I called Landon’s Dr. to get an appointment for his 2 year well child visit. I have every Friday off and the closest Friday to his 2nd birthday is…his birthday. So I scheduled it for that day and the receptionist/appointment booker lady basically called me mean. And told me he would remember his 2 year old visit. And told me that we had to get him some really big presents to make up for it. And I told her to mind her own beeswax and that if I needed her parenting advice then I would ask for it and also, would she like to pay me my normal wages to come in on a day I don’t have off, if she thinks it’s so terrible that I bring him in on his birthday. Except I didn’t. I possibly mumbled something about his party being the next day and that he wouldn’t know the difference.
****
A couple weeks ago I took Ivan in to the vet for his annual cortisone shot. He’s allergic to mosquitoes we believe, and basically we wait until his ears are all red and bleedy and gross and his nose swells up and get him a cortisone shot and it all goes down and he’s happy until the next year when the mosquitoes come back. He also gets his annual shots when this happens and I tried to combine this appointment with Alexander’s well cat visit, but when I went to gather the cats, the yard guys were making as much noise as humanly possible and only Ivan fell for the old tuna trick.
Well, as it turns out one of his lymph nodes is swollen in one of his hind legs. The Dr. aspirated it and didn’t see anything that indicated cancer or lymphoma saying that not only are the typical cells not present in the sample she took, but also that normally a cat with lymphoma has all his lymph nodes swollen, not just one. But she gave him an antibiotic shot and sent us packing with a huge vet bill. Thank God Alexander was hiding, because if I’d had them both there and had to pay for his shots too, I’m not sure we would have made it out of there without having to wash dishes or something. She said to call in 3 weeks or so and check back in about his lymph node.
Well, she called to check on him. His lymph node is still swollen. She said she has to recommend a biopsy. And I felt like a jackass, but I asked “how much money are we talking here?” She added the histopath and the anesthesia and came up with about $300. “And what happens if it comes back as cancer? Cat Chemotherapy?” Yeah, pretty much.
And here’s where I then have to choose between money and cat chemotherapy.
Cat chemotherapy will probably only actually extend his life a year. A sick year. A year of 2 daily pills and a shot every 3 weeks. Basically, a year of hell. And since I suck at remembering to administer pills probably less than a year. On a cat that seemingly is pretty durn healthy at the moment. I didn’t even ask how much that was going to cost me. She did say it was pretty reasonably priced. This vet also told me that the shot antibiotic I had opted for over the pills was about the same price and very reasonable ($90 is NOT reasonable for a cat antibiotic.)
Bottomline, I’m not going to go for cat chemotherapy – I’d rather watch him live happily as he is doing now, and when/if I see a decline in his health we’ll reevaluate the situation. She said if I wasn’t going to do the treatment there really no reason to biopsy. Honestly, I think that it was probably inflamed due to an infection from the mosquito bites and once it’s all good and healed he’ll be fine. Plus, he’s an outside cat, and he’s 6 years old and he’s already outlived a lot of his siblings.
****
The dog next door is still there, but they did get his fur cut. So yea for the system. Except, he's still alone 99.9% of the time and I still feel bad for him.
****
Have you seen the commercial where they ask President Bush if he ate dinner with his family growing up and claim it keeps kids from doing drugs and committing crimes? He says he did, and then Barbara chimes in about it...does no one remember his convictions for cocaine. Is he really the best spokesman for that spot?
Showing posts with label Ethics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ethics. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Monday, October 08, 2007
No MIPs?
I bet you thought you could come here for Birthday party pictures.
I thought you could too.
I don’t have my USB cable with me today. And the camera is all “No I won’t give them to the computer with out it.” Selfish.
So that will have to wait until tomorrow.
Instead want to hear about how I called the cops later that night?
Clint and Shane went to Clint’s parents’ hotel room, while I tried to get Landon to sleep at a reasonable hour.
SOME ONE we know didn’t go to sleep until like 11:20pm. I took him upstairs to his crib and went down to make myself a glass of ice water.
