This is an email/journal entry from my first year of practice. Kathy, the lady in the letter is alive and well and I saw her last week. She has a new kitten, named Buddy, and she is such a sweet woman. She is so vibrant and strong. I told her of this letter - of the impact that day had on my professional career, and I sent it to her. She brought me a journal a few days later with the inscription: I love your writing... please continue.
Instead of writing about the rodeos and injuries, I thought I would let you guys see the more vulnerable side of vet med. At least for a rookie doc. Warning: this one is a tear jerker (if you are prone.....)
January 4th, 2003
Today was a pretty normal, not-too-crazy Saturday. (Except for a
hair-losing Guinea Pig) The last appointment of the day however is
still weighing heavy on my heart. On December 4th I met a new client
named Kathy Brereton. She had a cat named Buddy ("Bud Bud") who had
just not been feeling well. A chemistry panel revealed what I
suspected – kidney failure. She also had a whopping heart murmur.
Kathy took the news especially hard – and further conversation
revealed that Kathy had just started chemo for breast cancer. Her
tumor was too big to remove just yet – they were trying chemo to
shrink it. I even went over her own blood work with her. I knew
that Buddy didn't have a really long time – and I tried my best to
prepare Kathy and explain to her what to look for when it was time to
tell Buddy goodbye.
Kathy brought in some cookies and a Christmas card to us a few days
before the 25th. She was the only client to bring something in with
MY name on it. Not Dr. Bowman's. That is very cool. I kept the
card. (And ate the cookies.)
Kathy 's friend Ellen called us this morning. Ellen is also a client
and a breast cancer survivor. She is in Kathy's support group and is
a surrogate mom to her of sorts. (Kathy's own mom has passed away.)
She called to say that it was time to euthanize Buddy. It was scheduled
as the last appointment in the day. I knew it would be hard, but,
geesh.
Kathy explained to me that she has a friend that is a vet that
treated Buddy earlier in the week with 3 days of IV fluids. She
didn't improve and her kidney values were pretty crappy. Buddy
started vomiting last night and was just feeling terrible. Our
records showed that she had lost a pound since Dec. I talked to them
about what was going to happen – that I would do an injection into the
heart and hand her back to Kathy. Normally, I hit the heart and the cat dies
within 30 seconds. This morning I missed. BUT – it worked really
well. Kathy held Buddy and she peacefully went to sleep and died
very gently over a period of 10 minutes or so. We talked while she
was passing – talked about life and death and people. About
compassion and dying with dignity. About fighting and letting go.
We talked about Africa. :)
I wish Buddy was still there for Kathy. She said that she RAN to
greet her at the door every time she came home. And Kathy wishes
that she had more strength to try and take care of Buddy. Her vet
friend told her about doing sub-q fluids twice a week to try and keep
her alive. Kathy knew that she wouldn't be able to do that – and she
didn't think that was fair to Bud Bud. I agreed. But the harsh
reality of losing an unconditional loving companion at such a hard
time in her life is … hard. It doesn't seem fair.
Kathy has a presence about her that I just connected with. She has
strength in her eyes and a lovely compassion and understanding in her
voice. I don't want to forget her. And I hope I'll see her again
with her other cat – under better circumstances.
This profession is about so much more that I had bargained for. To
do a good job at it I have to open my heart – open it up to the
people and animals that I care for (for I am realizing more and more
every day that I care for both.) Opening it up to experience the joy
that comes when I witness a miracle and opening it up to experiencing
that immense pain that comes when I look into a person's eyes and see
the grief that comes when their pet, their friend, dies. Good grief
it hurts. And it beats me up. But if I close that emotion off, then
I miss the point – I miss the bigger picture. I can't have the joy
and not have the pain – it doesn't work that way.
I've resolved to take the beatings. God will pick me up when I fall.
And He will also take care of Kathy. I pray that He will replace
the loss of Buddy with a new friend – one even more loving and strong
than she.
I love my job.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Shoulder
Ok, so it's time that I write about my shoulder accident. I've been meaning to for weeks, but, well, it's been a long few weeks. :)
Inky Johnson is a football player for UT. The day my accident happened I was talking to Dr. Nice about him and his injury. Inky really, really screwed up his shoulder during a game - damaging the nerves so extensively that he will never play football again and might never have useful function of his arm. Pretty terrible.
And it was fresh on my mind when my arm lay behind my body unable to move.
Thankfully, my injury was MUCH less severe than Inky's. Whew.
Since I've been in VA, I've done a lot of horse work. Though I didn't grow up with horses, I have a knack for dealing with them (so I've been told.) I'm not scared of them - they can't bluff me. I'm also pretty stubborn when I'm working with them, which I have said numerous times is going to get me hurt 'one day.' 'One day' has come and gone.
That 'one day' was Friday, September 22nd. I was doing pre-purchase exams on two yearling Irish Sport horse colts. Though only a year of age (horses grow until they are 2-3) they were both very large. Typical for the breed. One of these horses was a stallion - and though he was very good for most of his exam (especially considering he was a baby) the owner told me he was very needle shy. I needed a blood sample from his jugular and he didn't exactly like the idea.
