emotional bloodstains everywhere

My big guy is no better today. Went to our vet, where the months' expenditure so far is well over R3000. Between dogs, cats, food for dogs and cats, bird food, bird drugs, random extras - all of which I buy there because they are my local vet - the minimum is normally R1500. I probably pay for one of the half-day receptionists most months. I live 5 blocks away. When they call to say they have an injured bird, it takes me less than 3 mins to get there if I am home - and if I'm not, I twist my next nearest volunteer's arm half off to make her go there immediately. Dr C is off until tomorrow afternoon. New young vet is OK. Not great, but OK. So I explained that Big Dog had had a couple of really bad spells over the public holiday, and that I'd appreciate it if the new young vet (well, would have preferred Dr C, but...) could do a home visit. And that my anticipation was that it will be a couple of days of serious pain meds, just to give us the weekend before we looked at euthanasia on Monday. That I didn't want to put Big guy through the trauma of being picked up and carried to get him into the back of my bakkie, and I didn't think he'd be able to do it without being picked up. That I'd like a vet opinion without hurting him by transporting him, so that if the qualified opinion was euthanase, I could know that it was under the best circumstances. So young vet was going to come. No time specs or anything. Just whenever he could.

He didn't. I was off fetching a bird with a spinal injury, that I resent bitterly for taking me away from my dog. But I went, because someone had to. And the fucking vet got the poor receptionist to call and tell me he wasn't going to come. Fuck him. Fuck them. Fuck the whole practice. I wish I could say I will never go there again. But odds are I will, because Dr C is a good vet. And she loves my animals. Or at least she always has, in the 7 years I've been going there. I will probably HAVE to go there tomorrow, because I don't know if there are any pain meds that any of the other vets I know well enough to ask can or will give me, that I could give to him myself. I can do SQ, or IM, but nothing more. And I think he needs them. Not all the time, and not for long. Just enough so that him and me can spend the weekend loving each other and saying goodbye.

Ten minutes out of his lousy day. That's all it would have taken him. I wish I could make him understand what those ten minutes have done to my faith in him, and in the practice I have recommended to a thousand others.

The only other thing I did today was see p-doc. Told him it hurts, told him it's just getting too much.

There's nothing he can do though. No point in going to the p-ward he works in. All that is is two weeks of getting up early, seeing him, going outside. To the smoking area when I need coffee, at ten bucks a pop, otherwise to the back of the building site behind the hospital when I need people-free time. That's about most of the day. See him again for 5 mins, beg the staff for my meds so I can go to sleep. Pointless. Still kicking in the Nardil - only at 45mg so far, and upping the trimipramine tonight to 100mg. So can't go anywhere with meds. Can't go anywhere with anything.

**too much informaton....!

Hey, there was one funny thing from seeing p-doc today. And that was when he told me how DuckBuddy was doing. According to her he isn't supposed to know we've even met!
Post in the morning about that though - it deserves more irony and humour than I have in me tonight.