My grandmother often complains about doctors and how they don't know anything helpful or accurate. She's dead certain that they're quacks, and in a small way, I believe her. I definitely felt this way heading to the emergency vet with Nimbus. Something just didn't sit right with me during the examination and after they handed him back to us. I should have trusted that feeling... Unfortunately, I was right.
Yesterday was supposed to be a happy day of celebration, dusts baths and relief. Nimbus was going to get his stitches out, and life would be restored to normal. No more corralling him on the bed. No more syringes with nasty medicine. No more stress.
We entered our local vet to the great enjoyment of everyone there. Most had never seen a chinchilla nor petted its soft fur. Nimbus was a celebrity! One veterinarian assistant said, "I didn't know what it was until I looked it up on the Internet just now."
When Nimbus's fans settled down, Dr. Wall and two assistants held him down to examine his stitches... Except, there were no stitches!
Every single one had popped out, or Nimbus had taken them out. Not that it would have mattered if he did. By the size of Dr. Wall's frown, I knew REACH had messed up.
The wound was completely exposed. Although Chris and I had seen several stitches on Nimbus's arm two days before, they were gone now. The last one sat on the exam table with a tuft of fluffy gray fur attached to it. I had to turn away, and I began to feel my legs give way at the horrible sight of it. Nothing had healed. Nothing was better. We were right back the start of all.
Dr. Wall explained that REACH had used the wrong type of stitches, ones that require some very tight tying and glue to hold the knots in place. Dr. Wall insinuated that REACH should have known better and didn't understand why those were used. I had shelled out hundreds of dollars to that emergency vet with nothing to show for it except worthless medical assistance. In my opinion, REACH's only help was discovering Nimbus didn't have a sprained or broken leg. Everything else was shredded money.
Dr. Wall wanted the wound to remain open instead of putting Nimbus through stitches again. By looking at the cut, he noticed that there was healthy pink tissue regenerating and that the injury should scab over and heal on its own. He prescribed us two weeks of antibiotics - here we go again with that one - and scheduled us an appointment for next Tuesday.
"If the wound starts to open more, you need to bring him back in," he said.
As I carried Nimbus in the cat carrier out to the car, I didn't feel the biting winds and finger-aching cold. I was already numb from such disappointment, stress and worry. I couldn't believe it. I also felt an overwhelming, choking anger boiling up my throat. The wrong stitches??? THE WRONG STITCHES?!?! What does that even mean, "the wrong stitches??" If that's the reputation of those stitches, that they need glue to just hold the knots in place, why on earth were they used on my chinchilla in the first place??!?!?!
Angry and in tears, the ride home was very silent. I put Nimbus back in his cage, told him to go to sleep and get some rest, then went out into the living room to stare at a wall. My mind tried to process this tragedy, this horrible mistake. Dr. Wall said he'd need 2 more weeks of recovery time with medication through syringe twice a day! No dust bath. No playtime. When he said no playtime, I stood up.
"He has to be able to play," I said. "A chinchilla's health and happiness depend on him being able to run around and explore."
I said this to Chris later, "If anything, Nimbus is going to hurt himself more by trying to get out of the cage and throwing tantrums by flying around and banging against the walls."
Dr. Wall relented, thankfully. However, Nimbus will no longer play in my room or on the bed. Instead, we have created the perfect, safe chin play area we possibly could in the living room. No more running into the kitchen. No more jumping up on the bookshelf. No more sneaking behind the couch, thanks to a lot of cardboard alcohol boxes Chris picked up from the ABC store. Nimbus can hop around on the carpet, chew on his toys, and that's it! Still, he can't have a dust bath. There's no way we can allow Blue Cloud dust to get into that open injury.
That afternoon, Chris went to pick up the medication. However, the WalMart pharmacy said they didn't have it.
"But, the vet called me this morning and told me it was ready," I told Chris on the phone.
Still, there was no medication. This morning on my way out the door, I called the vet again.
"Yes, my chinchilla Nimbus was prescribed medication by Dr. Wall yesterday. When we went to pick it up, WalMart didn't have it."
"Ok," replied the receptionist. "I'll take care of that. I'll call them right now."
Six hours later, Chris returned to the gigantic chain store to pick up the medication. The pharmacy said they didn't have it. So, I called the vet again. They answered that WalMart had told them it was ready to be picked up. My temper started to flare. On the phone, I sharply told Chris to get aggressive and get that medication.
Poor Chris stood in line and at the counter trying to convince these people they had Nimbus's medication for 30 minutes! Once again, we encountered the chinchilla conumdrum. I think there needs to be a Chinchilla Awareness campaign. The guy helping Chris had no clue what a chinchilla was or why we were giving it a generic form of bactrim. Finally, they located our medication. And, here's why it was missing for two days:
Yeah, that's not how you spell my last name.
What Chris should have said to the pharmacy was, "I know with complete certainty that there is no other medication back there prescribed to the first name of Nimbus. Can you please search for Nimbus?"
It's just been roadblock after roadblock. At this point, I just want Nimbus to get better. Please, please, let him get better. I want my beautiful chinchilla to be happy and healthy again, to be able to roll around in his beloved dust bathtub, to scamper through the house, to use the bedroom door in order to "wall surf." He acts fine, but what if it gets infected? What if he suddenly becomes sicker in the middle of the night? I can't take him back to REACH. I would never. And, there's only so much money left in my bank account. What if that runs out before he gets better? How do you choose between not spending money and your pet's life? My mind can't stop reeling from all the "What ifs?" At this rate, both Nimbus and I will be sick, one from an injury and the other from stress.
