The Vet Bested Me Again
Sorry for the blog about myself. But I just wasted a whole work day, and way too much money dealing with this shit. So at minimum I’m going to get a blog out of it.
Today was supposed to be a perfectly normal workday. I woke up at the crack of dawn (8:00 AM EST), made a quick PB&J for breakfast, grabbed my backpack and gym bag and headed out the door. I still had time to get a quick 30-minute gym session in before I beat everybody to the office by an hour by getting there at 9:30 (sorry guys that's a low blow but getting to the office early is the one thing I have to hang my hat on).
But about 10 minutes into my lift (row machine, it was back and bi’s day), I got a call from my fiancée. My dog, Dock was puking. He’d puked 4 times since I left. While I was on the phone with her he puked again. It was concerning. So I thought, fine I’ll come home. I’m sure he’s ok, but let me at least get eyes on him before I go into the city. As soon as I got back home he puked again. Then I let him out in our backyard. He took a shit. There were weird strings in it. It looked like he ate a spool of string. So fine… I’ll call the vet. It’s literally 2 blocks away, maybe they’ll be able to get him in quick.
Vet was closed. They’re “expanding” and are closed all weekend. Their VM message directed me to an emergency vet in Hoboken. I call the emergency vet and they say they can get us in right away.
We don’t have a car. It’s an hour walk to the vet. I have a puking dog so I don’t want to put him in an Uber. So I thought we’ll just walk him. He still seems to have his energy. Maybe if he’s fine by the time we get there we can just turn around and save some money.
By the time we get there he’s acting totally fine. Just his regular happy self. But fuck it. We’re already there. Might as well see what they have to say.
They get him in, weigh him, take his vitals, feel him up, all the regular vet shit that vets do when you have a sick pet. They proceed to give me the whole spiel. The same spiel vets give you every time you go there.
“We can’t tell if anything is wrong just by looking at him. To be safe we should probably run some tests. It’s possible he ate something weird off the ground and is a little sick. But it’s also possible he has a blockage. He could have LEGO’s in his stomach. He also might have 7 different types of dog cancer that if we don’t catch right fucking now he’ll be dead by midnight.” – Vet (paraphrased)
So they give me this…
I fucking tried to hold strong. I knew he was fine. I knew it in my gut. I said, “I think we’ll hold off for now. He seems like he’s perfectly fine. He’s clearly not uncomfortable. We can monitor him for a while. If he pukes again then we’ll bring him in for the tests.”
The look in the vet’s face was like I was some sort of cold-hearted animal abuser. Like she just witnessed me pick up my dog and punt him across the office. Meanwhile my fiancée is Googling blockages. She’s about to cry. Keep in mind we're at the emergency vet. This particular emergency vet is just one huge room. So we can see and hear what’s going on with the pets all around us. There’s sick dogs and cats in cages along the wall. There’s a guy sitting behind us whose cat is about to undergo emergency surgery because it had some sort of blockage. The same thing we thought Dock might have. It’s a heavy place to be at.
So fuck it. I obviously love my dog. In the grand scheme of things, who gives a fuck about $1,000. I’d rather my dog be healthy. I’m never not going to do what’s necessary to keep him alive. I could never live with myself if something was actually wrong and I was too cheap to do anything about it. We get the x-rays.
Here’s me watching him (we brought our other dog Molly for support)
AND GUESS WHAT!? The x-rays came back. Nothing in there. They said he “looked gassy”. Just a perfectly fine dog who was a little sick this morning. I’m sure he just ate some weird shit off the ground that upset his stomach. And I’m $800 poorer (I managed to talk them out of some of the expenses. Half the shit on that bill were things to make him more comfortable. He was clearly already comfortable. Because he was perfectly fine the whole time).
The vet really is a son of a bitch. It’s the most full-proof business in the world. Nobody has people by the balls more than vets. Vets and dentists. I’m not saying they don’t do good work. They’re very necessary. But they’re also salesmen. So no matter what they tell me, I’m going to believe them. I’ll be throwing money at the vet until the day my dog dies. Then I’ll get a new dog. Then I’ll throw more money at them. It’s a vicious, never ending cycle.
You got me again, vet. You’re $800 richer today because I love my dog. You win again. You always do.