It's only been two nights but it feels much longer.
My sleep was already disrupted by getting up at 2 am to see Denny off to work, but the remainder of the night I kept thinking that surely by now poor Pickle must be confused as to why I haven't come for him, and getting depressed because he wants to come home.
I already know he can't come home until Friday. The plan is to remove the catheter this morning and see how he does--and I work this afternoon and can't pick him up when the clinic closes this evening. On the plus side, that is one more night to make sure all is functioning well before Pickle comes home.
I would feel more confident if I knew this particular vet better. This is the first time I have brought a case to her. Since I ran to the vet clinic on Tuesday without an appointment, I didn't feel I had the right to be picky about who saw Pickle--I just wanted him to have relief.
I can't fault his care--I understand the need to make sure his bladder is functioning normally before he is sent home. But I don't know this vet and she doesn't know me. She has made several references to the number of cats we have--but surely any review of our (very fat) chart would show that we take good care of our cats and monitor their health as well as anyone with two or three cats. I don't have to prove anything to her but I find myself babbling when I call to check on Pickle's condition--or weighing my comments against any possible misinterpretation.
I am just off balance and want Pickle home.