Peppy is a low-maintenance pet. Nothing has ever been wrong with her–except for the time I accidentally slammed the front door shut—on her tail (documented by this picture). The kids and I never quite got over that—but fortunately Peppy did.
When Socks died a few days ago, I thought about someday losing Peppy– although she’s not old yet and in perfect health. Within 72 hours of writing that post, something was suddenly wrong with her. So I gotta wonder—-what’s wrong with Peppy and what’s up with these signs from the universe?
Last night she acted really weird and seemed to be in pain. A mother knows these things. So I made V take her to the 24-hour veterinary emergency room.
I’m not good in medical emergencies unless they’re mine. When someone I love is in pain, I function but I get really nauseous and dizzy. When Daniel broke his ankle, I got so faint I had to be laid out on the gurney instead of him. Last night I couldn’t even bring myself to go with V; I stayed home and waited for his updates every few minutes.
No medical professional has ever managed to examine Peppy and lived to tell about it. As usual they had to anesthetize her to test her, and they kept her overnight for observation. Which brings up the cost of pet health care. We’ve been incredibly lucky. But I’m surprised Obama didn’t include this in his speech since it must constitute a huge chunk of the national economy.
After a night that cost more than our mortgage payment, they couldn’t find anything wrong and they sent Peppy home. We still don’t know what she had—or has–but she’s not herself. She spent the day asleep, ignoring my mothering. I’m hoping she’s just traumatized from the whole experience.
A few minutes ago,she finally took her usual spot on my lap, and I felt a little surge of hope just now when I reached to pet her and she swatted my hand away. I’ll know she’s back to her old self when she draws blood.