I tried numerous tricks to get this blood. I have never NOT gotten a blood sample from a horse. Never. At one point I had a half a tube of blood - enough - then the tube fell from his neck and he stepped on it. I cringed as I watched the glass break beneath his hoof and his blood spread out on the ground - useless to me. bah. At my wits end, I blindfolded him with a towel over his eyes and then attempted to put a twitch on his nose. A twitch is a metal clamp of sorts that causes an endorphin release and usually has a calming effect on horses. That's once you get it on their nose. I need to set this up for you visually so you will understand what happened:
I was standing in front of a very tall, young stallion with his eyes covered. His owner was holding a lead rope attached to his halter and she was standing to my right. I approached him from the front and grabbed his nose with my left hand in order to put the twitch on and hold it closed (think clamp) with my right. He immediately jerked his head back (as I would) and pulled his nose free from the twitch. I repeated the process again, only REALLY holding on with my right hand this time - very tightly. He backed up - I went with him. He pulled his head up - I hung on. (This is where my stubbornness got the better of me....) He then reared up on his back feet and he pulled me underneath him (cause I didn't let go). I turned to my left to get out from under him but as he brought his front legs back down to the ground, my shoulder got in the way. And how.
Now, he was blindfolded - he couldn't see me. I really don't think he was trying to hurt me. He was just fed up with me messing with him.
Anyway, he knocked me to the ground, but somehow didn't step on me. The owner calmed him down, removed his blindfold, and put him away. I was knocked to my left side and as I sat up, I realized that my right arm was behind me - and I couldn't move it.
Insert horror flash thought of Inky Johnson.
I used my left arm to bring my right arm to my lap and then the worst tingling and burning I have ever felt commenced to overtake my forearm and hand. I can only figure that I hit my elbow (and the not-so-funny bone) in the process. The owner of the horse is an ER nurse and she asked me if I was ok. I replied "I don't think so." I was very calm. Very cool. I started to wiggle my fingers. Sigh. That's good. I felt up and down my arm - nothing was broken. Yeah. Then I tried to move my arm - uh oh. It no workey. Without taking my clothes off, the nurse figured that I had dislocated my shoulder. Crap. I was supposed to work all weekend!
I was doing a pre-purchase exam, which is an exam before a horse is purchased, so both buyer and seller were present. (We like to name things accordingly in vet med so no one is confused.) The buyer and seller helped me to my feet and got me to my truck. I got my cell phone and called the clinic to let them know I was out of commission for at least the day and on my way to the ER. Then I started to cry. I'm not sure why. I wasn't hurting that bad. I guess it's the adrenaline rush let-down.... I don't know.
It was decided that I would leave my truck there - and the buyer of the horses would drive me to the hospital 40 minutes away and someone from the clinic would come and get my truck. The nurse gave me 4 Advil before I left - and I'm SO thankful that she did - cause it really started hurting on the way and they didn't give me any pain meds at the hospital.
I cried off and on all the way to the hospital - being very upset with myself that I was crying. (Which only made me cry more!) Rachael, my office manager, was waiting on me when I got to the ER. Then I really started crying. I cried as I told the admissions nurse what I thought was wrong. They took me right back to a room and helped me get my clothes off so I could get a good look at my non-functioning arm. I cried as I told the nurse what happened. I cried as they took my x-rays and as I looked at them. (No dislocation! But why can't I move it?!?) And I cried as the very cute doctor told me what actually was wrong - a separated shoulder. I cried as Rachael called Matt and as she told me that he would be there as soon as possible. And I cried most of the night when I tried to talk about it. Maybe I just needed a good cry. :)
The next day I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I guess this horse was in reality only slightly smaller than a truck - hah! My left neck and back were so sore I could barely move. Matt was my hero - he took very good care of me all weekend. And Dr. Nice and Dr. Bowman took over my work duty. They are great friends to me.
A separated shoulder is a ligament injury. It's a tear between the collarbone and the shoulder. There are a lot of muscles that attach there and that's why I couldn't lift my arm. I saw an orthopedic surgeon a week later and he said that time would heal it.
It's been a month now - and my shoulder has improved everyday. It still hurts like crazy sometimes, but I can now lift it above my head!!! Yeah!!! My bicep has shriveled from non-use. And though it was never big by any means, it now is soooo tiny!!! So sad.
Will I keep working on horses? You bet. Am I scared of them? No… but perhaps I’ll be a little more cautious. Will I be smarter and less stubborn now? For the time being. But in a couple of years I'll probably be back to hanging on to twitches 2 seconds longer than I should.....
Yee haw!
Inky Johnson is a football player for UT. The day my accident happened I was talking to Dr. Nice about him and his injury. Inky really, really screwed up his shoulder during a game - damaging the nerves so extensively that he will never play football again and might never have useful function of his arm. Pretty terrible.
And it was fresh on my mind when my arm lay behind my body unable to move.
Thankfully, my injury was MUCH less severe than Inky's. Whew.
Since I've been in VA, I've done a lot of horse work. Though I didn't grow up with horses, I have a knack for dealing with them (so I've been told.) I'm not scared of them - they can't bluff me. I'm also pretty stubborn when I'm working with them, which I have said numerous times is going to get me hurt 'one day.' 'One day' has come and gone.
That 'one day' was Friday, September 22nd. I was doing pre-purchase exams on two yearling Irish Sport horse colts. Though only a year of age (horses grow until they are 2-3) they were both very large. Typical for the breed. One of these horses was a stallion - and though he was very good for most of his exam (especially considering he was a baby) the owner told me he was very needle shy. I needed a blood sample from his jugular and he didn't exactly like the idea.
