Rabies? What's Next? Locusts?

Yesterday morning I spent almost four hours in the emergency room with Blair and my mom, both of whom had been bitten by a feral cat the three of us had been trying to trap. 

To make a long story short, my mom has been feeding this cat intermittently for almost a year, hoping to get close enough so we could take it in to be spayed. Then the cat turned up pregnant. Just the other day, my mom discovered where she'd had her kittens--in the sub-basement of a house up the street that was empty. We rescued the three kittens (who are 5 weeks old, FREAKING ADORABLE and very people friendly) and then tried to get mommy kitty. We managed to get her into my mom's garage but Ms. Kitty was having none of getting into the cage.

Mom had a grip on her when the cat turned and sank its fangs into the fingers on her left hand. Mom screamed, the cat hung on for dear life, and Blair finally pulled the cat off Mom. Mom raced into the house clutching a bloody hand while the cat proceeded to bite through the gloves Blair was wearing and nail him as well. 

I went to check on Mom whose hand was a bloody mess. Cat bites are a nasty business, filled with germs. It wasn't even 7 am so urgent care wasn't open. We piled into the car (Blair in the clothes he'd done a 5-mile run in that morning and me in hot pink Old Navy sweatpants, an old sweatshirt, and no bra or makeup. Looking good.) and drove to the nearest hospital, 35 minutes away.

I have discovered my new purpose in life. It is not to be a writer. It is to be a hospital administrator because for the life of me it appeared that the staff was operating with their thumb up their ass. They were friendly and courteous but paint dries faster then the pace they were moving. The upshot of the visit was that Blair and Mom both needed their wounds cleaned (2 minutes) and a tetanus shot (2 minutes) and a prescription written for penicillin. It took close to 4 hours to provide them with this. 

I so wanted to pull a Shirley MacLaine and start screaming, "Give my husband the shot!" at the desk, but I withheld. Instead, I informed the nurses that my mom had left a candle burning at home that we were anxious about and how long would it be, because I might need to drive home and blow it out. 

The minute I said that, 2 nurses went to my mom's room, cleaned her wound and gave her the tetanus shot. WTH?? Was there some reason they were just standing around the desk NOT attending to patients before I arrived? Inefficiency makes me mental. 

At this point, the feral cat is still in Mom's garage. We've set out a trap and once the cat goes in, animal control will collect it and take it to a local vet. Ideally, the vet will either hold the cat for 10 days to confirm no rabies, or they'll put it down and send the head off to be examined for rabies. If for some reason they won't hold the cat or send it off for testing, Blair and mom will have to undergo rabies shots. 

Really God? Rabies shots? Because you felt we didn't have enough challenges in life? No mind. Bring it. We will deal with rabies and anything else you have to offer, including a plague of locusts. 

What a week! 



Rosie: The Dog Determined To Live (Part III)

Rosie standing for the first time with some assistanceLeah was going to try to save Rosie, but there was no guarantee Rosie would live. As my vet had predicted, Rosie was in a self-induced coma from the trauma. Amazingly, there were no major internal injuries or broken bones. The biggest fear was brain damage. Even if she woke up, they weren't sure if she'd be able to walk or respond to others. 

But Rosie fought all the odds. She woke up and ate some food on her own. Eventually, a week or so after the accident, she was able to stand with some assistance. 

Rosie being transported home

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Rosie: The Dog Determined To Live (Part II)

Rosie's pup, Eden, happy and healthy after the river rescueTo recap, Rosie and her pup were abandoned on a river near Eden, NC and rescued by a woman named Leah Mabry and friends. Leah had Rosie for about 2 weeks before Rosie escaped from the backyard of Leah's aunt. They were frantic to find her. Unfortunately, the way they found her was a phone call from my vet, advising them their dog had been hit by a van and was in critical condition. 

When I rushed Rosie into my vet, the front desk receptionist immediately used the rabies tag Rosie was wearing to track down her owners. Even over the phone, we could hear the panic in their voices as they asked about her condition. 

Rosie's injuries were so severe, there was nothing my vet could do. She needed an animal hospital. The problem was Leah and her family were in downtown Greensboro and we were 45 minutes away in Madison. I agreed to put Rosie back in my car and drive her to Oak Ridge, a small town in between our two locations. From there, Leah would rush the dog to the animal hospital my vet was calling to give them a heads up on the case that was coming in. 


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