We were in limbo. The doctor took our cat, our Cordy for x-rays to see if the vomiting was a symptom of something worse. Brian and I were left in the examination room to dwell in our own thoughts.
What could be worse? Intestinal blockage? Feline leukemia? Kidney cancer? What if the doctor said that there was something lodged in her stomach and she needs surgery?
I loved Cordy.
I rescued her from the animal shelter when she was only three months old. She's been in my life for seven years, longer than most of my relationships, including the one I had with the wart on my foot. Surgery could mean a lot of money, do I want to spend thousands to save a cat's life? What would I spend to ease her pain?
I realized now that I never really understood what kind of commitment I had made when I adopted her. What is my commitment? I still didn't understand when the doctor came back in with the x-rays. I felt like I needed to understand right now. If I didn't, I will not be able to make a decision. I will not be able to make the right decision.
The doctor said, "I couldn't find anything that would indicate any serious problems. The x-rays didn't show any blockage. Her liver and other organs look about the normal size. I do see a lot of gas," she pointed to x-ray of her stomach area, "but nothing that concerns me. Blood test results were normal."
We were relieved. She was going to be okay.
The doctor said that Cordy will be given some medication. She wanted to keep Cordy overnight with an IV drip to keep her hydrated and see if Cordy will be able to keep food down. The receptionist came in with the estimate, it was going to be about $500, do we want to admit our cat?
$500 was not that much. This way we can be sure that Cordy will be safe. The surround sound system can wait a few months, it's ok.
So I won't be immersed another world when I pop in an HD DVD; I won't feel the low rumble, the high pitched tire squeals of a high speed car chase; I won't feel like I'm right in the middle of the action in My First Gay Bukkake #3, it's ok.
I gave the receptionist my credit card.
The next day, the vet's office called us and told us that Cordy is alert and keeping her food down. She was being released.
The drive home was more relaxed than the trip to the hospital. We joked around, chatting to Cordy in the back, laughing about how we can put the soy sauce back in the fridge.
At least now, I know the minimum level of my commitment to my pet: it's $500 plus tax and prescriptions. I looked at her fondly.
Cordy meowed, cheerily talkative. She seemed very upbeat.
I studied her prescription and wondered idly if it worked on humans too...
READ THIS: What I wouldn't do for my cat...
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