Our Visit to the Vet

There are two things I can't stand. Well actually there are more than two things I can't stand, but I'm only going to focus on a couple so as not to reveal all my flaws. Some of them I like to save for privacy's sake after all.

So here are my two things: 1. to be talked down to (which I abhor) and 2. to be interrupted when I'm asking a question (slightly less egregious but I still dislike nonetheless). Why do I hate these two things? Well, frankly who doesn't?

Here's my story: I took our dog to the vet this morning. Actually, I should say, I along with the children. We loaded up and were off to get Winnie a distemper shot. We've been taking her to a new vet. This would be my first visit to the new place.

So we get to the office and immediately enter a small echoy waiting room. It's covered with marble flooring. The marble tiles of course serve two purposes a) it provides a wonderful sound enhancing quality for barking dogs and screaming children and b) doubles as the skating rink of death when wet. Which of course it does get because dogs tinkle when they're freaked out.

As I'm checking in the dog, Ellie begins to play hopscotch and almost cracks her bottom after slipping on something wet on the floor. Meanwhile Jonah is yelling and rolling around on the floor after his toy car that he just couldn't leave in the car. At this point I wonder to myself, why didn't I leave them at home with their father? Why?

After a couple deftly performed tantrum scenes from Jonah (he wasn't happy that I made him sit with me instead of running around the room like a lunatic) we finally get called back. I barely enter the room before the vet comes in and starts looking at the dog. Um, hello? Yes, it's me the human in the room. Usually we people like to start by engaging in verbal communication with each other upon first meeting. I realize you work with dogs all day but do you need to check out my dogs backside before you give a friendly little "nice to meet you" nod first?

Where was I? Oh yes, I, feeling supremely rushed by the vet (and the fact that Jonah keeps throwing his car on the ground and crying, then picking it up and throwing it again), say that I have a couple questions for him. "Shoot!" Okay, I have 0.3 seconds to collect my thoughts and try to get them out before one of my offspring start yelling again. Here it goes, "Um, she's been scooting again. I know my husband mentioned it last" INTERRUPTED..."Did they express the anal glands?" "What? Oh no, they" INTERRUPTED..."Okay" and the vet does something in the back of the dog and he starts talking, "blah, blah, blah, might be good for a month or so, blah, blah, lots of reasons they, blah, blah"

So I ask, "Oh so does that mean that she'll scoot less for a little" INTERRUPTED..."I don't know! We don't know this dog. We're just getting to know her. I can't tell. We have to keep an eye on her." Um, ooookay.

Then I remember Dave had requested another question asked. I try to remember what the devil it was. I notice Jonah is revving his car along the marble flooring where countless dogs have peed and poo'd. I must remember to bath him thoroughly when we get home. Then I suddenly remember what I was supposed to ask.

"Oh, my husband wasn't sure he was supposed to give her the flea and tick medicine because he didn't get instructions and he" INTERRUPTED..."you have children, Of course you should be giving her the medicine. Do you know how long fleas live (pause for drama and probably a breath) and the worms? Your children could be getting worms from the dog because they touch the dog and you don't want them getting worms do you? Do you know how big heart worms get? They're bigger than your dog. Then there are hook worms and blah, blah, blah" At this point I tune out. Why? Because he's talking to me like I'm an idiot. Here is where I have to tell you this is a big issue for me. I have always looked younger than I am. And while I'm now in my 30s and less likely to be offended by it, it really, REALLY peeved me today. Maybe it was the kids grating on my nerves. Maybe it was the 40th time that I was spoken over that did it, but damn it I went to a liberal womens college and I...will...not...be...spoken...to...like...that.

So now it's my turn to interrupt.

Dead pan delivery: "But I thought worms were good. I thought we wanted worms." The sound of crickets could be heard outside on some distant lawn. "Um, I'm kidding." Yes I had to tell him and the vet tech standing there out loud that I was only joking. That I knew that parasites were a bad thing. Yes, I had indeed made it through 7th grade science class.

At this point I'm finished—mentally and physically. I collect the dog and pay the bill, which was $40 more than I anticipated. I love when that happens don't you? The best part? I have to go back in three weeks for more shots.