So it's 11:20 pm on Wednesday night and I'm logging on, not after spending the last hour caught up in an episode of LOST, but after spending four and a half hours in the emergency room with Campbell.
John called as I headed out of work at a little before 6 tonight. He said Cami had vomited on the patio and it looked like she had brought up some blood. So, I spring into Mom mode and tell him to get on the horn to our vet, who is about 2 minutes from our house. John calls back, all babbly and flustered, saying that our vet is tied up with two emergencies already and cannot see Campbell. John mentions that our vet suggested visiting the emergency clinic in Fairfield if Cami doesn't improve.
As I try to formulate a plan of action with John, he says, "Gotta run, it's bowling night." I mean, really, who gives a shit if our dog is throwing up an intestine? John needs to be sure he gets the use out of those thirty-five dollar bowling shoes he bought. Now, if it's one thing I've learned over the years, it's to double-check EVERY SINGLE THING JOHN TELLS ME. I hop on the bluetooth to our vet, who delicately informs me that she wouldn't waste any time getting Campbell to the emergency room, ya know, if it were her dog and all.
I'm now traveling at warp speed to pick up my baby and get her the now obvious medical care she needs. So I call Mike, my new trainer, tell him I won't be at the gym as I need to have my dog cut open from crotch to sternum to remove whatever is ailing her tummy. He's not pleased, but hey, fuck him.
Did I mention that the emergency clinic is in Fairfield, an hour from my house? Did I mention that I was coming home from work? Did I mention that I fucking work in Fairfield? Yeah, nice.
I get home and at this point my stomach is in an uproar because I love my Cami and hate to see her in pain. I also know that I needed to slip a zip lock baggie over my hand and pick up a bunch of bloody vomit. Sue me for having an over-active gag reflex.
I jump out of the truck, only to find that I'm ankle deep in a bunch of mud whilst in my Opaca tan, crocodile embossed-kitten heeled pumps from Franco Sarto. Can you say "Pissed off"? Now might be a good time to mention that my husband is a landscape contractor who specializes in hardscapes. Is there any good reason why after all these years in this house I can't have a fucking walkway to my front door? Oh yeah, I forgot, her name is Campbell....
The little bitch is lucky she's so darn cute. I take one look at her and can tell she's not a happy camper. I make an educated guess that it could have something to do with the Nextel phone she ate a few days ago. I grab the baggie, grab the vomit, grab Campbell and gingerly walk my way back to the truck. I pick up Cam, sink further into the mud, mentally throw the newly enacted shoe budget out the window, and hop in the truck. Away I go to Fairfield, the place I've just returned from.
Luckily, the hospital is not busy and Cami is taken in quickly. She proceeds to vomit 4 times, refuse to allow the cute vet (who's fly was down the whole evening-why is that something you feel compelled to stare at?) to palpate her stomach and sits down as the tech is taking her temperature. From her butt.
Four and a half hours later, Cute Vet With Fly Down decides he's going to admit her as he doesn't like the look of her x-rays. He tells me to call him later as he's working until 1 am (at this point it sounds like he and I are dating) and he'll give me an update. I take a few stolen glances at his fly, shake his hand (which I found to be somewhat hysterical at that moment) and proceed to check out.
It's now explained to me that Cami will need to be discharged from the hospital by 8 am and taken straight-away to her regular vet, catheter intact. So, tomorrow morning, I will drive to Fairfield to pick up Cam at the hospital, drive her to our regular vet (2 minutes from our house) and then go into the office. The office which is conveniently located in Fairfield.
Campbell, you're lucky you're cute.
In all seriousness, I'd do anything for my baby girl. I'll post again on her condition as I get updated.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
holy crap! i see we've progressed nicely from maggots right over to Nextel phones...very nice. good job cami - can you hear your aunt adrienne little girl? your mommy looooooooves you but maybe you need a muzzle - for real! poor thing. poor deb. and stupid me thought i'd wait till next week to give you a call and say hi, belated happy b'day, and welcome back from a hopefully spectacular tropical vacation. who knew? new topic....i did however, watch lost. got paul into it this year. we both watched and yet we keep coming away speechless and a little confused - still. next week is about locke, the wheelchair and all the how's and why's come out. and it appears that claire and jack are half brother/sister by way of his father and her mother, who's dead. kidding aside - i know how much you love and worry about cami - keep me posted and hopefully tell me all is coming along. miss you alot. a
Quit looking at the fly, Deb. These things happen. Stop it!
Sorry to hear about this turn of events. I think about now that kids are cheaper, and I never thought I'd say that. Hope she gets completely healed up, and that the guy that cuts you off on your way to the office has a nice funeral.
Post a Comment