Oh dear, it's been an expensive few days in the Addiverse. That thing called real life is acting more like a cash register than anything else. Every time I look at something, it costs me money. I've got the anti-Midas touch going on.
Before I go further, I must make a very, very sad announcement: my beloved lady chiropractor has left the Midwest and returned to her home in the land of Game Cocks. I know this because I was stalking her--er, I mean I was looking for contact information so I could return to her for treatment. I figured if I were going to resume chiropractic care, I should go back to her, not only so I didn't feel like I was cheating on her, but also because she was awesome at her job. Imagine my pain when I learned she had moved just a few months ago. I wish her well in her new business but I spit on her for leaving me behind.
At least I don't feel like I'm cheating on her any more.
Back to the anti-Midas. Take, for instance, this Friday. Thankfully, it was snowing Friday morning--I know, weird thing to say by this time of winter--so, I happened to be in the garage earlier than usual. One glance at my car led to the sound of the cash register: Ca-ching! Flat tire.
I have been one very fortunate grrrrl--I have not had the pleasure of a flat tire during my tenure as an adult. There was a flat tire back in high school when my sister and I were driving the parental unit's car in town, but that doesn't really count--it wasn't my car, we were in town going about 2 MHP and I didn't have to do anything about it. (Side note: it was before cell phones, so it did make calling my dad a wee bit more exciting.) My father showed me how to change a tire right before my friend and I took the family car on a road trip to the east coast, but since there was no flat involved during the practice, that doesn't count, either. I had a spare tire stolen off my truck, so it's good that I didn't have a flat during that time period. I've come close to having a flat tire--after all, who hasn't run over a nail? I averted the "true flat" by hearing the hissing sound and taking the tire for repair before it actually became a flat.
This was one pretty flat-looking tire.
I just kind of looked at it. I tried to recall if I had a can of fix-a-flat somewhere in my world. Then, I wondered if it had enough oomph in it to make it to the gas station a few blocks up. I thought about putting the spare on and then going to the tire store to get the flat tire fixed/replaced, but it was really cold out and there isn't much room in the garage to do such maneuvering. Suffice it to say, I limped to the gas station and filled that puppy up best I could. (I do NOT suggest anyone ever do this--I know I should not have done this. Hey, I live on the edge.) I could hear the hissing as soon as I put air in. I knew time was of the essence. Filled up, I zipped to the tire store.
I have replaced tires on this car before; in fact, I blogged about that process. This time, there was no time for research or blogging or thinking--I had to fix the flat and get moving for the day. I got to the tire store, pointed out the once-again-flat tire, held out my wallet.
The tire guy came back in and told me my rear tires were on backwards. Geez, I know I look dumb but do I look THAT dumb? He must've read my face--he clarified that my current fancy tires are "directional" and thus have to be put on the car in a certain manner. Imagine how pleased I was to learn of this when I just had the tires rotated at the dealer a week ago. (This is the same dealer that forgot to replace my dead battery when the car was at the shop to get a new battery and tires rotated. Don't ask. I got the battery, thanks to the wife, not to the dealer. I will NEVER be going back to that dealer again.....ass wipes.) So, not only did I have a flat tire one week after getting my tires rotated, I had backwards tires.
Those of you know me know that I did not leave that place with one fixed flat. Nope. I came home with four brand new, fancy-ass, love-them-in-the-snow tires (which are NOT directional--I know because I asked). I figured I was on the way to needing new tires, anyway (they don't make 'em like they used to, fancy or not), so why not get it done while on the premises. Ca-ching! They are beauties and are fabulous in the snow. It's not a bad day to have a flat tire when four new tires come your way.
The same morning, I had to take Lucy to the vet (which is definitely a charge card kind of event, no matter what the issue). I noticed several days back that Lucy had this twitch/spasm/whatever thing going on in her left "arm;" in fact, it was so twitchy that you could see it from across the room. You know the twitch--you've probably had one by your eye or in your leg--you twitch for awhile, for no known reason, then it goes away and you don't twitch again. Well, this twitching didn't stop. She twitches even when sound asleep. The wife gave me grief about it, lamenting about how I pay too close attention to things and that most dog owners would never notice, let alone worry about, a twitch. Still, something seemed amiss. No one twitches like that for days on end. I don't know how anyone could miss something like that, dog lover or not. To the vet we went....but, not before an internet search and a perusal of my dog health book...
....of which MJagger and the wife suggest I never do. Hey, I like to be informed. It's not like I'm trusting my life to wikipedia or anything.
By the time we got to the vet, I knew that it was probably one of two things. I did not speak of these things; rather, I let the vet do her job and I put out happy thoughts. The vet furled her brow while the vet tech demonstrated how Lucy's paw moved involuntarily with each twitch. They had Lucy wandering back and forth, each step scoured for clues. There were lots of serious looks going on in that room--I didn't like it. The vet did some neurological tests, of which Lucy seemed to be flunking. (It sucks to know too much. I knew this was a bad thing if it were true.) With much consideration and examination, the vet indicated she thought it was Lucy's neck.
Thank you, St. Francis! That's the better answer of the two.
The vet prescribed medications and encouraged me to take Lucy back to the chiropractor for examination and possible treatment. For those of you who think I'm kidding, I'm not--I took Lucy to a chiropractor last winter. One session, worked like a charm. (I wrote blogs about that, too. I'm too lazy to look for the link, though. You're on your own.) The vet indicated that if it's not her neck/spine, it might be neurological. I could tell the vet knew I knew this was not something good. I figured we would cross that bridge when the time came.
I brought Lucy home and told her to relax for the rest of the day. I looked at her and her twitching arm and sadly thought that Freckles (aka the ol' unhealthy, lumpy, smelly, mostly blind, definitely deaf, escaped the brink of death a dozen times Fatty Patty/money pit #1) might outlive Lucy. That didn't even seem fathomable. I decided not to worry about it and instead went back to work, enjoying every mile on my new tires.
Lucy is still twitching today. I won't be able to get her to the chiropractor until sometime during the week, as it's out of town and I'll have to get some time off work. She's worth the time and money...and, despite needing oral surgery, still has a budget to be spent. Freckles, on the other hand, is going to have to sponsor her own fundraiser if she wants to have further medical intervention of any type. She has busted her bank.
Maybe Freckles would like to hold a fundraiser for Lucy's chiropractor and my new tires. Sounds like a plan to me.
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