We set off at 10am to drive to deepest darkest Essex
to the VRCC, the largest dog oncology centre in Europe. We got there in good
time for the appointment despite heavy traffic, only to be kept waiting for forty-five
minutes…how these medical places like to show how busy and important they are
by keeping one waiting!
Eventually we saw the vet and he was sympathetic and
thorough. He was quite young though, I’d prefer an older, more experienced
person. I was quite surprised that he was very keen to perform quite radical
surgery, which would see very little change from £6,000. I don’t care about the
money, I would pay twenty times that if Nutty could be helped to live a longer,
pain free life, but I am reluctant to put an old dog through such radical,
painful treatment.
So while I was initially excited that there was some
treatment available, when we thought about it later and talked it through with
other people, we were not so sure. He is a very old dog and to put him through
big surgery that would see part of his jaw being removed… before that he would
need a general anaesthetic to have a biopsy taken to find out what kind of
cancer he has and how far it has progressed.
Richard the homeopathic vet, the conventional vet and everybody else think the surgery route would be wrong, in fact all of them discounted it as completely out of hand given his age and the amount of stress
and trauma he would be put through.
And the prices at this place! For a fifty minute consultation
(with no reduction for our forty-five minute waiting time of course!) £204.
Luckily I can afford it, but most of the people at
the clinic didn’t look at all flush and several were morbidly obese. It’s
ironic that London is stressful and polluted but its inhabitants look far
healthier than they do in the country. Unless they have pet insurance (and
insurance companies famously loath to pay out for anything at all), I wonder how
on earth they manage to pay these fees.
Boyfriend on a Short Fuse always says it is all
about money, money, money with these people, and I know it is. This is my most
profound brush with the `caring’ professions and has made me see that while practitioners
may go into it for the right reasons they soon end up being mainly about money.
A, my psychic douser is a prime example, I keep
returning to see her because she is usually spot on, but goodness, she is mad about
money. She charges £80 which is fine as she is very good, but when H, who is
low income and in desperate need asked if she could pay half this and have less
time, A refused. Eventually I had to say to A, `look I will make up the
difference as she really does need some health advice’.
And then there was the time I broke my ankle and she
very kindly as I thought at the time, lent me a healing machine for it. No
mention about any fee for this. I called up two weeks later and asked if she
needed it back and she said no. I returned in a month later and she says, `that
will be £200, £50 a week’. Over the years I have visited hundreds of times and sent
friends to see her. Yet once when I forgot my appointment she charged me full
whack, even though she works from home and is not paying a clinic rent by the
day.Yes, incredible! But she is good, and generally a kind hearted person, just
a bit tight. No one is perfect, especially not me, but meanness is so disconcerting.
I faced the same thing with Richard, the homeopathic
vet. When I returned from the oncology clinic I was desperate for advice about
whether to take Nutty for surgery. Understand that I have already consulted him
about six times and paid over six hundred quid. The receptionist said he was
free and she would ask him to come and talk to me.
I heard her explaining the situation to him but she
returned to the phone saying he couldn’t talk now but could I book in an £80
telephone consultation with him on Monday morning! Certainly nothing is for
free with these people. She and I then proceeded to chat for a while and she
very generously gave me ten minutes of her time without charging me(!) and
actually offered me the best advice I could hope for.
She said wait till Monday as this was not a decision
we should rush into lightly (and what good fortune retrospectively that the
surgeon at the VRCC could not do a biopsy that day which they usually could, as
the clinic was unusually busy). If they had been able to fit Nutty in I would
have gone for it, imagine that! A general anaesthetic from which he might not
ever recover or be the same again.
So my poor old boy had a three hour round trip to
Essex in the car for this. But I feel it helped us and him in some way. I must
try everything. But it is hard to make decision on his behalf. If it was me,
and I was old and ailing I might well say let me live out my days without
intervention. Surgery is frightening and there is no guarantee it will extend
his life very long and may cause him pain… but maybe he is already in pain,
although Richard and psychic douser say he is not.
When we returned Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I
reached a boiling point of hatred and irritation with each other. He was quite
nice and patient today and during the drive not too shouty or abusive. I am so
grateful, I could not do all this without him.
We arrived home and I wanted to order more dog food
and do a 101 administrative things but he insisted I accompany him walking the
dogs… you see how co-dependent we are. I
agreed to keep the peace and during the walk he gets stressed and shouty about
something. So I started imitating his rather unattractive oiky whiney voice
(below the belt bI know) and he shouts some more then
stomps off to his flat.
I thought that was it and I would have a few days of
peace, which I was rather looking forward to. Then I come back and the door is
open and he is still here. He wanted to talk and was very thoughtful and reflective. It was nice to talk. I don’t
really want to split up now, just have more time to myself.
We talked for about
an hour and he said at first that he didn’t fancy me anymore either, this
despite the fact that the day before last he had attempted to seduce me when I
was getting dressed. `Any man would have’, he explained. `a slim blonde dressed
in nothing but high boots a bra and a corset..’ Then he tried to get us into
bed again but I just couldn’t be bothered. I’m glad he is interested but I am
so tired and stressed sex is the last thing on my mind. He was trying to get
some reaction from me by saying that perhaps we should split up now…. then he
quoted the Buddhist letter he picked out randomly years ago when we first
started going out, `this life time, this is your one true husband’ etc. He is
quite whimsical like that.
I could see he wanted me to start crying and say
darling, we are meant to be together and drag him off to bed. But I was more clinical (I am
only emotional about my dog, rarely about my boyfriend, but I am English after
all).
Although I do not want to split up I would like him to be here half the week. When he is here it is nice that he walks the dogs,
but there is a lot of stress as he has the TV on constantly from 5-11pm and
makes a mess in the kitchen. He is faddy about food and makes a terrible fuss
if he can’t find a clean plate. He uses endless clean plates instead of washing up as he goes along. He doesn’t like me being on the computer, cleaning my teeth,
having a bath, washing or having the radio on in the kitchen. He is moody once
in bed and rarely wants a cuddle though at random times demands sex. He puts me
down, tells me endlessly how impractical I am, and gets in a strop because I
have not worked out how to dismantle the dog pram.
And yet… and yet…
seeing him standing over me in the dusk in the sitting room, I could tell he
didn’t want to end things. To give up seven years of real love and real
passion. I pray that happier times lie ahead. The vestiges of love are still
there.
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