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| Mom and my new stuffed dragon |
The boy cat's vet appointment was honestly traumatizing.
Bash absolutely hates car rides, so when we got there, he was really upset. I tried to explain that to the vet, hoping the guy would ease into the appointment since this was the first time he was meeting Bash, but he decided to go the route of ripping the bandaid off. He snatched Bash out of his box and pinned him to the exam table, which was ultimately an old ambulance stretcher stripped bare. This, of course, only exacerbated the problem, and Bash lost his damn mind.
By the time the guy decided to give Bash some shots (antibiotics, steroids, and a rabies shot), Bash was cowering in a corner, which is not a thing my cat does, and I knew that when they went for him, it was going to be bad. And it was. But they got the shots in him, and we packaged our boy back up in the box and hightailed it out of there after paying a very modest $135. We will not be seeing that vet again.
Bash's head started to heal almost immediately, but it still took almost a month. The antibiotics and steroids shots only last for 2 weeks, and his head pretty much stopped healing at the 2 week mark, so I started putting Neosporin on it again. Bash stopped fighting me altogether, and stopped licking the Neosporin off, and all that's left at this point is for his fur to finish growing back. Phew.
I got my EMG done. That was so weird. Like, the entire experience, from the guy who took me to the exam room, and checked my blood pressure, to the conversation I had with the neurologist, to the way the procedure felt. Omg.
The fella who came to get me was dressed in an impeccably tailored steampunky suit sort of like this one only his shirt was crisp and white, and he wasn't wearing a hat. And honestly, his suit was a whole lot nicer than that one. He had a handlebar mustache, which was oddly befitting, and he went by the name of Benjamin. Benjamin spoke in perfect proper English, and seemed to have a script he followed. When I asked him questions, he got very flustered, and stuttered over his words until he could piece together the proper way to answer them. He was trying way too hard to be odd, but it helped me to relax a little, so I guess he did his job.
When the doctor came in, I was a bundle of nerves because I'd heard different things about how an EMG felt, so I really had no idea what to expect. And somehow we got on the topic of the ACA, which was an experience, let me tell you.
He doesn't like the restrictions on premiums for preexisting conditions. He says it's like buying home insurance after your home burnt to the ground.
And I get what he's saying, but a lot of people are limited to their employers' insurances. Most non-employer insurance is far too expensive even if you're perfectly healthy. So if people change jobs, they're most likely going to have to change insurance companies, which means their rates are going to go way, way up, because everything they were being treated for at the old company is now a preexisting condition. And it's not that they didn't have insurance when they developed the issue; they did. They just had to switch insurance because they changed jobs. And it might not even be their fault they had to change jobs. Maybe the company owner just decided (as Ivanka Trump apparently has) to dissolve the business.
For that matter, he said, insurance is a pool you pay into with the expectation that the money will be there for you to use when you get sick (which I knew because I used to work in medical billing). If everyone is paying the same amount, the pool won't be large enough to cover the small things (preventative care), once they've paid out for the big things (cancer), which means less small things covered and less big things caught in time to save lives.
And I get that, too, but doctors and pharmaceutical companies and health networks and hospitals...they contribute to that. They charge exorbitant amounts for life saving treatments, their time, and even a couple Motrin.
Once I stuck a qtip in my ear and bumped it, and it scratched my ear canal. My ear bled all day, so we finally went to the ER to make sure I hadn't punctured my eardrum, or something. They took my blood pressure, gave me two Motrin, interrogated me for 5 minutes about whether or not I was being abused, and looked in my ear. I was in the room no more than 10 minutes. They charged me $1500 for the visit and $500 for the Motrin.
ANYway, ultimately, I have carpal tunnel syndrome. A minor case that only requires a steroid shot or wrist splints. I got a steroid shot in my shoulder when I separated my ac joint. I think I'm gonna skip that route if at all possible.
I'm not entirely convinced it's just carpal tunnel, though. I mean, I'm no doctor, but I feel like there's more going on. When I drink alcohol, it gets worse. And I was of the impression that carpal tunnel is just in your wrists. Sometimes, the pain and numbness goes all the way up my arms. I find out what my doctor wants to do on the 31st. I mean, if treatment fixes it, hallelujah. I just feel like there's more to it than just my wrists. I guess we'll see.
