The Curse of the Vet

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” – Joan Didion.


When I was four or five years old I had a pet turtle named Manuelita. I loved this turtle. I fed her lettuce and carrots, and all those things that cartoons teach you that these animals eat. One day Manuelita got sick. She got so sick, in fact, that my mom had to take her to the vet. After a few days of her absence I asked my mom what was happening with Manuelita: “Well, she is really sick, so she is in Intensive Care, she’ll be back soon,” was my mom’s response. Satisfied with her answer and thinking that my mom would never lie to me I figured Manuelita would eventually return.

I think that I was seven when my dad bought me a hamster. I actually don’t remember his name, but for some reason I’m thinking it was Federico. I had a buddy from school who also had a hamster. We would meet up and talk about our hamsters after class. My hamster wasn’t very nice. He would bite me, and pee on me, and he would always get dirty in his cage. I didn’t understand him very much. My buddy told me that Fede acted this way because he was a male hamster, and that female hamsters, like the one he owned, were much nicer to humans. He told me that female hamsters were more likely to allow humans to pet them except when they had baby hamsters.

During one of Fede’s tantrums he got very dirty. Not knowing any better I grabbed Fede and gave him a bath. While I was giving him a bath he fell asleep. At first, I thought that it was incredibly adorable to have Fede, whom would normally be biting me, fall asleep in my hands, but after a few minutes of me trying to wake him up and he not waking up I started to freak out. I told my mom what was happening and she told me that she would take him to the vet. A few days went by and Fede still hadn’t returned from the vet so I asked my mom what was happening. She told me that he was very sick and that he would eventually return once he felt better. I figured that since she was my mom she knew better than I did, though I had my suspicions.

I’ve been talking to this guy since November. We’ve hang out a number of times, but most of our interaction has been through either text, and or AIM. I enjoy talking to him. He makes me laugh, and is mostly informed about things that interest me, which makes him that much more attractive. The problem one would say with this guy is that he is, and I’m fully aware to this fact, emotionally unavailable to me. I know this, not only because he told me so, but because I have this uncanny ability to only attract, and be attracted to, this sort of guys.

I’m okay with the fact that nothing will come out of this. In fact, I’m happy to be making a new friend. Yet when we talk, we still flirt, we still sometimes, though sporadically, sleep together.

Needless to say Manuelita was never released from the ICU, and Fede never woke up from his nap. But a part of me remains hopeful that, as my mother said, they would return. I’m okay with the fact that I’ll never see my pets again. But, I can’t help but remain a bit optimistic about the whole situation. There was never any finality to it. Perhaps this is the same reason why, even though it has nothing to do with who he is, I still talk to this dude, and the many other dudes with whom I was in the same situation. I can’t help but be an optimist about the given hopelessness of it all. I still have hope though all sings point to no. I still, and will probably always see some light in the darkness. I like that about me. I like the fact that though I’ve been disappointed a number of times I remain hopeful. I don’t lose myself in the disappointments. Rather I focus on the fact that eventually it will all work out. Manuelita will eventually get released. Fede will eventually wake up. Until then, I’ll just tell myself stories in order to live.