Chapter 11 #2
Valeria heads into the exam room, still smiling, but the moment she sees Camila, the smile slips right off her face, and whatever she was going to say dies in her throat.
Camila looks completely distraught. Her hair is a little messy—not in her usual controlled chaos—and her eyes are dull, drained of their usual spark.
Her hands are wrapped so tightly around Miso’s carrier that her knuckles have gone white.
The sight of her like this makes Valeria want to wrap her in a tight hug.
“I know you said it could wait until tomorrow,” she blurts out before Valeria can say hi, “but I don’t think I can.
My brain keeps filling up with images of me finding her passed out somewhere in the house.
I can’t wait to find out what’s going on.
I need to know now, or I’ll keep conjuring worse-case scenarios until I lose it. ”
“Hey, hey,” Valeria says gently, stepping closer, reaching for Camila’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You did the right thing bringing her in. Let’s take a look at her, okay? One step at a time.”
Camila nods, but her eyes are glossy, like she’s two seconds from falling apart.
Valeria crouches by the carrier and peeks inside. Miso blinks up at her, calm as ever, no idea why her mom is spiraling.
“She looks alert,” she tells Camila, keeping her voice soft. “That’s a good sign. We’re gonna figure this out.”
Camila exhales shakily.
“May I?” Valeria asks as she reaches for Miso’s carrier.
Camila hesitantly lets go of the handle and nods.
“I’m going to take her for an X-ray,” Valeria says. “Hopefully, we’ll get a better picture of what’s going on. If I can’t, I’ll have to do an ultrasound, which means I’ll have to shave her belly. Is that okay?”
Camila nods. “Of course, do whatever you need to.”
“Perfect, we’ll be quick, I promise.”
As Valeria heads toward radiology, she glances back, and her heart clenches. Camila’s sitting on the edge of the stool, hands clasped, looking like she’s preparing for terrible news.
When they make it to the back, Valeria lifts Miso out carefully, and she gives her a tiny meow in protest before leaning into Valeria’s chest. Valeria flags down Haley—her favorite vet tech—to help keep Miso still and together, and they position her for the X-ray.
Miso gives them one irritated grumble, but mostly blinks at Valeria, trying to figure out what she’s doing.
A few minutes later, the images load on the screen. She can’t definitively call it a hairball; hair shows up as soft tissue in X-rays, just like everything around it. But there’s an oblong mass, low in her GI, a soft-tissue lump that shouldn’t be there. An ultrasound will give her a better look.
Valeria holds on to Miso while Haley shaves her belly.
The moment the probe touches Miso’s abdomen and the image sharpens on the monitor, Valeria lets out a sigh of relief. She can see it clearly now. A hairball. A big one, sure—but still small enough that medication should help it pass.
“Will you prepare some lactulose for her?” Valeria asks Haley, who nods. They return Miso to her carrier, and while Haley prepares the medication, Valeria adds a few notes to Miso’s online chart. A few minutes later, Haley comes back with the oral syringe.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Valeria murmurs to Miso, giving her chin a gentle scratch. “You’re gonna be fine, but you need to take this.” Valeria takes the syringe from Haley and gently works it in Miso’s mouth before emptying it, and to her surprise, Miso takes it without a fuss.
“Good girl,” Valeria says, before zipping up her carrier. They head toward the exam room, Valeria feeling ten pounds lighter.
When she walks in, Camila is perched on the edge of the table, wringing her hands. She straightens up the second she sees Valeria.
“Well?” she asks, voice thin with nerves.
Valeria smiles. “Good news. She’s okay. The X-rays showed a mass, and the ultrasound confirmed it’s a pretty impressive hairball working its way through her intestines.
I gave her some lactulose to help her pass it, so she might have bloody stool until it comes out, but after that, she should be fine.
If you don’t see it come out within the next twenty-four hours, you’ll have to bring her back in so we can check whether it’s moved.
If it hasn’t, we’ll need to get her into surgery, but I don’t think it’ll come to that. ”
Camila’s shoulders drop so fast it’s as if someone cut the strings.
“A hairball?” she repeats, half laughing, half crying.
“Just a hairball,” Valeria echoes gently, handing her the carrier.
Camila presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, my God. I thought—”
“I know,” Valeria says softly, cutting her off before she can finish the sentence.
“But she’s okay. I’m sending you home with one more dose of her medication, which you should give orally in twelve hours.
I’d switch her to wet food for the next few days and add a little water to help keep her hydrated.
The hairball should pass on its own, probably by tomorrow night. ”
Camila nods, wiping under one eye.