I looked out the window and some person is walking around Shane’s car. Weird.
I got my water, I went to the bathroom. I came back to see what they’re doing then.
They were still there. They looked like they were on the phone.
A car drove up and 4 more people got out.
They all walked around the car. They looked in the windows. After a few minutes they had been here too long for a “hey there’s this old car on ____ street, come look at it.” Way too long. Long enough for me to think. “I wonder if they’re deciding whether to take the radio, or the whole car.”
I locked the backdoor. I called Clint. “Uh…people outside, looking at Shane’s car. Unnerving.”
I hung up and I started shaking. This is not an emergency, you can’t call 911 because it’s not an emergency. Where is the regular phone number to the police station…city of ….no. I look up police. It’s under police,. But doesn’t say if it’s Ourtown or Town Nextdoor. I call anyway. I tell her I’m alone and I’m scared. And what’s going on, and she says she’s sending someone out.
I honestly thought if the cop showed up at the end of the street they’d scatter.
I called Clint and told him I called the cops.
The cops showed up. They sent a 12 year old. He was, literally smaller than my nephew.
Clint skidded around the corner about half way through their “investigation” Read: sit the kids on the curb and let them “think about what they’ve done.”
The 4 boys and 1 girl had a LOT of liquor – which they claimed to have found by the car. HAHAHA. It was cheap clear liquor. Nothing says “This is a teenager’s alcohol” like a $6 gallon of something clear.
They claimed they just thought it was a “cool car.” 2 were released to parents, 3 were allowed to just drive off! After finding them with gallons of liquor, he didn’t even do a field sobriety test. He just poured it out.
He said when he told them that what they were doing was a good way to get shot, that it’s like “their eyes were opened.” I think when they heard him say that they thought “if we act dumb, we won’t get in any trouble for this.” And they were right.
And then he tried to give us the bag. It’s not our bag. It’s their bag, you moron.
What happened to MIPs? Do they not give those out anymore?
I thought you could too.
I don’t have my USB cable with me today. And the camera is all “No I won’t give them to the computer with out it.” Selfish.
So that will have to wait until tomorrow.
Instead want to hear about how I called the cops later that night?
Clint and Shane went to Clint’s parents’ hotel room, while I tried to get Landon to sleep at a reasonable hour.
SOME ONE we know didn’t go to sleep until like 11:20pm. I took him upstairs to his crib and went down to make myself a glass of ice water.
I looked out the window and some person is walking around Shane’s car. Weird.
I got my water, I went to the bathroom. I came back to see what they’re doing then.
They were still there. They looked like they were on the phone.
A car drove up and 4 more people got out.
They all walked around the car. They looked in the windows. After a few minutes they had been here too long for a “hey there’s this old car on ____ street, come look at it.” Way too long. Long enough for me to think. “I wonder if they’re deciding whether to take the radio, or the whole car.”
I locked the backdoor. I called Clint. “Uh…people outside, looking at Shane’s car. Unnerving.”
I hung up and I started shaking. This is not an emergency, you can’t call 911 because it’s not an emergency. Where is the regular phone number to the police station…city of ….no. I look up police. It’s under police,. But doesn’t say if it’s Ourtown or Town Nextdoor. I call anyway. I tell her I’m alone and I’m scared. And what’s going on, and she says she’s sending someone out.
I honestly thought if the cop showed up at the end of the street they’d scatter.
I called Clint and told him I called the cops.
The cops showed up. They sent a 12 year old. He was, literally smaller than my nephew.
Clint skidded around the corner about half way through their “investigation” Read: sit the kids on the curb and let them “think about what they’ve done.”
The 4 boys and 1 girl had a LOT of liquor – which they claimed to have found by the car. HAHAHA. It was cheap clear liquor. Nothing says “This is a teenager’s alcohol” like a $6 gallon of something clear.