I tried numerous tricks to get this blood. I have never NOT gotten a blood sample from a horse. Never. At one point I had a half a tube of blood - enough - then the tube fell from his neck and he stepped on it. I cringed as I watched the glass break beneath his hoof and his blood spread out on the ground - useless to me. bah. At my wits end, I blindfolded him with a towel over his eyes and then attempted to put a twitch on his nose. A twitch is a metal clamp of sorts that causes an endorphin release and usually has a calming effect on horses. That's once you get it on their nose. I need to set this up for you visually so you will understand what happened:
I was standing in front of a very tall, young stallion with his eyes covered. His owner was holding a lead rope attached to his halter and she was standing to my right. I approached him from the front and grabbed his nose with my left hand in order to put the twitch on and hold it closed (think clamp) with my right. He immediately jerked his head back (as I would) and pulled his nose free from the twitch. I repeated the process again, only REALLY holding on with my right hand this time - very tightly. He backed up - I went with him. He pulled his head up - I hung on. (This is where my stubbornness got the better of me....) He then reared up on his back feet and he pulled me underneath him (cause I didn't let go). I turned to my left to get out from under him but as he brought his front legs back down to the ground, my shoulder got in the way. And how.
Now, he was blindfolded - he couldn't see me. I really don't think he was trying to hurt me. He was just fed up with me messing with him.
Anyway, he knocked me to the ground, but somehow didn't step on me. The owner calmed him down, removed his blindfold, and put him away. I was knocked to my left side and as I sat up, I realized that my right arm was behind me - and I couldn't move it.
Insert horror flash thought of Inky Johnson.
I used my left arm to bring my right arm to my lap and then the worst tingling and burning I have ever felt commenced to overtake my forearm and hand. I can only figure that I hit my elbow (and the not-so-funny bone) in the process. The owner of the horse is an ER nurse and she asked me if I was ok. I replied "I don't think so." I was very calm. Very cool. I started to wiggle my fingers. Sigh. That's good. I felt up and down my arm - nothing was broken. Yeah. Then I tried to move my arm - uh oh. It no workey. Without taking my clothes off, the nurse figured that I had dislocated my shoulder. Crap. I was supposed to work all weekend!
I was doing a pre-purchase exam, which is an exam before a horse is purchased, so both buyer and seller were present. (We like to name things accordingly in vet med so no one is confused.) The buyer and seller helped me to my feet and got me to my truck. I got my cell phone and called the clinic to let them know I was out of commission for at least the day and on my way to the ER. Then I started to cry. I'm not sure why. I wasn't hurting that bad. I guess it's the adrenaline rush let-down.... I don't know.
It was decided that I would leave my truck there - and the buyer of the horses would drive me to the hospital 40 minutes away and someone from the clinic would come and get my truck. The nurse gave me 4 Advil before I left - and I'm SO thankful that she did - cause it really started hurting on the way and they didn't give me any pain meds at the hospital.
I cried off and on all the way to the hospital - being very upset with myself that I was crying. (Which only made me cry more!) Rachael, my office manager, was waiting on me when I got to the ER. Then I really started crying. I cried as I told the admissions nurse what I thought was wrong. They took me right back to a room and helped me get my clothes off so I could get a good look at my non-functioning arm. I cried as I told the nurse what happened. I cried as they took my x-rays and as I looked at them. (No dislocation! But why can't I move it?!?) And I cried as the very cute doctor told me what actually was wrong - a separated shoulder. I cried as Rachael called Matt and as she told me that he would be there as soon as possible. And I cried most of the night when I tried to talk about it. Maybe I just needed a good cry. :)
The next day I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I guess this horse was in reality only slightly smaller than a truck - hah! My left neck and back were so sore I could barely move. Matt was my hero - he took very good care of me all weekend. And Dr. Nice and Dr. Bowman took over my work duty. They are great friends to me.
A separated shoulder is a ligament injury. It's a tear between the collarbone and the shoulder. There are a lot of muscles that attach there and that's why I couldn't lift my arm. I saw an orthopedic surgeon a week later and he said that time would heal it.
It's been a month now - and my shoulder has improved everyday. It still hurts like crazy sometimes, but I can now lift it above my head!!! Yeah!!! My bicep has shriveled from non-use. And though it was never big by any means, it now is soooo tiny!!! So sad.
Will I keep working on horses? You bet. Am I scared of them? No… but perhaps I’ll be a little more cautious. Will I be smarter and less stubborn now? For the time being. But in a couple of years I'll probably be back to hanging on to twitches 2 seconds longer than I should.....
Yee haw!
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Injuries - old and new
So, this vet thing can sometimes be hazardous to your health. :)
I'm fine.
Sort of.
I meant to write several weeks ago as I had a revisit to one of the first farms I visited here in VA.
But I'm going to be really random and travel back even further and explain how it is that I came to be here in VA. Hang on. I'm feeling a little..... texty.
(I just made myself laugh out loud.)
When I was a senior in vet school, I began looking for jobs all over the US. There is a veterinary journal that most clinics advertise in when they are looking to hire new vets. I went through every state listed and made a note of any clinics that were of interest. For those that had an email address, I emailed my resume. For those that did not, I snail mailed it. I sent resumes to approximately 50-60 clinics. My criteria were as follows: I wanted to work in a mixed animal practice. I wanted to be near the mountains. I wanted to work with licensed veterinary technicians. I wanted to work in a high-quality practice - for I was told repeatedly that the habits you learn the first year of practice stay with you for you lifetime. (The place I chose met all those, BTW.)
