All Present and Accounted For
July 02, 2009
Guys, it has been a really good week.
Scout went to the vet on Tuesday to be spayed, and she is doing just fine. Better than fine, I've never seen a cat bounce back so quickly or so fully as she has done. Instead of delivering anesthetic with an injection, they simply put her entire carrier into a tank and knocked her out with gas. It worked beautifully, for all Scout knows she went for a ride in her kennel, waited in a room full of strange smells for a few minutes, and came home again. (Although the shaved belly puzzles her mightily.) They patched her incision with skin glue, rather than sutures, so she won't even have to go back to have the stitches out. I've had her sequestered in my room for a few days so that she doesn't reopen the wound by running up and down the stairs, but she is just fine. I can't even say how enormously relieved I am.
I made the appointment early in June, and particularly the week leading up to surgery was dismal; I wrote one blog entry after another in an attempt to redirect some of that energy--by turns nervous and fatalistic--and I deleted them all. It seemed unlucky even to mention it in a public forum. Every time we've gone to the vet in the past I glibly sauntered in the door of the clinic expecting a routine visit, and then left sobbing, convinced that my cat would die within the hour. So this time I felt that there was no use fooling myself, nothing was going to be fine, I just had to steel myself for the fact that Scout was going to die and it was going to be my fault for demanding an unnecessary operation.
Tuesday morning I took her in at the appointed time and (rather shakily) signed all of the waivers, and the tech said quite seriously that they would call me if anything happened, so that I wouldn't have to wait in suspense for the rest of the day. I went home and worked on my bike for a couple of hours, and about 10:30am the phone rang. I simply froze, and listened to it ring again, because Scout was dead and I didn't want to hear it. The mental remonstrance--a voice curiously like Paul's--very quickly scorned my cowardice and demanded that I act like an adult and answer the damn phone.
"......hello?"
"Hello, this is Melissa at Union Square Veterinary Clinic calling for Amelia Lohrenz?"
".....speaking?"
"Hi Amelia, I just wanted to call and say that Scout is awake and doing just fine..."
The rest was kind of drowned out by the fireworks going off in my head.
Of course the whole operation, given all the adjustments to the usual protocol, plus the cost of the usual protocol, set me back $400. But Scout's only got one set of ovaries and what else am I going to spend that money on, shoes, golf clubs? There was a part of me that was academically horrified by the bill, but on the other hand I can't remember the last time I put my earnings towards something I wanted so badly. I took her home and in her drug-induced state of affection she cuddled up to my arm while I was reading and purred. Scout has a pretty awesome purr. I think I mentioned that a year ago, in a very different sort of entry.
Scout went to the vet on Tuesday to be spayed, and she is doing just fine. Better than fine, I've never seen a cat bounce back so quickly or so fully as she has done. Instead of delivering anesthetic with an injection, they simply put her entire carrier into a tank and knocked her out with gas. It worked beautifully, for all Scout knows she went for a ride in her kennel, waited in a room full of strange smells for a few minutes, and came home again. (Although the shaved belly puzzles her mightily.) They patched her incision with skin glue, rather than sutures, so she won't even have to go back to have the stitches out. I've had her sequestered in my room for a few days so that she doesn't reopen the wound by running up and down the stairs, but she is just fine. I can't even say how enormously relieved I am.
I made the appointment early in June, and particularly the week leading up to surgery was dismal; I wrote one blog entry after another in an attempt to redirect some of that energy--by turns nervous and fatalistic--and I deleted them all. It seemed unlucky even to mention it in a public forum. Every time we've gone to the vet in the past I glibly sauntered in the door of the clinic expecting a routine visit, and then left sobbing, convinced that my cat would die within the hour. So this time I felt that there was no use fooling myself, nothing was going to be fine, I just had to steel myself for the fact that Scout was going to die and it was going to be my fault for demanding an unnecessary operation.
Tuesday morning I took her in at the appointed time and (rather shakily) signed all of the waivers, and the tech said quite seriously that they would call me if anything happened, so that I wouldn't have to wait in suspense for the rest of the day. I went home and worked on my bike for a couple of hours, and about 10:30am the phone rang. I simply froze, and listened to it ring again, because Scout was dead and I didn't want to hear it. The mental remonstrance--a voice curiously like Paul's--very quickly scorned my cowardice and demanded that I act like an adult and answer the damn phone.
"......hello?"
"Hello, this is Melissa at Union Square Veterinary Clinic calling for Amelia Lohrenz?"
".....speaking?"
"Hi Amelia, I just wanted to call and say that Scout is awake and doing just fine..."
The rest was kind of drowned out by the fireworks going off in my head.
Of course the whole operation, given all the adjustments to the usual protocol, plus the cost of the usual protocol, set me back $400. But Scout's only got one set of ovaries and what else am I going to spend that money on, shoes, golf clubs? There was a part of me that was academically horrified by the bill, but on the other hand I can't remember the last time I put my earnings towards something I wanted so badly. I took her home and in her drug-induced state of affection she cuddled up to my arm while I was reading and purred. Scout has a pretty awesome purr. I think I mentioned that a year ago, in a very different sort of entry.
I had faith that she would make it. Never a doubt in my mind! :-)
Hooray! I second Paul's comment, but it's still nice to have that faith confirmed!
Yay Scout!!