The Daily Nusz

Normally weekends in the Nusz household are a bit hectic, but rarely do we ever have to be somewhere specific at a particular time. This weekend, Kevin and I were looking forward to taking a Group Power class together at our gym (we never get to work out together) at 10:15 am on Saturday. Then we found out that there was a presentation by our homeowners association about how to take care of Bermuda grass (and we’re pretty sure that the presenter, who is our neighbor, would have cried if we didn’t attend, as the state of our lawn haunts him at night. Justifiably.). Then we realized that Savannah had a birthday party at noon, to which she has been counting down for about three weeks. Oh, and Patrick the Cat is sick, and so he has an appointment at the vet’s at 10:45 am.

So, Group Power is ditched. We decide that Kevin needs to attend the lawn presentation (saving Dennis the Neighbor from a mental breakdown), so that means that I need to take Patrick the Cat (who weighs 17 lbs without the pet carrier), Savannah, and Dec to the vet. We need to be back from the vet by 11:30ish so I can pass Dec off to Kevin and take Savannah to the birthday party.  I make a note to put on some makeup when I return from the vet, as the parents at this party are the same parents who attended Olivia’s Zoo Party and will probably be dressed to the nines.  I figure I can at least wear some eyeliner and non-cat hair infested clothes.

Remember my post about taking the kids to the library?  Well, throw in a seventeen pound cat, a teething Decky, and a little girl whose wearing crocs for the first time this season (and cannot stop looking down at them to admire them, even after walking headfirst into a door).  Nightmare.

Now, Patrick was clearly sick.  Hadn’t eaten in two days, he was walking slowly, and in general, he seemed uncomfortable, and I don’t know, sick.  The kids were beside themselves with excitement that we were taking Patrick in the car.  We get to the vet’s office, I race in with Patrick in the carrier, drop him by the front desk, and race back outside to bring in the kids from the car.  We enter the waiting room and Dec immediately attempts to pet all the dogs, even those who clearly don’t like husky blond-haired boys.  He dumps over a stack of Cat Fancy magazines.  As I’m cleaning them up, I see him actually reach into a dog’s mouth to touch its tongue.  Thankfully, the dog simply shook his head, extracting Dec’s slimy little hand.

After, like, a year, we get called into the examining room.  How can a room that’s nearly empty–save for a bench, an examining table, and a few flyers–look like a war zone when the vet enters five minutes later?  Flyers are scattered, Dec is making a ridiculous amount of noise by opening and closing the lid on the metal garbage can repeatedly, Patrick is frantically shedding hair due to being so stressed out, and Savannah is arguing with me about how “it’s not dirty here, we can have a snack” while trying to search through my bag.  At this point, I’m wondering if the vet can euthanize me.

The vet enters, examines Patrick, and says that it’s very serious.  She says a bunch of stuff, but I was busy trying to keep Savannah from forcing her crocs on over Dec’s shoes, so I didn’t hear it all.  I did hear that he has a bad heart murmur, and recommends bloodwork.  I agree, but ask if I can leave immediately after the blood draw and learn the results later (the birthday party is looming).  She tells me to call the office first thing Monday, and gives me an appetite stimulant and a blood pressure medication for Patrick.

We hustle out of the vet’s office, and I call Kevin on the drive home.  He leaves the fascinating lawn presentation, and I practically push Dec out of the moving car in my haste to get to the birthday party.  Makeup is abandoned, and I resign myself to not keeping up with the Jones’s at this birthday party.  At least I remembered to bring a gift.

Birthday party.  Twelve screaming 4 year olds.  Chuck-E-Cheese.  Nuff said.

As we leave the party, I check my voice mail.  It’s the vet.  She states that she needs to speak to me immediately, as Patrick may have a very serious condition.  I call her back at her home.  She stops nursing her baby to tell me that she looked at the blood test results and examined a blood smear under the microscope and it appears that Patrick may have been bit by a tick that infected him with a dangerous protozoa that typically causes death in cats in 2-7 days.  I wonder if Patrick has expired while we were at the birthday party.  She tells me to take Patrick to the emergency clinc (it’s Saturday; her clinic is closed), get a second opinion, and consider euthanizing him before he dies a sudden, painful death.   Most likely on Savannah’s bed.

Kevin and I chat, he researches the condition, calls the vet back and speaks with her himself, then prepares to take Patrick to the emergency vet.  I tell Savannah that Patrick is very sick and needs to go to the hospital.  She says, “Is he going to die?”  (Um, I didn’t know that she even knew that word.)  I say yes, he might die.  She begins crying and says, “But then we won’t have a cat or a dog!”.  I say, no, we won’t.  She says, “We need a new cat!”.  I say, no, we’ll just think about Patrick and think about what a nice cat he was.  She says hopefully, “Then we need a new dog?”.  No, no dog either.   I tell her to say good-bye to Patrick.  This is her tearstained face as she pets Patrick for the “last” time:

Dec, on the other hand, didn’t know that he should be using this as an opportunity to lobby for more pets.  Instead, he crawls into the pet carrier, where Savannah promptly locks him in.

Kevin hustles off to the vet.  Blah, blah, blah, day goes on, and we intermittedly discuss Patrick’s inevitable demise.  Savannah seems to understand the Patrick is not coming home.  Kevin calls around 5:30 pm.  Patrick is alive!  The vet at the emergency clinic thinks that the other vet’s diagnosis is wrong.  He doesn’t have a lethal protozoa.  He has a heart murmur, but he’s not at death’s door.

Kevin brings him home and Savannah is so glad to see him.  As she pets him she says, “Patrick’s not that dead yet, is he, Daddy?”  Um, no.  I guess we don’t really know what “dead” means.  That’s okay.  That’s a lesson that I hope she doesn’t have to learn for a really long time.

She is still telling people, 5 days later, that Patrick is “not that dead yet”.