So, I had this huge stack of clinics in my "possible job" stack. And over the following weeks I had a ton of phone interviews and even traveled to Kentucky, North Carolina, Georgia, and Pennsylvania to do in-person interviews. I talked with vets in Colorado, Idaho, (darn! I really wanted to go to Idaho!) Wyoming, California, and Montanta. And all along there was this practice in VA that kept resurfacing in my stack. I had emailed them my resume - but the email address in the journal was mis-printed and it bounced back to me. No prob - bottom of the stack it goes. More weeks go by. I have graduated and I don't have a job. I'm a little stressed about that. Perhaps I should give this clinic in VA a call. I have written the phone # down - incorrectly - and the job is no longer posted in the journal. Rargh. Things are not looking good for VA. But, I ask my best friends if they have the number. They do. (BTW, I still have the piece of paper that I wrote "Waynesboro" on.) :) I called the clinic. I asked if I could come visit..... the next day. "Sure." I had no idea what I was walking into and I was so 'over' the interview process that I completely forgot to even bring along a resume! I, a total stranger, just show up at mid day, spend the night, and work a little more the next day, then come home. But before I leave, I am told that my future employer 'really needs to see a resume and have some references.' That probably would be the professional way to do things.
He liked my resume and invited me to a three day interview to see how I would fit in with the practice. I was to stay at his home and go everywhere and do everything he did. Cool. Trial by fire. Indeed.
I remember several things about those 3 days. I remember TWO uterine prolapses in one day. I had made it all the way through vet school without seeing one and here I see TWO in the same day. I remember asking 'is this normal?' (Thank goodness, it is not!) I also remember getting kicked. And how.
I visited the farm it happened on a few weeks ago. I had not stepped foot nor driven by this farm since that day. Nostalgia swept over me as I turned into the driveway. I remember Dr. Bowman saying as we drove past the old colonial house that it would be great to sit on that porch reading a good book. I remember the corral and the chute. I remember the kick. :)
At this point, I think the story would be better told as I told it originally. Bear with me as I find that old email....
Found it. Here it is:
He had me do all of the drop-off cases (mostly vaccinations) then we
headed out to run some farm calls. He told me of what he had heard
about me from my references and that if what they said was true, then
he was very interested in getting to know me. :) We ran this one
call, I think it was Thursday, where we castrated some calves using a
clamp - something I had never done before. It was very awkward and
very, very difficult for me to do physically. It took every ounce of
strength I could muster in order to get the job done. But I didn't
quit. Not even after being pooped on on the side of the head
(complete with an ear full and some on my lips - yum!) - not even
after getting wholloped in the neck. This one calf kicked the
absolute crap out of me. (picture is attached of the bruise - it
hurts worse than it looks - I honestly thought I had broken my
collarbone) It was all I could do not to cry - but I was determined
not to. I just kept working. When they asked me if I was okay (they
saw the immediate knot develop) all I could do was nod my head - if I
had tried to say anything, I would have started crying. When all was
said and done I was complimented by both farmer and Dr. Bowman for my
"grit". Bonus points. :) The farmer said that if that had been him
and a calf kicked him that hard, he would have handed of the clamp
and said "that's quite enough for me". Quite possibly one of the
best compliments I've ever been given.
What actually transpired is that the calf the farmer was holding by the tail (so he couldn't kick me) began to lay down. Right as I was about to 'clamp' him, Dr. Bowman advised the farmer to let up a little on the tail. He let up a little much and as I backed away from the calf to get leverage to close the clamp.... WHAM!!! I got blasted with the leg in full extension. I finished the job. Then I was done.
So, as I started this blog I was explaining how I went to that farm again recently. And that farmer also recounted the event - again saying how impressed he was with me that day. He then went on to tell me that everytime he sees Dr. Bowman, he hears nothing but good stories about me. :)
I also recently separated my shoulder. But I'm tired. I'll tell that story later. :)
It's pretty good, too. More drama than this one. Drama drama. That's my life.
I'm fine.
Sort of.
I meant to write several weeks ago as I had a revisit to one of the first farms I visited here in VA.
But I'm going to be really random and travel back even further and explain how it is that I came to be here in VA. Hang on. I'm feeling a little..... texty.
(I just made myself laugh out loud.)
When I was a senior in vet school, I began looking for jobs all over the US. There is a veterinary journal that most clinics advertise in when they are looking to hire new vets. I went through every state listed and made a note of any clinics that were of interest. For those that had an email address, I emailed my resume. For those that did not, I snail mailed it. I sent resumes to approximately 50-60 clinics. My criteria were as follows: I wanted to work in a mixed animal practice. I wanted to be near the mountains. I wanted to work with licensed veterinary technicians. I wanted to work in a high-quality practice - for I was told repeatedly that the habits you learn the first year of practice stay with you for you lifetime. (The place I chose met all those, BTW.)
So, I had this huge stack of clinics in my "possible job" stack. And over the following weeks I had a ton of phone interviews and even traveled to Kentucky, North Carolina, Georgia, and Pennsylvania to do in-person interviews. I talked with vets in Colorado, Idaho, (darn! I really wanted to go to Idaho!) Wyoming, California, and Montanta. And all along there was this practice in VA that kept resurfacing in my stack. I had emailed them my resume - but the email address in the journal was mis-printed and it bounced back to me. No prob - bottom of the stack it goes. More weeks go by. I have graduated and I don't have a job. I'm a little stressed about that. Perhaps I should give this clinic in VA a call. I have written the phone # down - incorrectly - and the job is no longer posted in the journal. Rargh. Things are not looking good for VA. But, I ask my best friends if they have the number. They do. (BTW, I still have the piece of paper that I wrote "Waynesboro" on.) :) I called the clinic. I asked if I could come visit..... the next day. "Sure." I had no idea what I was walking into and I was so 'over' the interview process that I completely forgot to even bring along a resume! I, a total stranger, just show up at mid day, spend the night, and work a little more the next day, then come home. But before I leave, I am told that my future employer 'really needs to see a resume and have some references.' That probably would be the professional way to do things.
He liked my resume and invited me to a three day interview to see how I would fit in with the practice. I was to stay at his home and go everywhere and do everything he did. Cool. Trial by fire. Indeed.
