"nurseruthless"
This would be my word of the day, if someone hadn't already coined the number 'fiveteen'.
Oh, much belated sympathy (I'm just starting to get caught up on blogreading). We just took TwoCat to the vet for the same thing... fortunately he's recovering well, but much stewing and pacing for us too.
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