It's Raining Shoes

On Friday we took Meg to the Veterinary Internist for an abdominal ultrasound and a second evaluation for Cushing's. The internist was a very nice man with an excellent bedside manner. I've not seen Meg as un-terrified in the presence of a stranger as she was with both the doctor and the vet tech. This qualifies as perhaps the only part of the morning that went well. The doctor took a look at Meg's chart, asked us some questions, furrowed his brow and then promptly decided that our vet is not qualified to diagnose Cushing's. While yes, one of the classic tests did indicate the potential for Cushing's, it really only seems to actually indicate that Meg's cortisol is slightly high and there are a number of reasons that might be happening. Like stress. Or a psychological condition.

So they ran the ultrasound and looked at her kidneys and adrenal glands and determined that, in fact, there were no tumors on the adrenal glands. This test does not, of course, show that she doesn't have Cushing's. It just shows that she doesn't have adrenal Cushing's. She still might have pituitary Cushing's. Well, and it did show that she doesn't have tumors. So that's good at least.

At the end of the day, they decided to run another test that would either positively diagnose that it wasn't Cushing's or indicate that it might be Cushing's but also that it might be one of any of the other varied things that can cause high cortisol. (You know, like a psychological condition.) Then they sent us on our way with instructions to call back for results on Monday.

In many ways, I had been hoping to pin this down as Cushing's and while, sure, it meant we would be forking out roughly the cost of five new pure-bred Shetland Sheepdog puppies a year for medication, it would at least help Meg feel better and, perhaps more important than any of that, stop my house smelling of dog pee. I find myself ill-equipped to consider that this may be caused by a psychological condition. Especially since, if that's the case, my dog's pyschological condition is going to send me to the nuthouse. I don't know if that's irony, but I'm sure Alanis Morissette would think it is.

Yesterday was Monday and I dutifully called the Internist's office to get the results. The receiptionist looked them up and saw that the results were in and then indicated that after the doctor looked them over they'd call us back, sometime after six that evening. I recited the long list of numbers where I could be reached at any given time between about 11 am and 8 pm, you know, to make sure I didn't miss the call.

As I waited, rather anxiously, for the vet to call me with the results of this latest blood test, I attempted to go about my day. It was a fairly typical day for me, filled with people trying to use software that I wrote that works perfectly fine on our test system, that other people here in the office have verified as working perfectly fine of the test system, but that due to some imp of the perverse will not work at all on the production system. The production system that's out on the west coast. That is not connected by any kind of network where I could get on and see it not working. The calls between me and my counterpart tend to work like this:

Him: Your code doesn't work.
Me: It works fine here. Walk me through the steps you're taking.
Him: I do A, then B, then C, just like in your instructions. I get Q.
Me: But you should be getting D.
Him: I get Q. Maybe your instructions are wrong, too.
Me: No, the instructions are fine. It works here.
Him: It doesn't work here.
Me: ...

Usually we try to hang up before it disintegrates into more of an "Is not." "Is too" conversation. Usually. Of course, it doesn't help that, thanks to procrastination and inefficiency on his end it's taken him three months to get around to installing this software to test for production. Consequently we're behind schedule and people are getting irritated. So we're trying to get a test system that's an exact mirror of the production system (there are a few differences that should be minor, but apparently they're not) so that maybe I can see why they're having the issues they're having. Except of course that I'm a programmer and the errors he keeps getting? They're all network related.

Then I had the oh-so-fun "let's just see how everyone is doing" conference call with the manager at my company. The same manager who, last week, had the HR chick call me up to let me know they were doing away with my current title of X+2 and so now my title would be X. Just X. Upon asking how this wasn't a demotion with no cause I got essentially silence and then, "Well, we're just doing away with that title. It's just a restructuring." Ok. Fine. Whatever. It feels like a demotion, but if they're really just getting rid of the title, so be it. So during the conference call, they announced that they hired someone. His position? You guessed it, X+2.

And oh yeah, the vet never called back.

This morning as I'm dialing into another call, the second line rings. It's the vet's receptionist. The other test they ran is perfectly normal. This almost 100% rules out Cushing's and leaves us with Diabetes Insipidus or a Psychological Condition. One is easily treatable. The other, not so much (unless you have the number of a good pet therapist.) And so we've scheduled a water deprivation test for Monday. In the meantime we need one day where we can get a fairly exact measurement of how much she's drinking during the day so that for the first of the two days prior the test we restrict her to that amount less 10% and the second day is that amount less 20%. Which should be fun with two dogs in the house. I think we may send Cassi off to grandma or auntie's house to make our lives a little easier.

Except, did I mention that Cassi has started having intestinal issues in the last two days? So when you bring her back in from a "private moment in the back yard", you then have to gingerly pick her up and plop her in the tub for an undercarriage wash. And the smell. Oh, the smell. It's the only one yet that cuts through the otherwise prevailing scent of pee. (Tim says I've developed a psychological condition about the smell and that it's not noticeable, but I'm not convinced.)

On top of all of this, we have Thanksgiving. The couch has arrived and is lovely and squishy and everything a couch should be. The meal is planned - and I don't even have to go to the grocery store on Wednesday night like I have the last two years. My house smells of dog pee. And we're having a random stranger attend as well, in addition to the Hatfield and McCoy families*. Everyone all together now, "It was a horse!" "It was a mule!"

Just to top it all off, my right earring piercing is infected and it itches and hurts and I can't put in earrings cause it's oozing. I'm sure it's also very attractive.

So yeah, it's raining shoes...hallelejuah?

*The meal is actually what I'm worried least about and is put here only for comedic impact. My sister asked her chiropractor what she was doing for Thanksgiving. Said chiropractor then burst into tears and a long, truly heartrending story issued forth. Sister invited her to our house and I heartily endorse this action. This woman needs to not be alone this holiday and I'm happy to invite her to our circus. Which is not as likely to end in bloodshed as the whole Hatfield/McCoy thing. As my mother put it, "It's not like you don't have enough rooms in your house for us to all go somewhere else." Though I guess that means I need to clean up more than I was planning. However - none of my family reading this is allowed to get miffed or annoyed or in any other way huffy or offended or say they're not coming or I will personally hunt you down and rub dog pee all over you so that you have to live with the constant smell that I'm living with.