Yesterday was supposed to be a happy day of celebration, dusts baths and relief. Nimbus was going to get his stitches out, and life would be restored to normal. No more corralling him on the bed. No more syringes with nasty medicine. No more stress.
 |
| Photo from http://scdocorg.files.wordpress.com |
We entered our local vet to the great enjoyment of everyone there. Most had never seen a chinchilla nor petted its soft fur. Nimbus was a celebrity! One veterinarian assistant said, "I didn't know what it was until I looked it up on the Internet just now."
When Nimbus's fans settled down, Dr. Wall and two assistants held him down to examine his stitches... Except, there were no stitches!
Every single one had popped out, or Nimbus had taken them out. Not that it would have mattered if he did. By the size of Dr. Wall's frown, I knew REACH had messed up.
The wound was completely exposed. Although Chris and I had seen several stitches on Nimbus's arm two days before, they were gone now. The last one sat on the exam table with a tuft of fluffy gray fur attached to it. I had to turn away, and I began to feel my legs give way at the horrible sight of it. Nothing had healed. Nothing was better. We were right back the start of all.
Dr. Wall explained that REACH had used the wrong type of stitches, ones that require some very tight tying and glue to hold the knots in place. Dr. Wall insinuated that REACH should have known better and didn't understand why those were used. I had shelled out hundreds of dollars to that emergency vet with nothing to show for it except worthless medical assistance. In my opinion, REACH's only help was discovering Nimbus didn't have a sprained or broken leg. Everything else was shredded money.
 |
| Photo from chinchillaclub.com |
"If the wound starts to open more, you need to bring him back in," he said.
As I carried Nimbus in the cat carrier out to the car, I didn't feel the biting winds and finger-aching cold. I was already numb from such disappointment, stress and worry. I couldn't believe it. I also felt an overwhelming, choking anger boiling up my throat. The wrong stitches??? THE WRONG STITCHES?!?! What does that even mean, "the wrong stitches??" If that's the reputation of those stitches, that they need glue to just hold the knots in place, why on earth were they used on my chinchilla in the first place??!?!?!
Angry and in tears, the ride home was very silent. I put Nimbus back in his cage, told him to go to sleep and get some rest, then went out into the living room to stare at a wall. My mind tried to process this tragedy, this horrible mistake. Dr. Wall said he'd need 2 more weeks of recovery time with medication through syringe twice a day! No dust bath. No playtime. When he said no playtime, I stood up.
"He has to be able to play," I said. "A chinchilla's health and happiness depend on him being able to run around and explore."
I said this to Chris later, "If anything, Nimbus is going to hurt himself more by trying to get out of the cage and throwing tantrums by flying around and banging against the walls."
Dr. Wall relented, thankfully. However, Nimbus will no longer play in my room or on the bed. Instead, we have created the perfect, safe chin play area we possibly could in the living room. No more running into the kitchen. No more jumping up on the bookshelf. No more sneaking behind the couch, thanks to a lot of cardboard alcohol boxes Chris picked up from the ABC store. Nimbus can hop around on the carpet, chew on his toys, and that's it! Still, he can't have a dust bath. There's no way we can allow Blue Cloud dust to get into that open injury.
 |
| Photo from annarboranimalhospital.com |
That afternoon, Chris went to pick up the medication. However, the WalMart pharmacy said they didn't have it.
"But, the vet called me this morning and told me it was ready," I told Chris on the phone.
Still, there was no medication. This morning on my way out the door, I called the vet again.
"Yes, my chinchilla Nimbus was prescribed medication by Dr. Wall yesterday. When we went to pick it up, WalMart didn't have it."
"Ok," replied the receptionist. "I'll take care of that. I'll call them right now."
Six hours later, Chris returned to the gigantic chain store to pick up the medication. The pharmacy said they didn't have it. So, I called the vet again. They answered that WalMart had told them it was ready to be picked up. My temper started to flare. On the phone, I sharply told Chris to get aggressive and get that medication.
Poor Chris stood in line and at the counter trying to convince these people they had Nimbus's medication for 30 minutes! Once again, we encountered the chinchilla conumdrum. I think there needs to be a Chinchilla Awareness campaign. The guy helping Chris had no clue what a chinchilla was or why we were giving it a generic form of bactrim. Finally, they located our medication. And, here's why it was missing for two days:
What Chris should have said to the pharmacy was, "I know with complete certainty that there is no other medication back there prescribed to the first name of Nimbus. Can you please search for Nimbus?"
It's just been roadblock after roadblock. At this point, I just want Nimbus to get better. Please, please, let him get better. I want my beautiful chinchilla to be happy and healthy again, to be able to roll around in his beloved dust bathtub, to scamper through the house, to use the bedroom door in order to "wall surf." He acts fine, but what if it gets infected? What if he suddenly becomes sicker in the middle of the night? I can't take him back to REACH. I would never. And, there's only so much money left in my bank account. What if that runs out before he gets better? How do you choose between not spending money and your pet's life? My mind can't stop reeling from all the "What ifs?" At this rate, both Nimbus and I will be sick, one from an injury and the other from stress.
 |
| Photo from clipartof.com |
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