While the Thriller and I are still hacking and wheezing and feeling generally miserable, at least we don’t have to have surgery this week.
Rousseau goes in on Friday morning to have some cysts removed. He’s had them forever, and they never bothered him until we found yesterday (when I went to pet him and drew back a bloody hand) that one had ruptured and abscessed. It was buried under his double coat of fur, and we didn’t see it. It’s located on the side of his neck, which means that he can reach it with his hind leg to scratch it. So after he got back from the vet (she shaved the area around the abscess), I cut up an old turtleneck, and he’s now sporting a lovely dickie that covers the wound. All levity aside, we thought the worst yesterday. He refused food and water, and was moving slower than ever for his 12 years. (Although if you have pain, you don’t usually want to eat — not surprising.)
Thus ends my all-too-brief flirtation with anything resembling a spring break. I myself am hauling it back to the vet for humans after school today, and the Thriller’s on deck for Thursday. I’ve never once in my career taken all my allotted sick days, but it may happen this year. Unbelievable. I: the girl who never gets sick.
Guess it’s my turn. Ugh, annus horribilis.
FO
Two more days of school, that is. I can get behind that, fiends.