I remember several things about those 3 days. I remember TWO uterine prolapses in one day. I had made it all the way through vet school without seeing one and here I see TWO in the same day. I remember asking 'is this normal?' (Thank goodness, it is not!) I also remember getting kicked. And how.
I visited the farm it happened on a few weeks ago. I had not stepped foot nor driven by this farm since that day. Nostalgia swept over me as I turned into the driveway. I remember Dr. Bowman saying as we drove past the old colonial house that it would be great to sit on that porch reading a good book. I remember the corral and the chute. I remember the kick. :)
At this point, I think the story would be better told as I told it originally. Bear with me as I find that old email....
Found it. Here it is:
He had me do all of the drop-off cases (mostly vaccinations) then we
headed out to run some farm calls. He told me of what he had heard
about me from my references and that if what they said was true, then
he was very interested in getting to know me. :) We ran this one
call, I think it was Thursday, where we castrated some calves using a
clamp - something I had never done before. It was very awkward and
very, very difficult for me to do physically. It took every ounce of
strength I could muster in order to get the job done. But I didn't
quit. Not even after being pooped on on the side of the head
(complete with an ear full and some on my lips - yum!) - not even
after getting wholloped in the neck. This one calf kicked the
absolute crap out of me. (picture is attached of the bruise - it
hurts worse than it looks - I honestly thought I had broken my
collarbone) It was all I could do not to cry - but I was determined
not to. I just kept working. When they asked me if I was okay (they
saw the immediate knot develop) all I could do was nod my head - if I
had tried to say anything, I would have started crying. When all was
said and done I was complimented by both farmer and Dr. Bowman for my
"grit". Bonus points. :) The farmer said that if that had been him
and a calf kicked him that hard, he would have handed of the clamp
and said "that's quite enough for me". Quite possibly one of the
best compliments I've ever been given.
What actually transpired is that the calf the farmer was holding by the tail (so he couldn't kick me) began to lay down. Right as I was about to 'clamp' him, Dr. Bowman advised the farmer to let up a little on the tail. He let up a little much and as I backed away from the calf to get leverage to close the clamp.... WHAM!!! I got blasted with the leg in full extension. I finished the job. Then I was done.
So, as I started this blog I was explaining how I went to that farm again recently. And that farmer also recounted the event - again saying how impressed he was with me that day. He then went on to tell me that everytime he sees Dr. Bowman, he hears nothing but good stories about me. :)
I also recently separated my shoulder. But I'm tired. I'll tell that story later. :)
It's pretty good, too. More drama than this one. Drama drama. That's my life.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Odd day. Odd.
So, there are some days when my job is not so much fun. We all have those days.... days when nothing seems to go quite right. Days when you are so busy you don't even have time to pee or eat or take care of patients and clients the way you'd like or have the time to really think about cases before deciding what to do to help them. Ok, I guess not EVERYONE has days like that. But I do. And then there are some days that I just exclaim that I have THE best job on the planet. Something happens that lets me peek into another part of this big world we live in and experience some real, true.... joy. Usually I have one of these days or the other - or something in between - but today was both extremes in one.
:)
I woke up tired. I woke up grumpy. But, I tried to put my best foot forward despite these setbacks. But I was not perky. I had some surgeries this morning to tend to, no real hassle there. But Dr. Nice is out of the office (his baby daughter was born yesterday!!!) and Dr. B was out doing a herd check so it was just me in the office. This is not a new situation for me - it is no cause for panic. But it just seemed like everything broke loose all at once. I had a litter of 7 Boxer pups to remove tails on, I had a cat that I needed to extract 3 NOT LOOSE teeth on (this is very difficult, people!) and I had a scheduled 11:30 'appointment', a scheduled 'work in' 11:30 appointment, AND a 'walk in' 11:30 - they all showed up at the same time. I had to stop working on the puppies to pull the teeth and I just had to keep people waiting cause I could only be in one place at a time. Sigh.
My 'appointment' was routine vaccines - quick and easy, nice and breezy. My 'walk in' was a cat that was coughing - and I was told before I entered the room that the owner had said that the cat 'thought he {the cat!} was a doctor' because her finger had been hurting and the cat bit her right where it was hurting. I shook my head and smiled and in we went.... our visit was pleasant enough and we fixed things up (I hope!) but it just made me realize that it takes all kinds to make the world go round. My 'work in' was a 22 year old cat with owners who were struggling with the decision to put her to sleep. I never try to appear rushed with these clients. It's one of the hardest times for owners - they love their pet, but they don't want them to suffer. It's my job to help them come the right decision for them and their specific pet and then guide them through the process. It's actually something I think I'm quite good at.... but it always makes me a little sad.
But I am not allowed to dwell in the sad place - there are too many things to do. I had a dog that had been in labor all night with one puppy still inside of her to try and help. I had given her injections to help with her contractions and she passed out a lot of NASTY fluid - NASTY, GROSS, STUNK UP MY HOSPITAL fluid - but no puppy. There was only one option left, and that was to do a c-section. The owners didn't want to for financial reasons, so they came to take her home so she could die (they'll probably shoot her once she gets sick enough.) But that is very frustrating. I can FIX her - but I am not allowed to try. :( There are so many things I CAN'T fix that it is excrutiating when I'm not allowed to fix the things I am able to. Rargh.