They claimed they just thought it was a “cool car.” 2 were released to parents, 3 were allowed to just drive off! After finding them with gallons of liquor, he didn’t even do a field sobriety test. He just poured it out.
He said when he told them that what they were doing was a good way to get shot, that it’s like “their eyes were opened.” I think when they heard him say that they thought “if we act dumb, we won’t get in any trouble for this.” And they were right.
And then he tried to give us the bag. It’s not our bag. It’s their bag, you moron.
What happened to MIPs? Do they not give those out anymore?
Thursday, August 23, 2007
In which I become a thief
The remnants of tropical storm Erin headed through Houston last Thursday. We got about an hour or so of rain out at my office, but not too terribly much. I had class on Thursday evening, and while I heard about some flooding in East Houston, nothing said that HCC might cancel the classes. So I went ahead and went into town.
I got to the building, parked on the 5th floor like I always do.
I went down to the 1st floor and out the front to get dinner. Just like I always do.
The security guard said “Good Night!” to me like he always does.
I came back in and the security guard had me sign in, like he always does…(why? I don’t know, because when I leave I don’t pass him again.)
And THEN he tells me that HCC is closed. And in my damsel in distress mode, I made a big deal out of it because a) I have no money to pay the parking garage guy and I need a validation sticker and b) I was thinking on the ride over how I wish I could just go home and it turns out I could have – but instead opted for a 2 hour pointless side trip.
The way this building works is that they can shut the elevators down so you can leave via any floor of the parking garage, but you cannot get up to any offices with out a badge. They shut it down like that every day at 7pm, but also are able to do that, if say…an office closes for the day.
So he lets me up to the 7th floor anyway – doesn’t seem like a very secure thing for him to do, but maybe he recognizes me. Except if he recognizes me, why then does he tell me “Good Night!” every time I walk through to get something eat if he knows I’m coming back. He’s right, there’s no one up there, and there’s a sign that says they’ve closed the campus. Except if I hadn’t made a huge deal to the security guard about it, I never would have seen the sign and they didn’t bother to broadcast that news on anything.
And then I turned criminal.
I had no money. No cash, the parking garage only takes cash. I hadn’t been paid – payday was the next day, my allowance fund was not even enough to bother finding an ATM.
I knew where the receptionist kept the parking validation stickers, and without so much as a backwards glance, I walked around her desk and opened the drawer. I looked to see if I could sign in and account for the sticker, like I always do – but there was no sign in sheet anywhere.
I assume HCC has to pay some amount of money for those stickers and I suppose, the guys in the parking garage might have bought my story if I hadn’t gotten one. But if HCC didn’t want me to steal a sticker, they should have called me and told me my class was canceled.
Tonight, in some morphed bit of reasoning, we are making up the missed class by having a field trip, during what should be tonight’s class. So somehow, a 4 hour class that we missed and a 4 hour class tonight (8 hours total) will all be made up for by a 4 hour field trip. I’m not arguing, I just want to know where the logic of 4+4=4 comes from.
I got to the building, parked on the 5th floor like I always do.
I went down to the 1st floor and out the front to get dinner. Just like I always do.
The security guard said “Good Night!” to me like he always does.
I came back in and the security guard had me sign in, like he always does…(why? I don’t know, because when I leave I don’t pass him again.)
And THEN he tells me that HCC is closed. And in my damsel in distress mode, I made a big deal out of it because a) I have no money to pay the parking garage guy and I need a validation sticker and b) I was thinking on the ride over how I wish I could just go home and it turns out I could have – but instead opted for a 2 hour pointless side trip.
The way this building works is that they can shut the elevators down so you can leave via any floor of the parking garage, but you cannot get up to any offices with out a badge. They shut it down like that every day at 7pm, but also are able to do that, if say…an office closes for the day.
So he lets me up to the 7th floor anyway – doesn’t seem like a very secure thing for him to do, but maybe he recognizes me. Except if he recognizes me, why then does he tell me “Good Night!” every time I walk through to get something eat if he knows I’m coming back. He’s right, there’s no one up there, and there’s a sign that says they’ve closed the campus. Except if I hadn’t made a huge deal to the security guard about it, I never would have seen the sign and they didn’t bother to broadcast that news on anything.
