I need a wall. Or something to strangle.
Dec. 26th, 2007 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brightlotusmoonSo, guess what?
Penelope was already spayed. They had already cut into her before they realized she had no uterus.
They did find ringworms, though. They treated the ringworms. But there was no actual surgery beyond the cutting and sewing up.
So now, when Adam goes to the vet tomorrow to pick her up, he will have questions. Like, why couldn't they see the inevitable scar on her belly (granted, we looked when they shaved her during the very first check-up and even we couldn't see it), why couldn't they have performed a test prior to surgery to make sure she actually had a uterus, will they charge us less because they didn't actually perform the procedure, etc. No really, somebody tell me. I need to make sense of this, and be rational. My husband is extremely unhappy.
He is also extremely unhappy because he went to Virginia Beach and back -- nine hours -- in a van making horrible noises, and he had to kick it and punch it to make it stop. He had a vicious headache.
I'm extremely unhappy because of the Penelope thing, and because my husband has had a sucky day, and also my injury from falling down the stairs which isn't getting better. We are both also extremely unhappy because of a few other things that I won't mention here; suffice to say I'm tired of it all and I've had enough and it's going to stop, and I am finally going to step up and stop acting like a victim, because gods damn it, it's time to grow up already.
So. We have eaten dinner, and we are going to watch a bit of television. And then we are going to do some laundry. And then we are going to make the bed, and clean the bedroom. And then we are going to collapse onto the bed, in a heap and tangle of limbs, and just hold each other and breathe. And breathe.
Because if we don't keep breathing, we may start killing people.
Yeah.
So.
How was YOUR day?
*beats head against wall repeatedly*
Somebody say something funny. Laughter kills pain, after all. And makes me want to not beat things.
Penelope was already spayed. They had already cut into her before they realized she had no uterus.
They did find ringworms, though. They treated the ringworms. But there was no actual surgery beyond the cutting and sewing up.
So now, when Adam goes to the vet tomorrow to pick her up, he will have questions. Like, why couldn't they see the inevitable scar on her belly (granted, we looked when they shaved her during the very first check-up and even we couldn't see it), why couldn't they have performed a test prior to surgery to make sure she actually had a uterus, will they charge us less because they didn't actually perform the procedure, etc. No really, somebody tell me. I need to make sense of this, and be rational. My husband is extremely unhappy.
He is also extremely unhappy because he went to Virginia Beach and back -- nine hours -- in a van making horrible noises, and he had to kick it and punch it to make it stop. He had a vicious headache.
I'm extremely unhappy because of the Penelope thing, and because my husband has had a sucky day, and also my injury from falling down the stairs which isn't getting better. We are both also extremely unhappy because of a few other things that I won't mention here; suffice to say I'm tired of it all and I've had enough and it's going to stop, and I am finally going to step up and stop acting like a victim, because gods damn it, it's time to grow up already.
So. We have eaten dinner, and we are going to watch a bit of television. And then we are going to do some laundry. And then we are going to make the bed, and clean the bedroom. And then we are going to collapse onto the bed, in a heap and tangle of limbs, and just hold each other and breathe. And breathe.
Because if we don't keep breathing, we may start killing people.
Yeah.
So.
How was YOUR day?
*beats head against wall repeatedly*
Somebody say something funny. Laughter kills pain, after all. And makes me want to not beat things.