My mom came to visit for a week. It was the best visit we've ever had, I think. I'm always super anxious when she leaves, feeling like the visit didn't go like she'd hoped, or something, and I didn't feel that way at all when she left this year. We had a really good time, just hanging out and stuff. We went a few places, like the Munson Williams Proctor Art Institute. They have an exhibit called Kimono! The Artistry of Itchiku Kubota there until 9/16 that is fascinating, and they have Thomas Cole's series The Voyage of Life there permanently. Big and I plan to go back as soon as possible.
Mom talked us into going to Big Lots, which turned out to be a really good thing. We've found a mattress we can afford that we both find comfortable, and a new couch that'll be supportive and comfy, and some recliners that Big wants, and maybe a new kitchen table, and...dude, I had no idea they had so much stuff at Big Lots.
Granted, it's not the trendiest, prettiest stuff in the world, but who cares? All that matters right now is that we get some comfortable, supportive furniture in the house. All the exercise in the world isn't going to do a thing about our sore hips, backs, and shoulders if we don't have anything supportive to sleep or sit on. Our current couch sags so much that we might as well just put the cushions directly on the floor, and the springs in our mattress are all jacked up. But next month, we'll be buying the new mattress. Hopefully that'll mean a better night's sleep for both of us, and less pain in our backs and joints.
While Mom was here, the neighbor's dog slipped his leash, and ran to our side of the road. We don't know our neighbors, and we still hadn't introduced ourselves to this one though we've been here for 2 years. Over the couple of months the neighbor had had him, we'd watch the dog run into the road over and over, saying each time, "That dog's going to get hit," but that didn't prepare us for what happened.
When I saw him on our side of the road, I tried to get him to come stand with me until the neighbor could come get him. But I didn't know his name, and I didn't know what commands the neighbor used to train him. Hell, I wasn't even sure it was the right dog. I'd only ever seen him from afar. Then the neighbor came outside, so I called to him to ask if it was, in fact, his dog.
Rascal darted out into the road in front of two cars going at least 45 mph. I screamed at him to come back, screamed no over and over. He turned between the cars, and I thought he was going to be fine, but then he stepped in front of the car closest to me.
Rascal jumped up after the cars passed and ran over to his yard. After checking for traffic, I followed him, thinking maybe he'd be okay. But his hind legs were broken, and I think his back was broken, and he was gasping for air. His tongue was pale, and he looked terrified. That's when I learned his name.
He died within about fifteen minutes. The lady who hit him was hysterical. I managed to hold myself together until I got back to my backyard. Then I went into hysterics.
I can't stop hearing that noise. Can't stop seeing myself screaming no. Can't stop trying to rewind time in my head and make it not happen. I can't stop thinking if I'd tried harder, Rascal would still be alive. Every time I look across the street, I have to fight back tears.
The other day, I heard the neighbor say, "Oh, Rascal. Dumb dog," and my heart broke all over again.
I want to never leave the house so there's no possible way that my cats can ever get out, and I don't ever have to go through that with one of my own pets.
I don't want a dog anymore. At least, not unless we move off of this highway.
When Mom left, Big and I dated like a couple of college kids. We even had two nice sit down lunches at restaurants with servers! And we visited the Fenimore because they currently have a few of Thomas Cole's other paintings on exhibit. I did my best not to let myself obsess over that poor dog too much while we were out together, and did a decent job, I think.
We realized that we like doing things like that, and we've missed dating each other, so we've committed ourselves to doing more date type stuff on the weekends. I'm pretty excited.
And now, here we are. Vacation's over. Big's back at work and already stressed out again. Heh.
I'm thinking of looking around for a blog prompt site. I have very specific things I'd like to write about, but I always find myself putting them off, afraid that I won't do them justice, so I'm thinking prompts might help me get into the swing of things.
Woo doggy. This one's a long one. I guess I'll end it here. Hope you're having a great day. <3
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