I feel like when you're pregnant every minor problem takes on the sheen of emergency. Today's fun:
I called our vet this morning to check in about getting mood altering drugs for Sam this morning and was sheepishly informed that she had "left to pursue other opportunities". While this would be a bummer under any circumstances, it's suddenly super obnoxious because we were supposed to get a scrip from her for Prozac for our anxious old man. Now we have to start all over with a new vet, and quickly. So I spent part of my workday getting recommendations from friends (their awesome house-call vet isn't taking new patients) and arranging an appointment for Saturday morning with an alternative and arranging for records to be faxed over.
While we loved our old vet (she was a Cat Lady through and through) she had been dragging her feet on getting Sam settled into this drug, and I was getting frustrated. His bloodwork was all clean - there was really no reason to wait, and it the meantime he was getting more and more unstable. Like I told the receptionist on the phone today. he's at about a 72, and we need him at a 4. The other good thing is that now instead of having to haul ass halfway across town to take our guys in, the new vet is only a couple of neighborhoods over, in a new facility, and she has 38 years of experience. And evening hours Mondays and Wednesdays!
So maybe it was time. But maybe this could have happened six weeks ago, huh?