So, when everyone came over for the picnic the other day I asked Aunt Joyce to gang up with me to try to get The Dad to go to the hospital or, at the very least, the doctor. I've been begging him for a couple weeks and then it got worse last week and the last couple days have been really bad. He had a weird cough and it wasn't going away and he couldn't breathe. I thought he was in congestive heart failure again. I really wanted him to go yesterday or the day before because I was off work and figured I didn't have to worry about any of that. Of course, he said no. Aunt Joyce's pleas didn't work either. He just barked at her and told her she was just like me. Well, I should have known… I go to work today and called to check on him at lunch time and he said he thinks he should go to the hospital tonight. OF COURSE.
So… I left and we headed to the emergency room… We got in the car and, honest to God, the only thing that went through my head was the ride to the emergency vet with RoseBud. I don't know if it was the angle of the car in the driveway or the thought of him passing out while I was driving.
There were about twenty people waiting but they took him almost immediately… and there we stood in the ER for what seemed like forever.
We finally got up to the room which just so happened to be the SAME exact room he was in the last time he was there for the CHF - it was also the same ER room. I stopped at the gift shop to look around and play his room number and then I ran back to the house to take care of the pup and then back to the hospital to bring dinner.
I was exhausted and, as I left, I have to admit… I was kind of a little jealous that it wasn't me in that room. How bad is that? There was some appeal to being captive in that hospital room and not really having to worry about anything else - besides being sick.
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