Tuesday night seemed like it was going to be just another random night, where my family watched The Voice and basically just acted like we normally do. It sort of changed when my mom picked Amy up and was going to put her in her litter box. Amy jumped, while still about five feet in the air, and landed (somewhat like a cat) legs first. She started screaming, or that’s how I’d described it if she was human, and we were all next to her within a second. My mom held her, while calling the vet. My dad ran to his room to change from shorts to jeans. I sat and tried to calm her down. Mom asked the secretary at the vet’s office if we could go ahead and bring her in to get her checked out. Since it was about 6:52 and they close at 7:00, they said no. (We live five minutes away, so we could have gotten there before they closed, but mom wanted to make sure that they would actually be there and let us in when we got there.) They told us to keep her off her feet for the night and bring her in Wednesday morning, so we did our best to do that. (She still managed to walk around some.)
Mom thought she had broken her left front leg. I thought it was a sprain. After being examined the next morning, we found out that she just had soft tissue damage–aka a sprain. (I know that those can be more painful than breaks sometimes, so I shouldn’t have said it was just soft tissue damage.) Anyway, the vet gave her something for the pain. They also went ahead and did the next batch of vaccines she would need this weekend. The doctor also said that she was doing well, other than her leg, and is growing at the proper rate for a puppy of her age and breed. (She gained an ounce since she went to get her worm pill over the weekend.) By Wednesday night, she was running circles around us like she had been before she’d fallen twenty four hours earlier. She hasn’t tried to jump out of our arms when we carry her, though.
Wednesday was also the day for my trip to see the family doctor about getting a referral for a different gastroenterologist. When I explained what had happened, he was more than willing to get me a referral to someone else. When I went to get said referral from the “referral person” on his side of the office, she had already gotten one prepared for me…for the same doctor that had laughed at the idea of doing the colonoscopy. She was going to refer me back to the doctor that I was trying to get away from. I told her this, and she had to ask why I needed to see a different doctor, so I told her that that doctor didn’t want to do a test I needed. She proceeded to laugh at this and say, “Well, another doctor won’t necessarily do a test that you want done if you ask for it.” This was when I finally snapped…or just raised my voice a little and got very snippy toward her. I told her that it wasn’t a test I wanted, but one that my hematologist said I needed. I was getting more annoyed by the moment and nearly started crying, because whether I’m angry or sad, the tears always seem to start flowing. I don’t know if it was my annoyed tone, the fact that I wasn’t just doctor-shopping so I could get a test that isn’t necessary, or the tears that were starting to pool in my eyes, but she started to take me more seriously at this point. She apologized and she tried calling someone and they didn’t take my insurance. This was when she did something that I found even more annoying: she told me to go home, call my insurance, get a list of doctors who take my insurance, and call her back with the one I want to see. Maybe she thought I would enjoy this or would make things easier for both of us. It doesn’t. She’s having me do her job for her. Other referral people, including the person on the other side of that very office, know which doctor accepts which insurance plan. It shouldn’t have surprised me that she lacked this knowledge and that she didn’t want to do the job herself, since this is a woman who always takes thirty minutes to an hour to do something that takes every other person with that position five minutes max. She’s not new to the job. She just doesn’t do it very well. And she almost always pisses someone off–either a patient, the patient’s family, a doctor, or a nurse at the nurse’s station that she works at. Honestly, I don’t know how she manages to keep her job at all.
Yesterday, we had some pretty bad storms and I, of course, had my typical anxiety related to the storms. Though we had a severe storm pass over, it wasn’t really that bad (damage-wise), but there were some that were relatively close that did some damage. I’m glad that it wasn’t any worse. (Sometimes this weather makes me want to go to some place like San Diego where there is no real weather.) Oh, and because the weather was so bad, a lot of schools and school systems around here closed early, which meant that my therapist had to cancel our group therapy session for this month. So I will have gone two months without any type of therapy.
Oh, and today, Amy officially got her lifetime license from the city. My parents had to go to Animal Services with her rabies info and apply for it. Now the city officially knows that we have a new pet. So anyone who is super judgmental and who thinks that the proper authorities haven’t been informed that Amy lives with us can rest assured that they do. And obviously, there weren’t any flags on our names or address or anything that keeps us from having pets. So…yeah. Basically, if you think we shouldn’t have pets and you want to be rude about it, you can kindly go fuck yourself now. You could have done that before, but now you especially can. Also, my mom asked and found out how much it costs for a person on Medicaid (i.e. me) to get a pet spayed or neutered in this area. Apparently, it costs $5. I guess that means that enough other very, very poor people have pets that they have an established rate for us. So, if you think poor people shouldn’t have pets…I refer to the kindly go fuck yourself remark. (Yes, those comments that were made still bug me. I’ve got to learn to stop obsessing over the bad stuff.)