Last night was one for the ages. I was surprised. We were carded as soon as we walked in the door. It was a very exclusive place, too. They had to buzz you inside through a locked door. Very speakeasy. It was a packed house! So much activity everywhere. Lots to see. Of course, there was drama. There always is at these sorts of soirees. Something about late nights, too many people, and shots brings out the best and the worst in folks. The event staff was nice. There just weren’t enough of them. We spent too much time waiting on service. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was time to leave all the excitement behind and journey home. We both had splitting headaches, but my husband said he was fine to drive. I was glad. I had already gotten sick in the restroom. In fact, he almost had to pull over several times for me to puke on the side of the road. And, here we are now, at 10am, still in bed and reeling from the aftereffects of what we experienced. Were we at a fancy nightclub somewhere, drinking it up and dancing until the wee hours? Nope. We were just a couple of middle-aged grandparents who had extreme anxiety at the emergency vet until 1 am with a sick standard poodle. We still know how to rock.
This was our first emergency pet visit. Of course, the patient in question was Finn. It is always poor Finnegan. He’s the biggest of our dogs, at a whopping 80 pounds, give or take a little. Finn has epilepsy, too. His once daily grand mal seizures with the terrifying blind postictal state are finally under control with ample scheduled meds. We live our lives by the timer that goes off at 8 am and 8 pm each day. Phenobarbital must be timed carefully. It also makes him hungry, always hungry. It also makes him thirsty, always thirsty. But it did not deaden his goofy, clumsy eternal clown personality. For that we are so glad. But, this 7 pm to 1 am visit did not involve seizure complications. Who knew that dogs could develop urinary stones rendering them unable to urinate? I was a practice manager for a vet at one point. I remember the issues canine and feline UTIs can cause, but this stones thing was a first for me. Dogs don’t form kidney stones like people. Theirs form in the bladder, eventually obscuring the urinary tract. We were lucky. Finn’s condition improved after the vet performed a cystocentesis, the fancy term for obtaining a urine specimen from a dog. The vet was able to dislodge the stone and Finny is, for the moment, back to his normal bouncy self. But, I will carry this experience with me for a long time.
At one point during the evening, I ventured from the exam room we’d been assigned in search of a restroom. Looking in the mirror as I walked into the WC, I was appalled at my appearance. See, I had a bit of a pneumonia relapse this past week. I am feeling much better, but my face is not representing that fact. I looked like the walking dead: ghostly pale, dark undereye circles, crusty parched lips. I wore my best after hours clubbing outfit – two sizes too big sweatpants and a baseball cap that proudly reflects I am from Texas. Also, crocs. You cannot forget the crocs. My overall panache, or lack thereof, coupled with the fact that I forgot my glasses and only had 3 cough drops in the random purse I grabbed as we fled our house, meant a cough and vision induced migraine were soon to follow. My husband, who also has a cough and forgot his glasses, was in no better shape, though he looks cuter in a hat and doesn’t wear Crocs. There we sat, with no follow up info, no technician poking a head into the room to tell us how Finn was doing, no updates from a doctor, no results from triage info…. for 5 long hours. We struggled to fit onto the narrow-padded bench shoved into the corner, each of us taking turns laying in the floor so the other could attempt a contortionist’s version of the fetal position for a few moments. My mind tends to go crazy in such times. I remember this other day, in some other awful waiting room, when my daughter’s four-hour heart surgery drug on for nearly 24 desperate hours, with us getting absolutely no information as to the reason for the extreme delay. My heart started to beat faster. My stomach began to arc like an incoming tsunami. My temples pulsed with pain. I should have recognized my own recipe for a PTSD infused stomach expulsion was brewing. Thankfully, things could not have turned out better. Finn came home with us. No surgery was or is needed for the moment. Now we begin to untangle his lab results to see if we can find the snarled knot that caused this issue. The tired overnight vet with the deadpan voice said a lot of things like kidneys, liver, Addison’s disease, and returning stone issues. That can all wait for another day. Today is a day of recovery, extra treats for Finn, and my famous blueberry French toast bake for the grownups who hope to never gain entrance to Club ER Vet again.
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