4 needles, 3 doctors and 2 worried parents; OR how to make a long day longer

Yesterday started early. Like 4:30AM early. I'd only slept about 4 hours total because of the heinous sinus infection I'm fighting. A sleepless night spent trying to remember how to breathe out of my mouth (No joke - I am almost physically incapable of breathing through my mouth, especially when asleep) convinced me that a trip to the doctor was going to be needed. Luckily they got me in right away, gave me the good drugs and sent me on my way. All fine and dandy. Made it home in time to take a short nap before hauling the cat to the vet.

Originally, we had scheduled Wash for a check-up with the belief that I would be working at that time and Jason would handle all the logistics. With me taking the day off, I was an extra pair of hands to hold him still. All by myself, I was able to load him into the hated cat carrier, listened to his pitiful meowing all the way to the vet - a half hour drive with the snow - and waited for Jason to help me get Wash's big, fat, 17 lb butt out of the car. We had yet to take our newest family member to the vet since adopting him in November. We figured it was time to update his shots and get his teeth checked.

As the appointment went on, I became more and more embarrassed. No, we didn't realize he might have to have some teeth pulled because of gingivitis. Yes, he sheds some - I really had been meaning to brush him more often. No, we don't know when his last shots were because we only adopted him in November. Yes, I know we should have probably brought him in before now. Yes, he's a big fat cat. OK, we'll limit his food portions and access to snacking.

Then came the blow to the kidneys.

Did you know he's positive for FIV (feline immunodeficiency virus)? No, I had no idea cats could even get a disease that in humans leads to AIDS.

As the doctor is going over what vaccines Wash will need to have his shots current, he kept alluding to the fact that because we adopted him, we couldn't know how long he's had the disease, how long he has left and did we know it could be soon? What? We have a perfectly healthy cat sitting on the table and you're talking about him like he's gasping his last breath as we speak. I fought hard to keep the pleasant look on my face as the doctor went on and on about how we could never know when Wash could pass.

Yes, I understand he could die. Do I want him to die? Definitely not. But all pets die. Actually, everything dies. It's called the circle of life. They even have a song about it. And it's ridiculous to start worrying over it now when he's not even exhibiting symptoms. So I kept a sweet look on my face, exchanged irritated glances with Jason and waited for the rest of the shots to be done. Through it all, Wash was a trooper. He didn't cry, bite or claw. And he only tried to jump off the table a half dozen times. You could tell he wasn't thrilled with the thermometer up his bum, but he took it like a man.

Later that night I began to worry. I kept wanting Jason to look at him and see if he was seeing what I was seeing. Does his left eye seem a little swollen? Is he more mellow than usual? Do you hear that rasping when he breathes? He's a very chill cat but not wanting to bite me when I mess with his tail? Doesn't happen. About 9:30pm, Jason called a 24 hour veterinary clinic nearby. When told all the symptoms, the doctor was pretty convinced Wash was having an allergic reaction to the earlier shots and he would like us to meet him at the clinic. Still in pajamas, we grabbed coats and headed out. I decided against the cat carrier this time and Wash was so lethargic that he didn't really seem to care that he was riding on my lap! In a car! Outside! Where all those birds live that he likes to meow at!

The doctor took his temp, listened to his heart and his lungs and called him a beautiful cat. I instantly liked this man. He was glad we had brought him in because he was running a fever, his heart rate was extremely elevated and he was rasping when breathing. Our poor kitty was really sick. The doc gave him a steroid shot and said not to hesitate in calling him again if he looked worse later. He also told us that he wouldn't worry too much over the diagnosis of FIV. Since we don't know much about Wash's history, we don't know if he had been vaccinated against FIV, which apparently can create a false-positive result when tested again. He said we should wait about 6 months and have him checked again. I could have hugged the man!

We took our sickly cat home and were all in bed by 11pm. I had been running on only a handful of hours of sleep and was grateful I wouldn't be spending the night hunched over Wash, checking every few minutes to see if he was breathing. This morning he looks and sounds much better. And I have nothing but gratitude towards the doctor who was willing to come out at 10 o'clock at night because we thought something could be wrong with our little boy.

holly homemaker i'm not

I've never owned an Easy Bake Oven. I don't even do the cooking in our family. I have no interest in standing over a hot stove, trying to come up with some creative new-fangled dish that will wow my husband. He's the superstar in that department so I leave it to him. And as my brother likes to remind me, I burn gravy. So I usually leave the kitchen to Jason.

