A little Nightmare

Meet Nightmare, my cat.

And she is little; no more than seven pounds at her healthiest.

She was just over six at her weigh-in at the emergency vet yesterday afternoon.

Why the emergency vet? you may ask, and I’m here to tell you: I had planned to take her to my regular vet on Monday, but her symptoms got suddenly worse yesterday; by the time I got her to his office, it was almost end of business hours; he is not a young man, and doesn’t do after hours or weekends (and he’s earned he right to limit his office hours). Ergo, emergency vet.

Long story short, my cat had to have emergency surgery last night; her prognosis is good, and I should be able to bring her home today in the early afternoon. (ETA: vet called just after 7am, scaring the hell out of me, to say I can bring her home in a couple of hours) (Further ETA: we are home)

The actual nightmare comes from the fact that the base estimate for this is about five weeks of my take home wages–and that only after I broke down crying while trying to explain that I simply can’t afford their original quote, which was almost double that. (footnote ²)

To be clear: I don’t begrudge the emergency vet clinic their prices; it’s a business that needs to make enough money to keep the doors open and personnel at the ready, even when no one shows up. Essentially, those who can afford it, keep the lights on for everyone.

But the reality is that, despite working for a large corporation for years (a decade come mid May), and earning well above the federal minimum wage per hour, I still bring home so little that something like this is a real strain on my finances.

Today I pay about 160% for power than what I did on January 2023; my internet, car insurance, mortgage, and homeowner’s association fees have all gone up, as have my payroll deductions for health insurance. Food prices go up every week. Meanwhile, my last annual “merit raise” was 1%, and I didn’t get it until June; it’s mid-March, and there’s no telling when or if we’ll see any raise at all this year.

All this to say: there’s very little give in the budget at Casa Aztec, and what little there is, I have been putting into my “to tide us over between when the day job lays me off and when I find something, anything, that pays enough to live on” fund (more details here). And that cushion is gone now.

Here’s the thing, though: I’m so lucky! This could have been infinitely worse.

First, I have credit cards with high enough limits that I could charge this. Yes, the interest is horrible, and there will be further belt-tightening happening here; but: if I had to take a payday loan for something like this? I would easily lose my house trying to pay that off. This is setting me back, for certain, but it’s not likely to bankrupt me.

Second, this is a cat. If the vet had not agreed to give me a significant discount (essentially, a lot of padding was taken off that first, and second, and third quote), I could have said, “please put her to sleep”. (footnote ¹)

Imagine this same scenario with a child, or a spouse, or an elderly parent, either injured in an accident, suffering some sort of health event, or developing a chronic condition (hello, COVID sequelae and LongCOVID), and having to pay obscene amounts of money out of pocket to try and keep them alive, maybe even just for a night, or a week, or a month.

Millions of people in “the wealthiest country on the history of Earth” are in that position every day; if the patient is an adult, in some states they may make the decision to “refuse care” and die in pain at home, in order not to bankrupt their families. Many patients are not adults, of course, but the point is: no human being should have to make that choice, period.

There is more than enough wealth in the fucking world that no one should have to work themselves to an early grave just to keep soul and body together so precariously that one medical crisis can destroy their lives.

And yet, this is where we are.

Fuck capitalism.

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And, because this is an election year–and not just for President, by the way–this is where I say: do not use your vote to ‘punish’ the less-than-perfect, not-a-fascist candidates. When you do, the first people you are fucking over, are the people who are already suffering. Don’t be that asshole. (Also: a ‘protest vote’ will eventually bit *you* in the ass too; just ask all the working-stiff Brexiteers how their bacon is cooking these days.)

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¹ I have had to make that choice once before; it was horrible, but just the emergency visit and the drugs to put her to sleep were the equivalent (then) of six weeks’ wages, and I was already accruing credit card interest from not making enough money to live on, while working “full time” in food service (a rant for another day).

² I won’t know the final total until I pick her up; I had to put 75% of the third amount they showed me on my credit card, with the understanding that they’ll ‘try’ not to go over the full amount. ETA: another $60 on pickup, which is nothing in the big picture, and less than the bigger estimated amount.