Page 65 of Ghost Of You
As the vet and her team work on Meatball, I sit in the waiting area, my thoughts consumed by worry for my beloved pet. Each minute stretches on, filled with the hopeful wish that he will be okay and the nagging fear of the unknown.
And so, I wait, the echoes of his painful meows and the weight of the past night’s intensity merging into a singular, anxious moment of hope and dread.
The minutes crawl by as I sit in the sterile waiting area, my fingers twisting anxiously around the edges of the chair. Every now and then, I glance at the clock on the wall, each tick a painful reminder of the time slipping by without news. The sound of footsteps, the hum of the air conditioning, and the distant murmur of voices do little to distract me from the gnawing worry in my chest.
Finally, the door to the examination room opens, and the vet walks out, her face still serious but softened by a hint of sympathy. She approaches me, and I stand, my heart racing as I prepare for her to speak.
“We’ve completed the initial tests,” she begins, her voice calm yet firm. “It looks like Meatball is suffering from a conditionwe’re still diagnosing. His symptoms suggest that he might be dealing with something quite severe, possibly an infection or a metabolic issue. We’ve taken some blood samples and will need to run further tests to get a definitive diagnosis.”
I feel my knees weaken at the news, and I struggle to maintain composure. “Is he going to be okay?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, betraying the fear I feel.
The vet’s eyes meet mine, her expression compassionate. “It’s too early to say for sure. Right now, we’re focusing on stabilizing him and managing his pain. Once we have the results of the additional tests, we’ll be able to provide a clearer picture and discuss treatment options.”
I nod, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “Thank you. Please, do whatever you can for him.”
The vet gives me a reassuring nod. “Of course. We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have more information.”
With that, she turns and heads back to the examination room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sit back down, trying to steady my breathing. My mind replays images of Meatball’s usually playful, energetic self, now so vulnerable and still.
After a while, the receptionist approaches me with a sympathetic smile. “Would you like some coffee or something to eat while you wait? It might be a while before we have the results.”
I manage a weak smile in return, shaking my head. “No, thank you. I just need to stay here.”
She nods and returns to her desk, giving me space to process the news. I try to distract myself by checking my phone, but the words and images blur together, offering little comfort.
The door to the waiting area opens again, and a family enters with their own pet, a small dog looking as anxious as I feel. I offer them a tired smile, but it feels hollow. They take a seat a fewchairs away, and I wonder how many others are here waiting for news about their beloved animals.
Finally, after what feels like hours, the vet reappears. Her face is serious but kind. “We’ve received the results of the blood tests,” she says. “It looks like Meatball has a severe infection, likely caused by something he ingested or came into contact with. We’re starting him on antibiotics and other medications to address the infection and support his recovery.”
Relief and exhaustion wash over me, but I can’t help but feel overwhelmed. “Will he recover?” I ask, my voice trembling.
The vet nods. “We’re hopeful. His condition is serious, but with the right treatment, we believe he has a good chance of pulling through. We’ll need to monitor him closely and adjust his treatment as needed.”
I exhale slowly, feeling a mix of hope and anxiety. “Thank you for everything.”
The vet gives me a reassuring smile. “I’ll keep you updated on his progress. For now, you should get some rest and check in later. He’s in good hands.”
I nod gratefully, feeling a glimmer of hope as I leave the clinic. The weight of the day’s events feels lighter, though the worry lingers. I make my way back to the car, feeling the cool night air against my face. I know there will be many more visits and updates to come, but for now, Meatball is receiving the care he needs. As I drive home, I hold onto the hope that soon I’ll have my vibrant, playful companion back, healthy and happy once more.
Chapter thirty-four
The drive home from the vet feels endless, the rhythmic hum of the engine doing little to soothe the turmoil in my mind. Every time I close my eyes, I see Meatball’s frail body and hear his pained meow. I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to shake the image, but it clings to me like a shadow.
As soon as I park in the driveway, I’m overwhelmed by the quiet that greets me. The house, usually filled with the comforting presence of Laelia and the playful antics of Meatball, feels unsettlingly empty. The emptiness gnaws at me, amplifying my unease. I pull out my phone and dial Laelia’s number, needing to hear her voice, to feel some connection to her amidst the chaos of the day.
The phone rings, each tone stretching out like an eternity. I count them in my head—one, two, three... By the fourth ring, my heart is racing, an inexplicable anxiety building with each unanswered ring. When her voicemail picks up, the automated voice is almost jarring in its formality.
“Hi, this is Laelia. Sorry, I can’t take your call right now, but leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”
The beep that follows feels like a finality I’m not ready for. I hesitate, the words stuck in my throat. Finally, I manage to speak, my voice low and strained.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m just... I’m worried. Meatball’s really sick. I had to take him to the vet, and they’re keeping him there. I don’t know what’s wrong yet. And... I woke up, and you weren’t here. I just—call me when you get this, okay? I need to hear from you.”
I end the call and slump onto the couch, my head in my hands. The silence in the house presses in on me, amplifying the sounds of my own breathing, the distant ticking of a clock. The absence of Laelia’s presence is like a void, one that I can’t seem to fill no matter how hard I try to distract myself. Her laugh, her touch, even the way she used to tease me—those memories are all I have to hold onto right now.
I try to focus on other things, but my mind keeps circling back to her and to Meatball. The image of him lying motionless on the kitchen floor, his usual spark extinguished, is burned into my mind. My chest tightens with a mix of fear and helplessness. What if something happens to him? What if I lose him?
I glance at my phone again, half-expecting it to ring with a call from Laelia or the vet, but it remains silent. The urge to call her back is strong, but I resist, not wanting to seem desperate. But the longer I wait, the more the worry gnaws at me.