Now that Finn is back home, and “out of the woods,” according to his regular vet today, I want to tell you about Corn Chip.

To set the scene, imagine yourself suddenly needing to pick up your dog at 10:30 at night. First you quickly had to cover all your couches, roll up all your rugs, and put a gate at the steps. (Because of gross dog butt things that I won’t make you read about. You’re welcome.)

Just so you know, those things were not prepped ahead of time because we didn’t know for sure he was coming home that night. Also, maybe most importantly, I didn’t want to jinx his chances.

So it’s late, you’re tired. You race to the vet hospital, where you immediately have to wait because it’s pretty crowded.

A crowded vet hospital is a sad place. But, you are looking forward to picking up your boy…

So, that’s where we were, the sad waiting room, trying not to look at other people’s emotions, trying not to listen to all the animal noises from inside the treatment room, for what seemed like a long time. Until they called us up to settle our bill.

I was ready. I had taken a lot of deep breaths. Every time we had been to the hospital to visit Finn we had had to pay thousands of dollars to settle up, and pre-pay for the next day or two. So, you can imagine the deep breaths I needed.

“Actually we owe you a refund,” the receptionist said. “You overpaid some yesterday.”

I leaned in close, over the counter.

“Can you say that again?” I smiled.

After refunding me a few hundred dollars, they were ready to send us back to get “discharge directions.”

We went to a new room and I was a bit taken aback. Were we about to get interrogated? Was that a two-way mirror?

“Wait, is it called a two-way mirror?” I asked my daughter, “because wouldn’t a two-way mirror mean that it was a mirror on both sides? And what would be the problem with that? Also, why do I hear voices from behind the mirror? Are we being punked?“

We waited some more, and then a lovely vet tech came in to explain all the medicines, procedures and diet restrictions that we needed to understand.

It was late, mind you, but at one point I was maybe crazy-laughing a littlebit.

I tried to get some help, asking, “Is this a logic puzzle? I mean, if he has to have this with food before this one without food, and this can be an hour before or after food or medicine but not 2 hours before or after food or medicine, and this has to happen at 11:00 2 hours before or after other medicine but this other one also has to happen at 11:00, I honestly don’t know how to figure this out.”

Shouldn’t they give you these directions in some sort of table with times clearly labeled?

Finally, we were ready to go back out front, where they would bring us Finn, and also where I would pay for another medicine they didn’t originally give me.

As I was once again handing over my credit card, the receptionist told the vet tech, “When you are ready, Corn Chip is here, ready to be triaged.”

Corn Chip!

We turned around to see a mom and her daughter holding a tiny little pink and white carrying case. Corn Chip was moving around in there, probably wondering why he was being transported far away from his home.

“What is that?” I whispered to my daughter.

She was pretty sure it was a gerbil. I can’t tell you if it was that or a hamster. What can I say? I am not great at rodent identification.

I can, however, tell you that I loved him. I mean, Corn Chip?

Later that same night when I had to run back to the vet to get some food they forgot to give me and replacement medicine that Finn spit out, I saw that mom and daughter waiting on their same chairs. No tiny little pink and white carrying case though. Corn Chip must have been back in a treatment room. They didn’t seem upset, so I had hope.

It took every ounce of my exhausted self-control not to stop by their seats and tell them that that not only did I hope Corn Chip would be okay, but also could they please contact me to let me know when he was all better?

The next day I wondered what would happen if I called the vet hospital and confidently conned my way through a conversation.

“I’m calling to check in on Corn Chip,” I might say.
Or, perhaps, “I should be on the list for visiting.”

What are the veterinarian HIPPA rules?

Maybe this is why they have the interrogation room. . .