And then I turned criminal.
I had no money. No cash, the parking garage only takes cash. I hadn’t been paid – payday was the next day, my allowance fund was not even enough to bother finding an ATM.
I knew where the receptionist kept the parking validation stickers, and without so much as a backwards glance, I walked around her desk and opened the drawer. I looked to see if I could sign in and account for the sticker, like I always do – but there was no sign in sheet anywhere.
I assume HCC has to pay some amount of money for those stickers and I suppose, the guys in the parking garage might have bought my story if I hadn’t gotten one. But if HCC didn’t want me to steal a sticker, they should have called me and told me my class was canceled.
Tonight, in some morphed bit of reasoning, we are making up the missed class by having a field trip, during what should be tonight’s class. So somehow, a 4 hour class that we missed and a 4 hour class tonight (8 hours total) will all be made up for by a 4 hour field trip. I’m not arguing, I just want to know where the logic of 4+4=4 comes from.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Ethical dilemmas continued
FAIR WARNING, THIS IS NOT A STORY FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. It's a little gory and very sad, you may want to skip this post. And also not read it either while eating or shortly after eating
.
.
.
.
Ok, I warned you.
On Friday morning, Clint left for Gun Barrel, and I was preparing to take my girl scouts to Lake Limestone. I had a bunch of errands to do, and one included taking Ivan to the vet for what seems like will be his annual cortisone shot for his mosquito allergy. Apparently we can’t do anything to prevent this, without allergy testing and weekly allergy treatments, so, he had an appointment on Wednesday, Clint left work early to take him and then couldn’t find him. We rescheduled for Friday morning, so I was looking for him. The cat knows when he has an appointment and knows exactly where to hide, because I couldn’t find him either and ended up calling and telling them that I would need to call back if he resurfaced.
In my hunt for him however, I was in the backyard, since we have a section of fence that’s like at a 45° angle and has been for a few weeks, I thought that as long as I was out there, I’d go see what we’d need to do to fix it. Ever made a decision in which you truly wish you could turn back time? I come up to the fence and notice a particularly foul odor. And I’m looking and I see what I think is possible fangs from a snake and maybe and eye and some skin that looks scaly. And I looked on the bottom side of the fence.
.
.
.
It’s not a snake. It’s not fangs. It’s a claw. Now, I can’t tell if it’s a raccoon, or a cat or a possum. But I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. I ran back into the house, horrified. Remembering the other night when I heard a cat crying and I couldn’t find it. Remembering the nights that Scarlett was back in that corner of the yard and I could not for the life of me get her to come in.
I called Clint, one of his household duties is the removal of dead animals. He used to share this duty with Shane. I have issued orders of removal for a mouse, a squirrel and now, this – what I hoped was a raccoon. I told him of my grisly discovery, and went on to the Girl Scout trip. I can honestly say that animal was in the back of my head all weekend. (I did find Ivan and took him to the vet and all is well with Alexander, and also the gray cat that does not belong to us, but apparently we feed.) So when Clint finally got home, and went to inspect the dead animal, he said he needed my help in its removal due to the angle of the fence. I asked if he could tell me it was a raccoon. And he was silent. And I knew. And he said slowly, “I … can … tell … you … it’s … a … cat.” And I said “NO!!! Tell me it’s a raccoon.”
