I had to take Jane to the vet today. She developed a mysterious open wound on her leg last night. Not big, but nasty looking. So I took her to the vet this morning. The front desk was crowded when we came back to pick her up. Dr. Broussard made a little wave to me, and I walked towards her, and then the woman in front of her said "I don't care about the money" and started crying.
I turned around fast and walked the other way so as not to intrude. And damn if I didn't cry too. I couldn't stop thinking about times I had had that conversation. I don't care about the money. Just make my baby well. Please.
(Jane is fine, by the way. She had an abcess on her leg. Gross, but no long-term harm.)
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