How to restore my faith in humanity in three easy steps

Rhode Islanders were like "Eh, close the windows and bring the cat in."

Step 1: Have a hurricane knock out power to your vet the day of your export exam.


I have to admit, I had a meltdown when it occurred to me that my vet, who had all of Elsa's medical records, wouldn't have access to them two days before I left the country.

I hated that Japan requires the exam to be within two days of departure.

I hated that most of the area around my vet got power back within twelve hours, but not my vet's office.

And I especially hated that Elsa would likely not be able to come across, after all the work, time, money, and emotional investment that the process had cost me.

As anyone watching my twitter or facebook feed will tell you, I broke. I was in tears for at least an hour, completely unreasonable. Until I wore myself out and passed out for a few hours. Elsa didn't give a crap, as she was tucked away nicely in her bed.

This morning at 8am, I began my barrage of calls.

The cape is very important.

Step 2: Find a very popular vet clinic who will squeeze you in


I had made at least a dozen calls looking for USDA-accredited vets in the area, and most practices that had them said "We won't know until the vet comes in at X:XXpm, sorry."

But finally, I found Povar Animal Hospital, one that my mother used to frequent as a child, who not only squeezed me in at 5:45pm, but as part of the export exam prep, called APHIS and verified my appointment and paperwork for me. They asked if I could come in early to drop off the papers for them to check as well as fill out the New Client papers, and I came by with the export forms, titer results, and a Box o' Joe and carton of munchkins for the staff. There were audible cheers as I put the boxes on the counter.

"When someone saves your ass," I said, "it's nice to at least buy them coffee."

So I went around doing errands for a while, accomplishing only a few but very important things, then swung back around to pick up the furball. The clinic was very pretty and very clean, the staff was great, and as I paid for the visit, I checked the receipt.

They only charged me the cost of her vaccine and the export exam. No new client fee, no office visit, no nothing.

"We waived it for you," the tech said. "Special circumstances and all that."

Yeah.

Step 3: Government Officials who really understand


I had previously spoken to the APHIS office, who told me that in order to endorse the papers, they'd need to see her rabies certificates for each vaccination.

Which were on my vet's computer. Which was without power.

Well, fuck.

I called this morning and explained my circumstances, and the woman (who I now know as L*) said that while the certificates were procedure, the circumstances merited a little... leeway. My vet had signed off on the vaccinations provided for the titer, which was good, and the paperwork had the manufacturer and expiration dates for each one.

 If I could bring in whatever documentation I had, she said, they'd make it work somehow. If my vet got power back before my appointment and they could get the certificates, great.

I could have cried.

Seriously my life.

In Summary:


After a hurricane comes rainbows and kittens.

But seriously, not only did I get a last-minute lifesaving replacement vet, but also a very compassionate APHIS employee who saved me from a panic attack.

Project Elsa-Beast is fully back on track, less than 12 hours after total system failure. What a mindfuck.