Some days, I wonder why I even bother to make plans.
Which is sort of a strange, negative thought, because usually my plans work out OK. I write things on my calendar and they happen. If it is a work day, I get in the car which starts, and drives, and brakes when I need it to, and gets me to my destination. People meet me at the prearranged time for their massage appointments. They pay me like they promise. Maybe after work, I have a plan to get together with a friend for a walk, and we do. The walking path at the park is well-maintained, lovely, safe. Or maybe we go out to dinner. We make our way to a restaurant we love, and it is open, and there are people inside who serve us and prepare excellent food that we eat and that makes us happy.
Last Tuesday was a day that reminded me to be grateful for all the days when things actually go according to plan. Because that day, they did not. I had a busy weekend of massages the days before, including Monday, the Memorial Day holiday, and I was a little worn. I was looking forward to staying home. I had seeds to plant, a dog to walk, a run to do. My calendar was blissfully clear. I did not want to go anywhere.
Except my dog got sick over the weekend.
Sick enough that the first thing I did Tuesday morning, after the holiday, was to call our vet. At 7:30 am. When they first opened.
They said they could see him Friday.
Now when your dog is vomiting, having accidents on the bathroom rug, lethargic, and refusing to eat even his favorite nighttime treats, it seems important to have him seen sooner rather than later. Three days in the future is not so good. They said, “Call the emergency vet! They will maybe make you an appointment that doesn’t cost much extra if you call during normal business hours.”
Except they didn’t even answer the phone.
Finally, I found a vet who would see him, but since they were booked with regular appointments, they would have to add on an extra $95 emergency visit fee. Was that OK?
I guess?
It feels a little bit like they are taking advantage of doggos in crisis. But maybe that is just me. And how could I say no? It was sweet Biscuit, the blanket stealing dog, and he was not himself. How would I feel if there was something seriously wrong with him, and I quibbled over that money, especially since I didn’t have the luxury of calling around for a vet who wouldn’t add on an extra fee, which is what I normally would have done, since all the other vets were apparently crazy busy after the three day weekend?
Off we went down the hill to Auburn. I dropped him at the clinic, and then went to one of my favorite parks, which was nearby, and thought I would at least get some steps in before it got too hot, while I waited for the vet’s assessment.
Except when I went to put on my shoes? This is what I discovered.
I didn’t have my shoes. Well. I had one. And one of my son’s, and they were the same foot.
That was not my plan.
So I did one lap around the park in my hard soled sandals, and finally got a call from the vet who said that indeed, I was correct, he seemed like a sick puppy. She had a few recommendations that added up to money. They included an in-house blood panel, IV fluids, an x-ray, some medicine “to help his tummy feel better,” and a day of nursing care.
I said OK, I guess, but let’s hold off for now on the $170 x-ray, until we see how he does with the other treatments. She said that would be fine.
At day’s end, we picked sweet Biscuit up, and he seemed a little better. The vet also prescribed a doggy probiotic and some medicine (also not free) that would treat bacterial infections and sent us home with special canned food that, it turns out, he won’t eat. He’s picky that way. Now, as I write this on Saturday, he is basically back to his old self.
Grateful for that, of course. Grateful for vets who know animals and how to help them when they are sick.
Except.
Except I am still feeling a little bad about the whole thing. Not exactly like we got taken advantage of. But was all of that really necessary if maybe he just had a sick stomach?
I mentioned this to my wise neighbor, and she said that a friend of hers will preface a visit to the vet with the phrase, “Pretend it is 20 years ago, before the era of on-site blood work and in-office IV fluids. What would have been the treatment for my beloved pet then? Let’s start there.”
Did sweet Biscuit really need all those interventions, or did he just have a tummy ache that would have resolved on its own by now anyway?
Impossible to know.
Paula D’Arcy says that God shows up disguised as our lives. I would add that, for me, God shows up disguised as dogs, and one dog in particular: Biscuit. He is here now, resting on his blanket, right where I can see him, he can see me. It’s time for his afternoon walk. It is one of my favorite things, taking him out, watching him explore the world. I am beyond grateful that he is feeling better. But next time he is sick? I will remember my friend’s advice and ask some other questions, too. It might not make a difference in what we do, but it seems like a good place to start, when the day takes a twist and goes someplace I am not expecting, someplace a little scary, someplace not in my plans.
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