scrubjayspeaks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scrubjayspeaks) wrote2020-12-09 12:11 pm
scrubjayspeaks) wrote2020-12-09 12:11 pm
Entry tags:
Today's Keyboard Smash
[Content warning: animal injury]
Unfortunately, those eight hours yesterday did not mean we would actually get results the same day. It was an act of pure optimism to suppose otherwise. They still have to send the blood draws out for testing. So I took home my very sad doggo last night with no further information and also no more toenails on said doggo.
We warned them, the dim bastards, that she's been gnawing on her feet. We offered them the cone of shame we've been making her wear. They insisted they had plenty of cones available and wouldn't want to lose ours. Apparently not quite enough cones, though, because when I got her home I discovered she had chewed every nail but two down to bloody nubs. Which meant she spent eight hours, un-coned, with them ignoring and/or failing to notice she was obsessively eating her own feet. Which doesn't inspiring a lot of fucking confidence in the doctor's support staff, at the very least!
I can't sleep, because I hear her gnawing in the night. (She can't wear the cone in my room. We tried. She launched a tower fan across the room. She's...extra clumsy in the cone.) I try to get her to chill out by petting her, which works for a little while, until either I fall asleep again or she gets too wound up to resist the impulse any longer. And I don't know if she does this because her skin is itchy and irritated or because she's anxious about the various or both or neither.
I'm really lucky I'm not running a machine at the moment. I'm so tired, I'm dozing off with my face in the microscope eyepieces. If I run a machine, I may lose an arm. No, these machines aren't really capable of taking off an arm, but I feel I would find a way somehow.
I need a nap, and a snack, and, like, thirty uninterrupted minutes of zero responsibilities, worries, or productivity. The snack, at least, I can manage: the coworker I traded biscotti to has come through with the promised beef jerky in return. I may regret eating at work--dinner is a long way off--but damn it, I deserve jerky today.
Unfortunately, those eight hours yesterday did not mean we would actually get results the same day. It was an act of pure optimism to suppose otherwise. They still have to send the blood draws out for testing. So I took home my very sad doggo last night with no further information and also no more toenails on said doggo.
We warned them, the dim bastards, that she's been gnawing on her feet. We offered them the cone of shame we've been making her wear. They insisted they had plenty of cones available and wouldn't want to lose ours. Apparently not quite enough cones, though, because when I got her home I discovered she had chewed every nail but two down to bloody nubs. Which meant she spent eight hours, un-coned, with them ignoring and/or failing to notice she was obsessively eating her own feet. Which doesn't inspiring a lot of fucking confidence in the doctor's support staff, at the very least!
I can't sleep, because I hear her gnawing in the night. (She can't wear the cone in my room. We tried. She launched a tower fan across the room. She's...extra clumsy in the cone.) I try to get her to chill out by petting her, which works for a little while, until either I fall asleep again or she gets too wound up to resist the impulse any longer. And I don't know if she does this because her skin is itchy and irritated or because she's anxious about the various or both or neither.
I'm really lucky I'm not running a machine at the moment. I'm so tired, I'm dozing off with my face in the microscope eyepieces. If I run a machine, I may lose an arm. No, these machines aren't really capable of taking off an arm, but I feel I would find a way somehow.
I need a nap, and a snack, and, like, thirty uninterrupted minutes of zero responsibilities, worries, or productivity. The snack, at least, I can manage: the coworker I traded biscotti to has come through with the promised beef jerky in return. I may regret eating at work--dinner is a long way off--but damn it, I deserve jerky today.
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(Would you like the trick my parents used to keep our lab from chewing his feet when I was kid?)
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