A beautiful Sunday morning and I’m trapped in a waiting room hoping for the best for a furry child. My cats, as I’m sure fur less children are as well, are ninjas at figuring out the worst possible times to manifest illnesses such as late Saturday night into Sunday morning when our regular vets are not open. So without benefit of coffee or breakfast beyond a granola bar, I sit, wait, and grade the essays I dragged along.
Late Saturday night, Birdie was making frequent unproductive trips to the litterbox. She would freeze in pee stance for what seemed like forever then check out the tiny dribble or the complete lack of urine. This morning she was still at it. All of the online articles screamed that a cat trying to pee but not getting results was a condition to be dealt with immediately not to “wait over the weekend until the vet opens on Monday.” One article actually said that. So far an “unremarkable X-ray” has ruled out bladder stones but the urinalysis which takes an hour to process will address whether she has an UTI, crystals or something else.
So I’m here at the only 24 hour, 7 days a week emergency vet working on hour 3 as the capacity of the waiting room fluctuates. I’ve already spent too many hours in the cancer wing of this building with Cosmo then Bella. I hate being here.
It’s hard enough that the Bird is not okay, and waiting and worrying at the regular vet would only be marginally better, but the “emergency” element makes this place worse. Everyone waiting for a pet is haggard and tense. This is not a regular vet visit for anyone. At least two separate people are sitting by themselves crying. A stretcher has been used three different times to unload large dogs from their owners’ cars and transport them through the lobby to the exam rooms. At least one dog was wrapped in a sheet; I heard the owner say that he had passed last night. I assume they are here for cremation.
I have to look away or find myself crying with them.
The vet techs are high pitched and upbeat even when calling owners back for some of the worst news. During consultations, the techs and doctors speak briskly, rattling off terms and possibilities at an auctioneer’s speed. Maybe because the next emergency is coming. Maybe because overwhelming already overwhelmed pet owners with an onslaught of fast verbiage will limit the number of tears and questions.
If I wasn’t paranoid about Birdie’s health, I would have waited until Monday. However all advice directed me here and my own anxiety.
Update: Wrapping up hour 4. Pee crystals which makes The Bird even more of a weirdo because it’s predominantly a male cat issue. Special food for life. Yea!