the parking lot

I know I’ve been posting a lot lately, and I swear I’ll go back to my regular once a month (if that) posting routine at some point.  I guess I feel more like writing, especially now that I don’t have to worry about writing 65 pages in a week.

When I posted earlier, I forgot to mention something…and well…it kind of deserves its own post…so a new post it is.

(I have a really terrible headache right now.  Barometric pressure or something.  So, forgive me if this is incoherent).


I mentioned earlier that I went to visit Fogg yesterday.  I figured it might help her not feel abandoned, and the fact that I never got to say goodbye to her on Friday really bothered me, so I kind of had to go.  They have visiting hours, so I went down around lunchtime.

As much as I hate going to the pet ER, I always make friends–with people and their pets.  It’s kind of a weird brotherhood.  We’re all here for some thing that either can’t wait or that our regular vet can’t handle.  We’re all a bit worried sick.  And we’re all in this big room, waiting, as the staff gets us in as quickly as possible.


We tell each other our stories of what brings us here now–or why we’re back.  And we give each other well wishes.  We help the newbs with the coffee machine and then we go off to our little rooms.

It reminds me a lot of those days I spent in the SICU waiting room when my mother was dying.  In an odd way, it’s almost comforting.  It’s weird, but–having gone through all the very worst case scenarios that people face with human and furry loved ones–it’s kind of nice to offer other people comfort when I’m worried and scared.  It distracts me from my shit and lets me help someone else.


I was put into the room that I went to the first time after Fogg’s pancreatitis diagnosis.  A few minutes later, a tech brought my weird little girl in, all covered up in a blanket, explaining she might be a bit damp.  They had to give her a bath.  Mostly because she kept huddling in the litter box and had totally peed all over herself.  Yep.  That’s a Fogg thing to do.  As soon as I saw her, I felt this rush of relief.  Her eyes were gigantic, but she was feisty and curious–as always.  And so happy to see me.


She wasn’t her normal whiny self just yet, but it was encouraging that she didn’t seem to be in any pain.  A few seconds later, the vet I’d been chatting with over the weekend–who took over her care Saturday–who I hadn’t actually met yet–came in…so positive and sweet.  She was about my age.  She was excited to give me the news about Fogg’s progress and to tell me about their gameplan for the rest of the day.  We discussed some of my concerns and about our future plans.  Then, she brought in some wet food for Fogg to try–to see if maybe my presence would get her eating.


At this point, Fogg hadn’t eaten almost anything in about six days.  She was rail thin, with every bone protruding.  Fogg wanted none of the food and instead squirmed out of my arms and decided to rub her face on the entire exam room.  She even tried to jump up on the counter–and failed–before I could rescue her.  Poor love was okay, but stumbled a bit…still too weak and thinking she was Wonder Woman.  Those drugs must be good.


I was a bit nervous.  She has a central line and other fun things happening (as seen in the photo above), so I’m (of course) paranoid about her ripping them out.  Fogg has ripped out stitches and bandages before, so I’m always going to be nervous about this stuff.  It was difficult to get her to sit still, at all.  Well, unless I rubbed her belly.  Then it was roll-plop good times.

We had several minutes of this.  While I was there, I saw this family go in to the adjacent exam room.  A little boy peeked in on the way in.  A few minutes later, I heard what I thought might be someone sobbing.  And then I saw the family leave.  I eventually gave Fogg back to the tech and then went outside to wait for my Lyft home.

The woman and the son were sitting in an SUV right nearby–clearly upset.  The little boy was comforting his mother.  A few minutes later, the husband came out and was equally upset–and the boy comforted him too.  There was a lot of traffic, so my Lyft was delayed.

It felt weird to be witnessing what was obviously just a horrifying moment for these poor people.  Sort of like I was part of it since I’d heard it all happen as it was happening and now here.  They reminded me of my parents and me.  It was the oddest thing.  That dynamic I’d grown up with was so obvious.

At one point, the kid came out of the car and sat on the bench a few inches from me.  I’m not sure why.

He asked me if my kitty was sick, and I told him she was–that she was getting better.

He told me his pet died and that he was very sad.  But he also said he needed to make it better for his parents.

I told him I was sorry that his friend died.  I told him that he didn’t need to make anything better for anyone…that he was just a little boy, and that his parents would be okay.  That he would be okay, too.  And that his pet would be with my friend, Cleo, up in Heaven with my Mama.  And she would take really good care of him.  I told him it was okay to cry.  And that’s when he started crying.  I gave him a hug and told him it was okay to not be strong.  That he didn’t have to fix it.

And then he went back to his parents and my Lyft showed up.  I waved goodbye.

It was one of those weird moments where it’s like you’re talking to the kid you used to be.

There are no coincidences.


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