Ollie

I feel sick to my stomach.

I've felt this way since Monday morning when I discovered my error.

I stood in the examining room waiting for the vet tech to bring Oliver riding in his cat carrier so I could transport Ollie from the emergency vet, where I had taken him Sunday morning, to his regular vet, where he would stay the remainder of the eight days while his owners were away.

As I waited, I read the medical notes. One line stated, "Pet sitter is unsure if she gave 3.5 or 35 units."

That's not right, I thought. I know the amount I gave. I was unsure of how to describe the syringe.

When the vet tech returned I told her that I need a sentence corrected in the medical records, that I knew how much I gave Oliver; I gave him to the marking of three-five on the syringe and that I thought that was the three-point-five amount.

We discussed it for a moment, like I had discussed it with a different vet tech when I had admitted Ollie on Sunday morning. Sunday morning was an emergency. and I hadn't grabbed the syringes Sunday morning on my way out the door to get Ollie to the emergency vet.

But today I had the syringes in my Explorer and I had the insulin and I had Oliver's food. It was all going with Ollie to the regular vet for the remainder of the vacation time.

I went to my car fully confident that I had given Oliver the right amount of insulin. I retrieved a syringe from the gallon baggie that I had written Oliver's name on. I was sending 20 syringes with Oliver to the regular vet. I also had his gallon baggie of food labeled with his name. I had wrapped his vial of insulin in a paper towel and put it in a sandwich-size baggie labeled with his name.

The night before I had put all of Ollie's supplies with my car key in my refrigerator. The insulin needed to stay cool and I didn't want to forget any of the supplies when I would leave early in the morning for my pet rounds and then to pick up Oliver for his transport.

I brought the skinny syringe into the vet tech. She turned it round so we could see the markings. There were the numbers 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, 45, 50. In between the numbers were lines like on a ruler. I pointed to the three-five on the scale. I showed her how much I had given Ollie..to the number three-five which I thought meant three-point-five.

She said, "Oh no. Three-point-five are three of these tiny dashes and then half-way between the third and fourth tiny dashes."

I looked at her with horror in my eyes.

"I did this to Oliver," I said in a state of shock.

She immediately and compassionately responded, "Stay calm; it could happen to anybody."

I felt sick to my stomach as my face felt pale and I seated myself in one of the chairs.

Oliver was brought into the room in the cat carrier I had borrowed. Oliver's family was in the process of moving and selling their house, so his cat carrier was in storage.

The vet tech told me that Oliver had had some seizures and to not be alarmed if he had one on the way to the regular vet.

That was Monday. Life has been hell for Ollie. And I did it to him.

His owners cut their trip short and came home tonight. Ollie's prognosis wasn't good today, though yesterday he had taken a turn for the better.

Ollie may die by my hand.

I guess I'll just have to feel sick until I don't feel sick anymore.