Sorry about that. Laundry is apparently a genetically programmed skill only in women. Looks like guys can only fold, and fold only when it's warm. Whatever, on to the story!
So the Super-Pig had to get spayed. Now, I've never been the one to take my pets to the vet, the last pet I had my mom took care of all the icky medical necessities, so this was new. The hub-unit and I picked the closest place, with nary a speck of research. After all, a vet is a vet is a vet, right? WRONG.
Once again, I won't name the name, but as I said if you know where I live you'll figure out the geographic nearness of this particular doctor of pets. But I digress.. So we take the poor thing in, and here's what happened:
We walk in, fill out paperwork. So far, so normal..
After about five minutes the vet tech comes out, TAKES OUR CAT, and tells us to return at about 2 PM (it's now 9am). Once again, I think this is a normal, vet-type thing to do.
11 AM, the vet tech calls and tells us that the Amazing Pig's ears are clogged with ear-mitey goodness, and would we like to have them flush her ears? I'm the idiot who answers the phone, thinking I could handle this, and I ask if it's okay that we use the miticide that we have here in the house. INSTANTANEOUSLY, the vet tech is cut off and the vet herself starts yammering. I can only think that the doc was listening on the other line in order to have cut her tech off so immediately. The vet informs me that she will only charge us a mere 25 dollars for the procedure, seeing as how the cat is already unconscious, as opposed to the 75 she would normally charge. I hem and haw for a moment, ready to ask about the miticide we ALREADY HAVE AT HOME for the eightieth time, but the doc cuts me off and tells me she's doing it. Okay... Three more hours till pick-up time.
We pick up the as yet still-groggy super pet and take her home, after choking on the 216 dollar tab, which included the ridiculously over-priced piece of plastic we had to buy to stick around her head should she yank at the stitches. The doctor herself, who we didn't meet until AFTER the procedure, was high-strung, irritating, and desperately in need of a nap. She pushed that Revolution stuff like it was black tar heroin, and we really don't need it because we have indoor cats. Once again, despite the doctor's retchingly obvious need for a mood stabilizer, I still believe that this is normal.
Back at the ranch, we finally get a good look at what the doctor has done. METAL STITCHES. For those of you with some kind of technical training, our cat looked like someone had safety-wired her stomach. They hadn't cleaned the stitches so there was blood drying to a crack-glaze everywhere, and there were these HUGE metal tags. I mean, once Pig got up and mobile, she was catching them on everything. I was hysterical. Not to mention the fact that in seven days we were going back to have them taken out and get her booster shots given. Handsome Hubby, my knight in shining armor, was irate beacause I was crying.
Instantly, less than two hours after we got the cat home, we were calling other vets. It turns out that most vets have you bring in your pet for an exam, stay in the room with your pet while they do it, and ask questions before the procedure. It also turns out that while it IS the doctor's choice as to what to use for sutures, no one else on the island uses the metal ones. The last vet we called volunteered that if we brought Pig in for an exam, they would remove her stitches for free. Rock the fuck on...
It also turns out that you have to get boosters THREE weeks after the initial shots, or it doesn't do anything. Lessee, three weeks, seven days...hmmm. Bruce called the vet from hell and promptly chewed her a new asshole in several different places, and cancelled the next appointment. Honestly, I could give a rat's ASS how long she's been a vet, metal stitches? Come on, it's a CAT. That just begs for monofilament, especially the way they bounce about.
Special thanks to my mother, who was the first person to tell us to get away from that doctor and call around. Once we followed her advice and explained our situation to another vet, they were more than willing to help us out. I'm glad we did, because we had a whole 'nother cat to have taken care of.
I know, long and drawn out. But you asked for stories, kids, and this is my life. I promise, tommorrow will be a pop culture rant, I swear, but I had to get this off my chest.
--The (cathartic) Queen
Rattled Out By Queenie
at 3:55 AM
