The Right Regrets

Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.
— Arthur Miller

Gavin is back at the vet this morning. But it is a NEW vet, who is already proving to be way more competent than the one I've been taking my animals to for almost three years.

The entire time I've been going to the old vet, I have had this nagging feeling that something didn't feel quite right. I attributed this feeling to moving to Atlanta and finding a vet to replace the awesome one I had back in Florida. I figured I was experiencing growing pains and that I'd get used to the new place and the nagging feelings would disappear. Well, I was wrong and Gavin's case has proved that I should always listen to that little voice that is telling me "something's not right."

Yesterday, Gavin's symptoms had returned with a vengeance, so I decided to take him back to the vet...the old vet...because I figured they had already done a bunch of tests and they were close to the house and on the way to work, etc. I dropped him off and went to work and waited for the vet to call with a new prognosis. When the call came, the first words out of the vet's mouth were, "Gavin's not very happy today. He won't let us touch him so we'll have to sedate him in order to re-examine him." This immediately put me on the defensive because Gavin is usually a very sweet and mellow cat. So if his dander is up, it's for a good reason. I told the vet not to do anything until I consulted with Dave. Then I called another clinic and made Gavin an appointment for later that day.

I took the rest of the day off of work so I could ferry Gavin from the old vet to the new vet. I called the old vet and told them I was picking him up and requested them to fax his records over to the new vet. I was surprised that they did without any argument. Then I picked him up and we spent a lovely two hours at home, calming down from the traumatic experience, before heading to our new appointment.

The new clinic was so much better. It was cleaner. The staff was more professional. The vet and the tech actually took time to let Gavin get to know them, petting him and talking to him before starting the exam. And he was fine; though he was a little bit "argumentative," he didn't try to bite or claw anyone - no sedation required.

The verdict as of right now is that he is constipated. He spent the night so that they could give him an enima and then x-ray him again this morning. I am relieved that it turned out to be something so simple and easily treated. And I am also so angry at the old vet that I could just punch him in the face and I am not an aggressive person at all. I spent two-hundred and sixty dollars last week for them to run all sorts of unnecessary tests that served no purpose in getting him well. I had gotten so worked up over their incompetence, that I felt ill yesterday. They will want to sedate me if I ever step into that office again.

I plan on writing a letter, asking for a refund, especially since I asked the old vet, point blank, if his symptoms could be a result of constipation and he assured me that that couldn't possibly be what was making him throw up. If nothing else, I have at least learned my lesson when it comes to listening to my intuition and trusting my instincts. I was beginning to believe I wouldn't be a good mother someday and that if I couldn't even take care of a cat, how was I ever going to handle kids, blah blah, woe is me. But now I know better.