What I get for being impatient
So this morning at 7:30 I woke up needing to pee, and asked Tim if he'd set any alarms. We're supposed to drive up to my mom's tonight so we can catch our plane in Memphis tomorrow morning. He said he hadn't set an alarm, so I set one, and we ended up finally crawling out of bed at 10:00. Lots of good the alarm did.
So two hours later, Tim sets off to run some last minute errands: to the bank, to Wal Mart, and to fill up the gas tank in the car. All total, these errands should have taken less than one hour. Far less. Wal Mart is one mile up the road, the bank is less than a mile past that, and there are fifty gas stations in between the two. Allowing for dealing with slow people, it should've been a 45 minute trip.
I did what I could do while he was gone. Printed the AAA cards, rechecked the flight info, recounted my underwear and socks in the suitcase, double checked that the toothbrushes were packed, put the cats out, got all the dishes washed, etc.
The biggest task was to get the dogs loaded up and dropped off at the vet. This is a two person job, but after Tim had been gone for an hour and a half I started thinking I should just get it done myself so we wouldn't have to deal with it once he got back. That way, I reasoned, we could leave at a semi-reasonable time, like maybe 2:00, which was our original goal.
So I grabbed the bigger of the two dog crates, loaded it into the back of the truck, backed the truck out onto the yard, near where the black ness monsters were lazing in the shade, and started the long, arduous task of loading their punk asses into the crate.
Bear didn't want to go in at first, and I had to coax him up to the tailgate. He finally put his front paws onto the tailgate, and I lifted the back half of his massive dog bod and crammed him into the crate. Next was Daisy, which wasn't as hard to deal with once Bear was in.
Unloading them at the vet was a different story. It was very difficult to get one dog out at a time, but that's what I had to do. When I opened the door, Daisy's head was closest to me, so I slipped the leash around her neck and tried to pull just Daisy out. Bear, with all his 81 pounds of dog might, insisted that he was coming out too. I was pulling Daisy out with my right arm, and holding Bear back with my left arm, and I don't really know what happened exactly, but I was suddenly floored by the sharpest pain I've ever felt. It shot through my lower abdomen and took my breath away.
Thankfully, a vet tech was walking up right then, so she grabbed Bear just as I lost the will to fight him anymore. Thinking it was just those ligament pains I'm always hearing about, I thought it would go away. We took Daisy inside, which wasn't hard, and I returned for Bear. I got him out, but when we got inside the vet's office, he started freaking out. I basically had to wrestle him all the way back to the kennel. He didn't stop pulling against me until he saw Daisy. I was so glad to get rid of them when I did. The whole process of loading and unloading them only took about half an hour, but it was difficult.
As I was walking out of the vet's office, I realized that the pain was worse. Every step I took felt like someone punching me in the lower part of my stomach. It was hard getting into and out of the truck. Once I got home, sitting down for a while didn't help one bit, and I started getting worried. What if I jacked up my baby or his living space? Ligament pain isn't supposed to be a constant thing.
I called the doc, told them what happened, and they told me to come in and get checked. That process took more than two hours, and when I finally got home I had a prescription for pain medicine, which Tim is gone to have filled right now.
So to save half an hour, I blew at least 3. And I screwed my body up nicely enough that I will probably be able to feel it for most of our vacation. The doctor examined me and said everything looks okay-- they heard the heartbeat-- and that I had just pulled too many of the ligaments too hard at one time and they were stretched too far. He said it would hurt to walk for a while.
And you know, that's just fine, because it's not like I was planning on going on vacation or anything. Yeah. I'm sure this trip will involve zero walking, right? I'm moving like an old lady right now, because every movement of my legs is painful.
This sucks.
Tim's back with my dope. I'm off to see Alcatraz. Maybe they can let me take a load off in one of the cells if I get tired.
So two hours later, Tim sets off to run some last minute errands: to the bank, to Wal Mart, and to fill up the gas tank in the car. All total, these errands should have taken less than one hour. Far less. Wal Mart is one mile up the road, the bank is less than a mile past that, and there are fifty gas stations in between the two. Allowing for dealing with slow people, it should've been a 45 minute trip.
I did what I could do while he was gone. Printed the AAA cards, rechecked the flight info, recounted my underwear and socks in the suitcase, double checked that the toothbrushes were packed, put the cats out, got all the dishes washed, etc.
The biggest task was to get the dogs loaded up and dropped off at the vet. This is a two person job, but after Tim had been gone for an hour and a half I started thinking I should just get it done myself so we wouldn't have to deal with it once he got back. That way, I reasoned, we could leave at a semi-reasonable time, like maybe 2:00, which was our original goal.
So I grabbed the bigger of the two dog crates, loaded it into the back of the truck, backed the truck out onto the yard, near where the black ness monsters were lazing in the shade, and started the long, arduous task of loading their punk asses into the crate.
Bear didn't want to go in at first, and I had to coax him up to the tailgate. He finally put his front paws onto the tailgate, and I lifted the back half of his massive dog bod and crammed him into the crate. Next was Daisy, which wasn't as hard to deal with once Bear was in.
Unloading them at the vet was a different story. It was very difficult to get one dog out at a time, but that's what I had to do. When I opened the door, Daisy's head was closest to me, so I slipped the leash around her neck and tried to pull just Daisy out. Bear, with all his 81 pounds of dog might, insisted that he was coming out too. I was pulling Daisy out with my right arm, and holding Bear back with my left arm, and I don't really know what happened exactly, but I was suddenly floored by the sharpest pain I've ever felt. It shot through my lower abdomen and took my breath away.
Thankfully, a vet tech was walking up right then, so she grabbed Bear just as I lost the will to fight him anymore. Thinking it was just those ligament pains I'm always hearing about, I thought it would go away. We took Daisy inside, which wasn't hard, and I returned for Bear. I got him out, but when we got inside the vet's office, he started freaking out. I basically had to wrestle him all the way back to the kennel. He didn't stop pulling against me until he saw Daisy. I was so glad to get rid of them when I did. The whole process of loading and unloading them only took about half an hour, but it was difficult.
As I was walking out of the vet's office, I realized that the pain was worse. Every step I took felt like someone punching me in the lower part of my stomach. It was hard getting into and out of the truck. Once I got home, sitting down for a while didn't help one bit, and I started getting worried. What if I jacked up my baby or his living space? Ligament pain isn't supposed to be a constant thing.
I called the doc, told them what happened, and they told me to come in and get checked. That process took more than two hours, and when I finally got home I had a prescription for pain medicine, which Tim is gone to have filled right now.
So to save half an hour, I blew at least 3. And I screwed my body up nicely enough that I will probably be able to feel it for most of our vacation. The doctor examined me and said everything looks okay-- they heard the heartbeat-- and that I had just pulled too many of the ligaments too hard at one time and they were stretched too far. He said it would hurt to walk for a while.
And you know, that's just fine, because it's not like I was planning on going on vacation or anything. Yeah. I'm sure this trip will involve zero walking, right? I'm moving like an old lady right now, because every movement of my legs is painful.
This sucks.
Tim's back with my dope. I'm off to see Alcatraz. Maybe they can let me take a load off in one of the cells if I get tired.
I do hope you don't feel too bad for your trip.
Make Tim wait on you.
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Anonymous |
9:32 PM