I saw a cat yesterday.

I mean, not like I have been seeing cats, where I ask if I can pet someone else's patient or a boarder, and all my friends, in an effort to keep me alive, yell "no" or some loud/urgent/profane variation thereof, and I sulk away and take a picture instead.

I had a cat patient. My team did the same life saving heroics they always do, and I insisted on seeing her.

A day later, I am writing this to you coughing and hacking and vowing to be more careful.

Which is a way better place than I was in yesterday. My doctor friend kindly sent me home after I saw the cat. I paused to catch my breath three times on the way home. Russ had rescue medications waiting for me and we decided against urgent care since I could breathe pretty well.

I took some more oral medications which knocked me out (sorry I was crabby family) and I fell asleep still not breathing great.

Tomorrow I should be a little better, and the day after that I should be okay again.

It's my pride. It's my optimism. It's my longing to have our own Max the Cat back, and it's missing my patients. It's my stubborn refusal to listen to the gentle admonition of my allergist who said I need to be done seeing cats. It's wanting to do a good job at work, where the best I can do now seems like doing half my job.

I think this is it you guys. Each time I see a cat is scarier, and I need to step back.


Post from one year ago today...

April 20, 2017