I have back to back appointments and in the middle of them I am met with a jewel of a man who helped me to laugh through the rest of my day. He is an older man, and he has a young cat that has bumps and hair loss on its ears. Looks like sunburn to me - so I ask him if the cat spends much time outdoors? He replied that the cat goes in and out but always watches TV with him in the afternoon. I playfully asked him what the cat's favorite show is and he replies with no hesitation "Beverly Hills." I ask "The Beverly Hillbillies?" He says, "No. Beverly Hills 90210 - comes on every afternoon from 5-7 on the Soap channel." WHAT?!? This guy is in his 80's and he watches the Soap channel? :) He proceeds to then fill us in on the actual ages of the actors on the show when it was filmed because they talk about them now in STAR magazine and it tells how old they are now and the show was filmed in 1992 (or whatever) and if "you do the math" you know that they were not teenagers but actually in their 20's during the show. :) He proceeded to tell us all kinds of things - he likes numbers - for I now know that from his house to somewhere in Alabama it is 651 miles and his old cat rode in the back of truck the whole way. Not 650 miles. I asked him to clarify. 651. :) Such a precious man.
Now we are getting to the good stuff. I got a call that there was a cow having trouble calving in a town about 45 minutes away and that I would need to bring my dart gun for they had no way of catching the cow. I load up with Sarah (4th year vet student who's here with us for 3 weeks) and Becky (a receptionist at our clinic who wants to go to vet school) the dart gun, and my lunch (2:30pm) and head out. We get to the house - and no one is there. We wait 30 minutes and the owners finally show up. (We had called to say that we were on our way....) No apologies for being late. We drive to a pasture where she was last seen - we drive around - she is not to be found. We then drive to another pasture and we see her. I load up the dart gun (after a brief phone instruction conversation with Dr. B on how to change the CO2 cartridge) and walk towards her. She bolts. She bolts into the previous pasture. The owner tells us to drive back around there and they will bring the rest of the herd and some food and try to get her to stand still so I can shoot her with the dart. We drive over to the other field - I already have a dart in the gun - so I get the bright idea.....
I'll shoot her from the truck!!!!
And I did. :)
I felt like.... oh, I don't know..... some kind of illegal hunter shooting a deer from a vehicle. But I had different prey - I was hunting.... COW!!!!
I drove up to her with my window down and my dart gun rifle across my legs (the end of the barrel hanging out the window.) She's not as scared of the truck as she was me on foot. This was good. I drove slowly and stealthly near her, slowed to a stop, then POW!!! A perfect shot to her hind quarters. One problem: the dart popped out. She got a little sedation, but not enough. Sigh. I loaded another dart and shot her - but I aimed a little too high and it sailed over her back. 3rd dart - direct hit. :) She got sleepy. She layed down. We tried to rope her to tie her to the truck but she got up and took off (adrenaline is a powerful thing.) I darted her again - beautiful shot. Perfection. She layed down. She got up and ran. She layed down - I put the chains of the calf's feet that were hanging out of her. She got up and ran again. I'm not liking this cow. She layed down - we got her roped - and we pulled the calf. The whole time this was going on, we could see the calf's tongue hanging out (which usually indicates a dead calf.) We pulled the calf quite quickly and the little bugger started breathing! His head and tongue were very swollen, but he was alive! It just made our day. Granted, it would have been more enjoyable if it hadn't taken 3 hours to get to this point... but it was great. It was a great experience for a soon to be doctor (never give up!) and a want to be vet (what could be better than this?!?)
Amongst the frustrations of this outing, we had to hold our laughter over one thing: the owner of the cow kept calling to her "Hannah! Come here Hannah!" She called even when the cow was so drunk she was tripping over herself, calling, quite expectantly, I believe, for the cow to come to her. "Hannah!" What was she going to do with her if she DID come to her?!? Hug her neck and make her stand still? We laugh. :) It takes all kinds.
Odd day. I love my job. :)
ps - next day update: the calf is alive and doing well. 'Hannah' won't have anything to do with this new baby, but the owner is bottle feeding it and he is nursing well. :)
:)
I woke up tired. I woke up grumpy. But, I tried to put my best foot forward despite these setbacks. But I was not perky. I had some surgeries this morning to tend to, no real hassle there. But Dr. Nice is out of the office (his baby daughter was born yesterday!!!) and Dr. B was out doing a herd check so it was just me in the office. This is not a new situation for me - it is no cause for panic. But it just seemed like everything broke loose all at once. I had a litter of 7 Boxer pups to remove tails on, I had a cat that I needed to extract 3 NOT LOOSE teeth on (this is very difficult, people!) and I had a scheduled 11:30 'appointment', a scheduled 'work in' 11:30 appointment, AND a 'walk in' 11:30 - they all showed up at the same time. I had to stop working on the puppies to pull the teeth and I just had to keep people waiting cause I could only be in one place at a time. Sigh.
My 'appointment' was routine vaccines - quick and easy, nice and breezy. My 'walk in' was a cat that was coughing - and I was told before I entered the room that the owner had said that the cat 'thought he {the cat!} was a doctor' because her finger had been hurting and the cat bit her right where it was hurting. I shook my head and smiled and in we went.... our visit was pleasant enough and we fixed things up (I hope!) but it just made me realize that it takes all kinds to make the world go round. My 'work in' was a 22 year old cat with owners who were struggling with the decision to put her to sleep. I never try to appear rushed with these clients. It's one of the hardest times for owners - they love their pet, but they don't want them to suffer. It's my job to help them come the right decision for them and their specific pet and then guide them through the process. It's actually something I think I'm quite good at.... but it always makes me a little sad.
But I am not allowed to dwell in the sad place - there are too many things to do. I had a dog that had been in labor all night with one puppy still inside of her to try and help. I had given her injections to help with her contractions and she passed out a lot of NASTY fluid - NASTY, GROSS, STUNK UP MY HOSPITAL fluid - but no puppy. There was only one option left, and that was to do a c-section. The owners didn't want to for financial reasons, so they came to take her home so she could die (they'll probably shoot her once she gets sick enough.) But that is very frustrating. I can FIX her - but I am not allowed to try. :( There are so many things I CAN'T fix that it is excrutiating when I'm not allowed to fix the things I am able to. Rargh.
