Blame it on the rain

Maybe I should rename my blog “Rhymes with Marijuana” or Madonna. Or Yo Mama. Since I’ve changed format to be all iguana, all the time.

I feel better today. I’d been thinking that Emerald might still be alive if we hadn’t moved in with Rob, and my saying the apartment killed him wasn’t making Rob feel too good. After Rob fell asleep last night, I remembered that we had 25-plus consecutive days of rain. I think Olympia had more rain than Bellingham, even. So Emerald might have gotten sick if we’d still be in the old apartment. Maybe it would have been worse, because he tended not to sit under the fluorescent light, but on top of it.

As I took down his cage yesterday, I saw some of the white residue that iguanas snort to clear salt out of their systems on the side of the light. That must be seriously old, since he hasn’t sat on top of the cage blowing his nose on the light for months.

There’s the nagging feeling that if I’d taken him to the vet sooner, he could have been saved. I can’t believe how quickly he deteriorated between last Wednesday and Monday. Turns out, all the books warn about this…So then there’s the embarrassment that this vet, whom I’d never seen before, thinks I’m a terrible iguana mother, bringing in an animal so close to death. But so what if he does? Grand scheme, it doesn’t matter if he thinks I was a good mom or not.

Our phone conversations went like this:

Vet: Emerald’s doing better.
Me: Oh good.
Vet: He’s starting to hold his legs in the correct position.
Me: Oh good.
Vet: You can come get him this afternoon.
Me: Oh good.

Two and a half hours later:

Vet: Emerald has passed away.
Me: Oh no.
Vet: He was doing better, he even flicked his tail at me, but then he died.
Me: Oh no.
Vet: We were all so excited this morning, but as I said, he was pretty critical last night.
Me: Oh no.

…and so on.