“Also, grab a hairball-control supplement,” Valeria adds. “To help keep things moving so this doesn’t happen again. She might be over-grooming.”
“God, I feel so silly,” Camila says with a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s exactly what you said it could be.”
“Hey.” Valeria shakes her head. “It also could’ve been something else. You did the right thing bringing her in. Now you know she’s okay, we have a plan, and you can breathe easier.”
Valeria bends over and pokes a finger through Miso’s carrier, giving her one last pet.
As soon as she straightens up, Camila slips her arms around her.
The hug startles a small breath out of Valeria, but the warmth of it settles quickly, embarrassingly nice in its softness, and she hugs her back, an unfamiliar comfort unraveling through her.
Camila lets out a long breath, emptying all the leftover panic. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Valeria murmurs, a gentle warmth spreading through her chest.
When Camila lets go, she adjusts the carrier strap on her shoulder, still looking a bit wrung out but miles better than when she walked in.
“I seriously appreciate you. I know I can get . . . a little dramatic.” Camila bites her lip, cheeks going pink.
“You’re fine,” Valeria says. “You care about her. That’s not dramatic, that’s being a good pet parent.”
“Still. Thanks for . . . everything.”
“Anytime,” Valeria tells her, opening the door so she can step out. “Text me if something changes, and I’ll come right over, but I think she’ll be back to herself soon.”
Camila nods, gives her one more grateful look, and heads down the hallway with Miso bouncing gently at her side.
When the door swings shut behind her, Valeria can’t help smiling. It’s ridiculously sweet how quickly Camila’s fallen for Miso.
The rest of her day drifts by in a gentle, almost suspicious quiet. It’s one of those lull days where everything is too calm . . . too quiet. She has more time between appointments, with most being straightforward and low-key.
When it’s time to go home, the sky is already turning that watered-down blue. Traffic—thankfully—is kind to her, and almost every light is green as she approaches them.
At home, she kicks off her shoes by the door and swaps her scrubs for something looser: an oversized fluffy sweater and a pair of leggings, her unofficial uniform of being done for the day.
Brooke comes home not long after, keys announcing her before the door does.
Dinner is simple, a sriracha salmon bowl with avocado, one of Valeria’s favorite meals. They both make their plates as they talk about their day, before migrating to the couch.
Choosing what to watch takes a few minutes. They scroll, veto, reconsider, before settling on a home improvement show—something that doesn’t demand all their attention so they can talk but still feel invested in what’s happening.
Halfway through the episode, Brooke falls asleep, and Valeria stops watching. Instead, she’s focused on the rise and fall of Brooke’s chest, listening to the cadence of her breathing.
Valeria’s phone pings.
Camila 5:23 p.m.:
Any tips on getting Miso to take the medication? I’ve tried getting her to swallow it, putting some of it on her food, but nothing is working, and now she won’t let me hold her if the syringe is in my hand.
Valeria 5:24 p.m.:
lol. Yeah, I should’ve warned you. I think she took it easily at the clinic because she didn’t know it was sorta gross.
Valeria 5:24 p.m.:
You might need to work it into her mouth gently and empty it quickly.
Camila 5:24 p.m.:
I’ll let you know how it goes!
“What is so important on your phone that you can’t pay attention to the show?” Brooke asks, startling Valeria.
“Sorry, Camila’s cat—”
“Of course,” Brooke says, cutting Valeria off. “I don’t know why I asked.”
“Brooke, you fell asleep. Why are you picking a fight right now?”
“I’m not picking a fight. You’re glued to your phone tonight.”
“I just picked it up.”
“Whatever.” Brooke rolls her eyes at Valeria, before they settle back on the TV.
Valeria sets her phone down.
A few minutes later, the phone pings again.
Brooke’s gaze snaps to it, then slides to Valeria, a stern, challenging glare that all but dares her to reach for it.
Valeria doesn’t. She lets the phone sit there, unanswered.
When it pings a second time, worry flashes across her chest. After a beat, she gives in and picks it up.
“Of-fucking-course.”
“Brooke, don’t,” Valeria snaps.
When Valeria opens their text thread, it’s a picture of the oral syringe on the floor, and the brownish-yellow medicine splashed all over the counter.
Camila 8:33 p.m.:
I think I’ll need a refill. She wouldn’t take it.
Valeria 8:33 p.m.:
Do you have some MiraLAX at home?
Camila 8:33 p.m.:
I don’t, but I can go to the store.
Valeria 8:33 p.m.: