I read somewhere once that ‘May you live in interesting times’ was an ancient chinese curse. I can’t be arsed to do any research on it but you don’t need a search engine to tell you that ‘interesting times’ can have its downside.
After the emotional upheaval of B’s funeral and the ensuing reunion of sorts a couple weeks ago, I was more than ready for my old boring routine to resume. No such luck, exactly one week ago today I got a phone call that completely ruined any ideas of a restful weekend and/or a few productive hours at work preparing for a technical conference. I was off to Singapore instead to settle a family legal matter. Although I was back by Saturday morning, the whole affair had totally knocked me off my axis and as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am a professional worrier and my insomnia made a roaring comeback.
Then, THEN last night, just as I was contemplating an early night after a busy day, my first yoga class and a multi-course, shisha-infused middle eastern dinner, one of the critters decided to get seriously ill and we made a frantic run to the Animal Medical Centre. There were so many times last night when I almost lost it: the long queue of people with sick critters in front of me, critters crying in pain, the STUPID STUPID WOMAN who insisted on cooing at everyone’s sick furkid and the unbearableness of not knowing what the fuck was going on.
Our critter had a temperature of 40 degrees and was hooked to an IV. We spent more than an hour pouring ice water over her, trying to get her temp down. It was a relief when the vet finally said ok and gave her a shot of something that made her groggy. Not groggy enough to stop her from crying when we left her at the hospital at 3am though. Boy was that hard. Harder than I ever thought possible.
I’m off to the animal hospital now. Hopefully good news for once.
Interesting times? I’ll pass, thank you.