Worming Night and Blood Tests
Last night was cat worming night. With three cats, it takes a whole night to catch them and actually get the tablet down them.
I was wrong over who would cause the most pain. Harvey was as good as gold and only bit me twice. Frankie spat and hissed at me, but upon bribery with biscuits, meekly took his tablet.
That little bitchbag Ellie though was something else.
She hissed, she swore, she hissed some more and hid under the U bend. She pretended to swallow it, and after five minutes throat massage, when I was convinced it was gone in one of the many swallows she did to fool me, she calmly spat it back out again.
I bundled her back into my leather jacket (I wasn't taking any chances with her little claws) and popped it back in. Out it came. In. Out. In. Out. This of course wasn't nearly as sexy as it sounds written down!
The tablet was dissolving to a chalky stickiness on my hands. It was turning yellow, and it stank to high heaven. I couldn't really blame her for refusing it. I tried the biscuit bribery. Nada.
I decided that I was going to try once more and then I would return to the vet in defeat. He has no trouble with my gits - they only play up for me! So I wrapped her tight, got her mouth open and dropped what was left of the tablet down her poor abused little throat.
It stayed! We stayed locked in position for ten minutes - I didn't trust her - and had a little cuddle sat there on the bathroom floor.
Voila!
It wasn't just the cats who suffered abuse in the name of medicine yesterday. I had my blood test.
It didn't start very promisingly.........
I got up and asked the Baron to drive me there, just for moral support. Lets just say that the US got more support from France over Iraq than I did from the Baron and leave it there.
We got to the surgery, and I went up to the receptionist, who glares and opens her shutters.
"Hi, I'm here for a blood test" says I, clutching my little request form.
The shutters bang shut.
"Phlebotomist will be back on Thursday"
I pull out my directions, and stare at them. Then stare at the closed shutters. The receptionist has already turned her back and is regaling her colleague with the history of the hypochondriac who had just called for the fourth time (I am good at eavesdropping!)
"But it says right here that blood tests are on Monday and Thursday!" The shutters are wrenched open and really I wish I hadn't said that because.....
"Today is Tuesday!" Shutters slammed.
Unfortunately, this isn't the first time I have done something like this. I once went to vote a week early. I dragged the Boy along to see democracy in action and found that I was definitely first in the queue.
So I went along to the other clinic. I'm not good with blood tests, despite having worked as phlebotomist myself for a year. I took my number and sat in the waiting room.
And waited. The cold sweats started and still I waited. I twitched and fidgeted and the Baron sat and laughed.
"Number 40!" Bugger, that was me.
I went in. Tourniquet on, arm swabbed and needle unsheathed. And then I freak. I ask her to wait a second whilst I compose myself. She said
"Shall we just get it over with?" in the tone of voice that those angelically patient mothers use at the checkout.
I no sooner nod my head, and bam! the needle is in and all is well. It is just the needle I have problems with so once my life blood was flowing freely I was fine.
I even got a lolly!
Makes up for the stonking great big bruise I have today.
posted by DMouse007 @ 2/11/2004 07:10:00 PM
<< Home