I have back to back appointments and in the middle of them I am met with a jewel of a man who helped me to laugh through the rest of my day. He is an older man, and he has a young cat that has bumps and hair loss on its ears. Looks like sunburn to me - so I ask him if the cat spends much time outdoors? He replied that the cat goes in and out but always watches TV with him in the afternoon. I playfully asked him what the cat's favorite show is and he replies with no hesitation "Beverly Hills." I ask "The Beverly Hillbillies?" He says, "No. Beverly Hills 90210 - comes on every afternoon from 5-7 on the Soap channel." WHAT?!? This guy is in his 80's and he watches the Soap channel? :) He proceeds to then fill us in on the actual ages of the actors on the show when it was filmed because they talk about them now in STAR magazine and it tells how old they are now and the show was filmed in 1992 (or whatever) and if "you do the math" you know that they were not teenagers but actually in their 20's during the show. :) He proceeded to tell us all kinds of things - he likes numbers - for I now know that from his house to somewhere in Alabama it is 651 miles and his old cat rode in the back of truck the whole way. Not 650 miles. I asked him to clarify. 651. :) Such a precious man.
Now we are getting to the good stuff. I got a call that there was a cow having trouble calving in a town about 45 minutes away and that I would need to bring my dart gun for they had no way of catching the cow. I load up with Sarah (4th year vet student who's here with us for 3 weeks) and Becky (a receptionist at our clinic who wants to go to vet school) the dart gun, and my lunch (2:30pm) and head out. We get to the house - and no one is there. We wait 30 minutes and the owners finally show up. (We had called to say that we were on our way....) No apologies for being late. We drive to a pasture where she was last seen - we drive around - she is not to be found. We then drive to another pasture and we see her. I load up the dart gun (after a brief phone instruction conversation with Dr. B on how to change the CO2 cartridge) and walk towards her. She bolts. She bolts into the previous pasture. The owner tells us to drive back around there and they will bring the rest of the herd and some food and try to get her to stand still so I can shoot her with the dart. We drive over to the other field - I already have a dart in the gun - so I get the bright idea.....
I'll shoot her from the truck!!!!
And I did. :)
I felt like.... oh, I don't know..... some kind of illegal hunter shooting a deer from a vehicle. But I had different prey - I was hunting.... COW!!!!
I drove up to her with my window down and my dart gun rifle across my legs (the end of the barrel hanging out the window.) She's not as scared of the truck as she was me on foot. This was good. I drove slowly and stealthly near her, slowed to a stop, then POW!!! A perfect shot to her hind quarters. One problem: the dart popped out. She got a little sedation, but not enough. Sigh. I loaded another dart and shot her - but I aimed a little too high and it sailed over her back. 3rd dart - direct hit. :) She got sleepy. She layed down. We tried to rope her to tie her to the truck but she got up and took off (adrenaline is a powerful thing.) I darted her again - beautiful shot. Perfection. She layed down. She got up and ran. She layed down - I put the chains of the calf's feet that were hanging out of her. She got up and ran again. I'm not liking this cow. She layed down - we got her roped - and we pulled the calf. The whole time this was going on, we could see the calf's tongue hanging out (which usually indicates a dead calf.) We pulled the calf quite quickly and the little bugger started breathing! His head and tongue were very swollen, but he was alive! It just made our day. Granted, it would have been more enjoyable if it hadn't taken 3 hours to get to this point... but it was great. It was a great experience for a soon to be doctor (never give up!) and a want to be vet (what could be better than this?!?)
Amongst the frustrations of this outing, we had to hold our laughter over one thing: the owner of the cow kept calling to her "Hannah! Come here Hannah!" She called even when the cow was so drunk she was tripping over herself, calling, quite expectantly, I believe, for the cow to come to her. "Hannah!" What was she going to do with her if she DID come to her?!? Hug her neck and make her stand still? We laugh. :) It takes all kinds.
Odd day. I love my job. :)
ps - next day update: the calf is alive and doing well. 'Hannah' won't have anything to do with this new baby, but the owner is bottle feeding it and he is nursing well. :)
Thursday, August 10, 2006
The compassion story
So, when last I typed I was telling of my weekend. My weekend actually started on Wednesday night. We had a meeting at church to prepare for our three day mission trip at my church. Wednesday night's service was one of worship and mostly prayer for what God wanted to do in and through us over the next few days.
It's been quite a long time since I've prayed like that. It's been a long time since I've felt God stirring in my heart - trying desperately to say something to me.
He did.
A revelation occurred to me. I love organized missions. I love overseas mission trips. I love planning with other people to go and tell about Jesus' love - I get all excited. I love expecting God to do something, because we are asking and we are waiting for Him to move. And it has been my experience that when we are expecting Him to move, He allows us to see when He does.
The difference between a mission trip for me and my everyday life is that when I approach a mission trip - I prepare my heart through prayer and the Word. I also expect God to move. I do neither of these things on a daily basis anymore.
It had been so long since I'd dealt with God on day to day terms that I had forgotten what that looks like, what it feels like. I claim that my interaction with people through my profession is a ministry - and I believe that it is - but I have for so long been doing so on my own strength. I have no expectation of God doing anything, so I am unaware when He actually does.
Wednesday night as we prayed, my heart was softened. I felt more of that same compassion that I felt for the people with so many dogs.....(see previous post) I felt like God was imparting to me a bit of His heart. What a privilege.
