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Today was very long for poor little Freya. We all sat in a consulting room at the pet hospital in Bagarmossen, from 9am until 4pm while she was prodded and poked, her health status discussed by all and sundry, sleeping then waking sporadically. Emma, as if in sympathy, spent most of her time curled up on my lap, and being annoyed when I changed legs.
While our day was very frustrating in terms of diagnosis, the staff we saw (and we saw lots) were all kind, friendly and sympathetic. While we only saw one actual vet, Freya’s condition was discussed with a few others outside the room.
After a long discussion with his colleagues, our vet, Carl, verified that our little monkey is a medical mystery.
Lots of things were ruled out, but we remain as far away from a reason for her illness as we live from Bagarmossen. Eventually, a nurse came in and gave Freya a shot of morphine. It was the happiest she’d been all day. I mean Freya, not the nurse, although she was pretty happy as well.
Actually, the nurse gave us a lesson in genetics when she told us how her red hair was not a result of being Scottish, something she regularly hears, but from the fact that she is Palestinian. Apparently, that is a thing. Though, she stressed, Palestinian redheads have brown eyes rather than blue.
We did manage to escape from the hospital for almost two hours at lunchtime while we waited for the results of blood tests and general discussion regarding Freya’s x-rays. We found Bagarmossen centrum which was surprisingly pleasant with not a lot of cars, a t-bana station and racks for around 50,000 bicycles.
There was also a lovely café where Mirinda practiced her Swedish and discussed, with the owner, how her husband likes his coffee very strong. We sat outside at small continental tables and wicker chairs and enjoyed what little sun there was, Freya nursing her pink bandaged leg from where the nurse took her blood.
It was then, eventually, back to the hospital where we received the frustrating news that there was no news regarding her condition.
The only concrete thing the vet offered was that, possibly, she is suffering from something bacterial caused by a rotting tooth. For that reason he prescribed some antibiotics which we are to try for a week before returning to our local vet for reevaluation.
In the meanwhilst, back at the house, Harald finished the glass room, well pleased with his work. We arrived home just as he was packing up his van. He and Mirinda wandered around the house discussing everything he had accomplished this week in smatterings of English, Swedish and German.
I sat on the deck and threw the ball for Emma which cheered her up a bit. Freya went to sleep in her favourite place, under the dining table, dreaming drugged dreams, sometimes staring into the middle distance, sometimes making weird sounds.
It felt like we were in an opium den in Shanghai about 200 years ago.
