Feline health crisis. Got a phone call Sunday afternoon from a FRANTIC daughter, sobbing that her cat was sick. She begged me to come take her and him to the emergency vet. A 45-minute drive on my part, despite the fact that she has a roommate. But, I figured, sometimes you just need your mom. So, I went.
An inexplicable and infuriating delay at the vet later, there was no real answer about what was wrong with Klunk. He was given fluids, and Daughter was directed to get in touch with her usual vet the next day. The emergency vet would fax the paperwork about what had been done on Sunday.
It was a tense, blubbering, completely exasperating afternoon/night.
The roommate took Daughter and Klunk to the vet on Monday, where Klunk was found to have a fever and bacteria in his bladder. More fluids, antibiotics --- vet wants to see him again Tuesday. Daughter is relieved at getting a possible answer, and Klunk begins to act more normally.
Tuesday was the day Daughter and I had been planning to take the shopping trip to Atlanta. She asked if I would take her and the cat to the follow-up visit, then, depending on the vet's word, maybe we could go on with our plans.
Another drive, more time in a waiting room, but the word is good. Fever gone. He's eating. No need to see him for 2 more weeks.
Now, here's something you should know about me. I am good in a crisis. Really good. But when the crisis is for sure over, the adrenaline drains away and I crash. In any number of ways. After the craziness/pressure on Sunday, I awoke on Monday with a pulverizing headache. It was worse on Tuesday, when I had to make the "health commute" again. By the time the cat was in the clear and we were on the way to the Mall of Georgia, it was all I could do to hold my head steady.
After we ate, we went into Barnes & Noble, where I promptly vomited from the pain. No movie. No pearl ring. A peeved daughter.
And I still have The Headache. Fifth day now.