Five years ago (God, how did that happen?), I was in my third year of law school living in Melrose Place. We lived in a row of townhouses that were built for the staff of this place. There were two apartments in each building (one upstairs and one downstairs) and probably seven buildings total. We didn't know everyone that lived there, but we knew most people. Downstairs from me was a medical school student, on my right in the downstairs was our law school buddy K, on the left were Aimee in the upstairs and Teener in the downstairs. K and Teener were 1L's so they were a LOT busier than we were, so Aimee and I often tried to feed them.
I volunteered to cook fajitas for Super Bowl Sunday. Etta was about two days post op from getting spayed and seemed to be doing well in spite of some swelling in her belly. I mentioned it my sister (the nurse) when I called her and she got me worried about the cause of the swelling. I called her vet and they put me at ease so I just kept cooking.
The gang arrived for the feast about the time my sister called back. They had all gotten a head start on me with the drinking, and they were being plenty rowdy. My sister finally convinced me that Etta's belly could be swollen due to internal bleeding, so I sent everyone home and looked up the number for the emergency vet.
I called and discovered that it cost $150 to walk in the damn door. $150 is a lot of money in the life of a law student. My mom had gotten in on the game at that point and called me crying to tell me to use her AMEX to pay for it but to take Etta in immediately.
Aimee and I headed to the vet which is in the ghetto. We walked in and took a seat in the waiting room, but were quickly ushered back to a room. Only, the room had no back wall. It was completely open to the back of the clinic. There was nothing in our line of sight, but we could hear the howling of some poor animal as if he was in the room with us.
Drunk Aimee and I got the giggles, but Etta saw nothing funny about the situation. The hilarity only escalated upon the vet (who was Nigerian) beginning to bellow, "STAPLES! STAPLES!" Etta was unsuccessfully trying to find any possible place to hide.
Ends up, she was allergic to the internal sutures her vet used during surgery. I can't even remember how this guy came to that conclusion. He also gave her a diruetic and told me that she shouldn't be climbing stairs. Naturally, our apartments were built on a hill. This required us to climb about 15 steps to get to the sidewalk in front of the house, then there about 10 steps up to the front porch, and of course, I lived upstairs so that was another 35 or so steps. Etta was about 50 pounds at that point, so I made the executive decision to skip the diruetic since I didn't feel like hauling her up and down 100 steps all night.
She fully recovered and has only a saggy belly to show for it. Aimee and I, on the other hand. . .
I made Aimee's famous guacamole today, and as Etta stood at my feet waiting for me to drop something, I was thankful.
I volunteered to cook fajitas for Super Bowl Sunday. Etta was about two days post op from getting spayed and seemed to be doing well in spite of some swelling in her belly. I mentioned it my sister (the nurse) when I called her and she got me worried about the cause of the swelling. I called her vet and they put me at ease so I just kept cooking.
The gang arrived for the feast about the time my sister called back. They had all gotten a head start on me with the drinking, and they were being plenty rowdy. My sister finally convinced me that Etta's belly could be swollen due to internal bleeding, so I sent everyone home and looked up the number for the emergency vet.
I called and discovered that it cost $150 to walk in the damn door. $150 is a lot of money in the life of a law student. My mom had gotten in on the game at that point and called me crying to tell me to use her AMEX to pay for it but to take Etta in immediately.
Aimee and I headed to the vet which is in the ghetto. We walked in and took a seat in the waiting room, but were quickly ushered back to a room. Only, the room had no back wall. It was completely open to the back of the clinic. There was nothing in our line of sight, but we could hear the howling of some poor animal as if he was in the room with us.
Drunk Aimee and I got the giggles, but Etta saw nothing funny about the situation. The hilarity only escalated upon the vet (who was Nigerian) beginning to bellow, "STAPLES! STAPLES!" Etta was unsuccessfully trying to find any possible place to hide.
Ends up, she was allergic to the internal sutures her vet used during surgery. I can't even remember how this guy came to that conclusion. He also gave her a diruetic and told me that she shouldn't be climbing stairs. Naturally, our apartments were built on a hill. This required us to climb about 15 steps to get to the sidewalk in front of the house, then there about 10 steps up to the front porch, and of course, I lived upstairs so that was another 35 or so steps. Etta was about 50 pounds at that point, so I made the executive decision to skip the diruetic since I didn't feel like hauling her up and down 100 steps all night.
She fully recovered and has only a saggy belly to show for it. Aimee and I, on the other hand. . .
I made Aimee's famous guacamole today, and as Etta stood at my feet waiting for me to drop something, I was thankful.
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