I've never been much on cooking. That doesn't mean I don't love food. I do. I LOVE FOOD! I could watch 12 straight hours of the Food Network and still crave more. But I'm much happier when someone else is making me a sammich. Plus, ever notice how much better it tastes when someone else makes it?

That doesn't mean that I shy away from the kitchen all together. Every Christmas season I go in to whirlwind mode and bake up 6 dozen of approximately 6 kinds of cookies. I give some out to family and friends but mostly I do it because I like to eat them. And Christmas seems like a good a time as any to pig out on about 400 cookies. If Jesus' birthday isn't the season of overeating, I don't know what is.

Then there's Conference time. Twice a year we have Mormon General Conference and I make what has become dubbed "Conference Rolls." It's a recipe that my mother used to make only sporadically because she felt they were too fattening. They're puffy little rolls filled with a sweetened cream cheese mixture and smothered with pecan chips and a maple glaze. Decadent doesn't even begin to describe them. They are little bites of heaven that my sisters-in-law look forward to and remind me of in case I were to forget. But how could I. Like I said, little bites of heaven.

So, me being the generous person that I am, I wanted to share these angelically divine tidbits with the world. When I heard about the Pillsbury Bake-Off, I knew I had to enter. Of course, the $1 Million grand prize doesn't hurt things either.

Keep those fingers crossed, send luck filled wishes my way and if you start to have a craving for something sweet, come on over and I'll serve you from one of the twelve batches I intend on making to be sure the recipe is perfect.

previously on Reliable Informant....

{Calling from the living room while watching an infomercial}

Him: Are you suffering from hot flashes?

Me: No. Whatever problems I have, I'm pretty sure it's NOT menopause.

crowing glory

I’ll admit it straight out. I’m vain about my hair. I love it. It's thick and long and usually the thing I get the most compliments on. However, I’m also a sucker for a bargain. Usually I don’t let those two qualities mix but sometimes I forget and the inevitable happens.

On the glowing recommendation of two of my sisters-in-law (Hi Joyce and Nora!) I went to Paul Mitchell The School where students are studying to be hairstyle professionals. I was wooed by the thought of an $8 cut and style. In these tough economic times, who wouldn’t love an $8 haircut?

Remember that old saying.....you get what you pay for? Yeah. I got that.

The girl was nice enough at first; spunky and kind of old school with her punked out hair. But as the cut when on (and on and on) I began to rethink my original opinion. She told me how she had dropped out of school after her sophomore year and had started getting into trouble. Her parents had given her an ultimatum - go to Paul Mitchell or go back to high school. She ended up here. Normally, a high school drop out would not have concerned me. I know that school doesn’t appeal to everyone. But when she started to wander off for products, wander back with nothing, look at me questionably and ask, “Now what was I doing?” I really began to worry.

At the beginning of the session, I had told her that I wanted to keep the length, taking no more than half an inch off, since it had taken me quite awhile to get it halfway down my back. She said she understood perfectly because she would kill for hair like mine. Then she started cutting and I began to wonder if that hadn’t been a threat. After 2 hours (2 HOURS!) she was finished with the back (the back!). She pulled it over my shoulders and I couldn’t catch a breath. About 5 inches was gone. (GONE!) I didn’t say anything, I was kind of in shock, and she said “I did the half inch thing but then thought ‘Well, she’s just going to have to get it trimmed again soon,’ so I kept going.”

Aghhhhhh!

She kept going! Without asking me! I couldn’t do anything but nod. She had already chopped it off. I couldn’t do anything to fix it so I just let her finish with the blow dry. The whole time I just kept looking at it, becoming more and more sick to my stomach. When I finally made it out of there - after 2 and ½ hours! - I realized it was actually much worse than it looked. None of the lines were straight, all of the layers uneven and nothing blended. I called my regular stylist immediately and set up a repair appointment.

It’s all better now. I didn’t even have to lose much more for my girl to fix it. I don’t know why I have to keep re-learning all of these hair lessons. You’d think, by now, I’d know not to trust some random 18 year old high school drop out with my hair.

But then again, you also probably think I would never have accidentally dyed my hair pink and orange. And you’d be so wrong.

overheard part 2

Customer to her friend: So yeah, I got pregnant and I'm not really sure how it happened.....


{I think they might need to teach more Sex Ed classes at school}