July 9
I'm taking a zero w some trail angels in Weed, and I get a text from one of my old roommates saying that my dog, Ellie, had to go to the hospital for ingesting rat poison that was in the basement. I panic. I can't get a hold of anyone to get an update on her, so I call my vet, who tells me she had to go to the small animal hospital at the U of M, because the poison she are was more serious than what they could deal with. I am in full blown tears by the time I get the doctor on the phone, expecting to hear the worst; anticipating I will have to get a flight home and be with Ellie. This is the first pet I've had on my own, and the thought of losing her hits me like a punch in the gut. I knew I would go through this at some point in the future, but that point should be much further away.
The doctor explains the situation, assuring me that Ellie seems to be doing well, and that it was fortunate they were able to bring her in so quickly. A flood of relief fills me, and he tells me they would like to keep her for at least a day for observation. I know she's tough. She'll be okay.
I reach my roommate, and she tells me the other bad news. The vet bill is estimated at $2000, and she already had to pay $1500 up front to get Ellie in. My stomach drops. That is essentially all of the money I had put aside for the trail. I might not be able to finish. The thought goes through me, and I can't tell if it's one of regret or relief. I settle for something in between.
I spend the rest of the day alternately worrying about Ellie and wishing I was there to take care of her, and feeling anxious about possibly having the leave the trail. I don't sleep well. I plan on taking another zero tomorrow so that I can make sure I have phone access.
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