And all I could think about was the week I was missing Alexander. How during that week all I wanted to know was where he was. If he was dead, I wanted a body, I needed closure. Here’s the thing, this animal, which I would still like to believe may not have been a cat, had already lost a significant amount of hair, there’s no recognizing a cat by its skeleton and dried up skin. And there had been lost cat posters around the neighborhood a few weeks ago, but not within the last week or so. That cat has been hanging on our fence for at least 2 weeks. We put him in a black trash bag; he’ll go out with the rest of the week’s trash on Wednesday. How do I get over this? How do I live with myself for not being able to tell someone what happened to their cat? What if I call the lost cat poster people and it turns out not to be their cat? Or worse yet, what if it is? And who’s to say which of the lost cats is the one we have? The cat, like ours and so many others in the neighborhood had no collar. I’m heart broken for this cat, and his/her owners. And I’m mad at myself for not looking harder for that crying cat a few weeks ago, when I may have been able to save him.
I know now, that when I hear a cat crying, I will walk the fence of our yard. But that doesn’t save this cat. This cat that I'm still hoping is actually a very skinny raccoon.
.
.
.
.
Ok, I warned you.
On Friday morning, Clint left for Gun Barrel, and I was preparing to take my girl scouts to Lake Limestone. I had a bunch of errands to do, and one included taking Ivan to the vet for what seems like will be his annual cortisone shot for his mosquito allergy. Apparently we can’t do anything to prevent this, without allergy testing and weekly allergy treatments, so, he had an appointment on Wednesday, Clint left work early to take him and then couldn’t find him. We rescheduled for Friday morning, so I was looking for him. The cat knows when he has an appointment and knows exactly where to hide, because I couldn’t find him either and ended up calling and telling them that I would need to call back if he resurfaced.
In my hunt for him however, I was in the backyard, since we have a section of fence that’s like at a 45° angle and has been for a few weeks, I thought that as long as I was out there, I’d go see what we’d need to do to fix it. Ever made a decision in which you truly wish you could turn back time? I come up to the fence and notice a particularly foul odor. And I’m looking and I see what I think is possible fangs from a snake and maybe and eye and some skin that looks scaly. And I looked on the bottom side of the fence.
.
.
.
It’s not a snake. It’s not fangs. It’s a claw. Now, I can’t tell if it’s a raccoon, or a cat or a possum. But I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. I ran back into the house, horrified. Remembering the other night when I heard a cat crying and I couldn’t find it. Remembering the nights that Scarlett was back in that corner of the yard and I could not for the life of me get her to come in.
I called Clint, one of his household duties is the removal of dead animals. He used to share this duty with Shane. I have issued orders of removal for a mouse, a squirrel and now, this – what I hoped was a raccoon. I told him of my grisly discovery, and went on to the Girl Scout trip. I can honestly say that animal was in the back of my head all weekend. (I did find Ivan and took him to the vet and all is well with Alexander, and also the gray cat that does not belong to us, but apparently we feed.) So when Clint finally got home, and went to inspect the dead animal, he said he needed my help in its removal due to the angle of the fence. I asked if he could tell me it was a raccoon. And he was silent. And I knew. And he said slowly, “I … can … tell … you … it’s … a … cat.” And I said “NO!!! Tell me it’s a raccoon.”
And all I could think about was the week I was missing Alexander. How during that week all I wanted to know was where he was. If he was dead, I wanted a body, I needed closure. Here’s the thing, this animal, which I would still like to believe may not have been a cat, had already lost a significant amount of hair, there’s no recognizing a cat by its skeleton and dried up skin. And there had been lost cat posters around the neighborhood a few weeks ago, but not within the last week or so. That cat has been hanging on our fence for at least 2 weeks. We put him in a black trash bag; he’ll go out with the rest of the week’s trash on Wednesday. How do I get over this? How do I live with myself for not being able to tell someone what happened to their cat? What if I call the lost cat poster people and it turns out not to be their cat? Or worse yet, what if it is? And who’s to say which of the lost cats is the one we have? The cat, like ours and so many others in the neighborhood had no collar. I’m heart broken for this cat, and his/her owners. And I’m mad at myself for not looking harder for that crying cat a few weeks ago, when I may have been able to save him.
I know now, that when I hear a cat crying, I will walk the fence of our yard. But that doesn’t save this cat. This cat that I'm still hoping is actually a very skinny raccoon.
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