Matt commented on how much He felt like the Spirit of God was there and working among us that night. I understood what he meant.
Our mission was simple. We were to spend the next 3 days doing renovations on a home owned by an older couple in our area. The husband, Wes, was very handy and had started a lot of projects on the house. They never got finished, however, because last July he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. They operated, but his health has been declining. The wife, Shirley, had let the chores of the house go undone as she cared for Wes. We came together as a team to bless them by doing the things that Wes wanted done. My church is full of carpenters and those skilled in home repair - they look for opportunities to use their skills to help others. This time I got to play along.
We arrived Thursday morning after meeting at the church as a team to spend time with God alone and to then come together to pray. We arrived at the work scene and quickly divided to do our jobs. I was a power-washer. I power washed all the decks and 2 sides of the house. For seven hours I power washed. :) It was great - like cleaning with power tools. At 10am or so, Shirley left the house to go a doctor's appointment of her own. She had not left Wes's side for weeks. Wes passed away shortly after she left. We stopped working. We got together and prayed. We then got back to work. We all felt so strongly that our presence there at this specific time was nothing short of Divine planning.
Shirley returned home and suddenly our work seemed so trivial. We had planned for months to do this work, but now it seemed almost wrong to do. Shirley asked that we continue. So we did. We got a lot done and I only pray that as we were there over the next few days our presence was a comfort to this family. I hope that as Shirley goes out and looks at her new yard and deck and water garden that Wes wanted her to have that the beauty and newness will comfort her.
We finished at the work site everyday around 3:30 and we then would go to the YMCA to take much needed showers. We would then go back to the church and eat supper then head to the local park. We had two teams at the park: a Kids Kamp (think VBS) for kids in the park and an evangelism team who went out to share the love of Christ with people hanging out in the park. The first night, Matt and I were in the Kids Kamp as 'parents' - our job was to talk with parents who had brought their kids to us and to act a literal parents to the young ones running around to ensure that all were safe and having a good time. It was a fun night and we had the kids from our church and several 'newbies.'
We went back to the church, shared our experiences, and then went to bed. I was in a room with about 10 teenage girls - but I slept great. :)
We were encouraged to know that God was indeed moving and working among us as we 'debriefed' that night. Two of our teenage kids went out to talk to some other teenagers in the park's skateboard area. The skaters asked our two where they went to high school. As Rachel said that she went to Grace Christian School, one of the skaters said "Man, I wish I could be a Christian!" Excuse me?!? That's not a normal response, folks. Our two shared the Gospel with this young man and he is indeed now a Christian believer. Woo Hoo!
Friday morning started at 6:30am to ensure that all of us got to spend time with God alone, then eat, then pray as a group. At the house was more work, more power washing for me and then lots of painting. Matt and I were to be evangelists that night at the park and we were paired up with different folks. I don't think I can explain ALL that happened but here's the breakdown:
Matt and Chris went and talked to some kids at the skate park. One, Danny, talked with Matt intently about some life issues. He was interested in talking about what being a believer is like, what it means. He had just come back from a Young Life camp and was encouraged by Matt.
Sara, Page, and myself appeared later at the skate park. We spoke with several kids: Josh, Kaitlin, and Jenny. A little into our conversation, Danny appeared. Danny then proclaimed to his friends that he was a Christian, how he became so, and began sharing the benefits of being a believer (righteousness, forgiveness, etc.) He spoke boldly and with confidence. Kaitlin was distant at first, but softened as we spoke with her. Josh was eager to listen and share his opinions. Josh and Kaitlin both spoke of how they have been treated by 'the church' - commenting that their opinions were not valued and that people were 'stuck up.' We listened with compassion - and they said that we could come back and talk with them about spiritual things anytime.
So cool!
Side story: I recently read a book called 'Blue Like Jazz' - and it has so made me reconsider how the church operates. It has made me think about how Jesus did things, how He loved people. And how the modern day church doesn't do a very good job with this. Things the author said kept coming to mind as I talked with these kids.
At debriefing that night we were so excited to hear each other's stories. We had no idea Matt had spoken with Danny - and Matt was thrilled to hear that the same guy he had spoken to who was unsure of his belief was now - 15 minutes later - sharing his faith boldly! THEN - we find out that Thursday night the teenage girls had all gotten together and prayed specifically for Kaitlin - for they know her because she used to attend the church when she was small but has since rejected the church. They had prayed that someone would be able to talk to her. It was quite amazing. I was convicted though about how much I talked, and how little I listened.
Saturday we were up early again - we spent time in the Word, ate, prayed, then went out to finish the work project - and it was just so great. We then spent the rest of the day in the park - and had a cook out. I was asked by two of our girls if I would go with them to the skate park to look for Kaitlin. We made our way over there, but she wasn't around. We decided to just hang out and talk with the kids and invite them to our cookout. They said they would come. ALL of them. Then Kaitlin arrived. And she also came to our cookout. Incredible. She does NOT like the church - and not only did she come to our 'church cookout' she brought friends. She then left, and came back with more!
Now, you need to understand that these kids fit the typical skater crowd. They are all dressed in black, have tattoos, long hair, piercings, speak in rough language, etc. Not the 'type' that would come to a church cookout, let alone feel comfortable doing so. But as we listened to them - heard their stories, their pain, their trials - they began to trust us. We behaved as if we liked them - as if we actually cared about them. And it was through HIS heart that we actually did! So they in turn came to eat with us. And we were able to care about them some more.
It was quite a sight seeing these 15 or so skater kids descend on our church picnic, but everyone welcomed them. We had some good, no great, conversations. And you know what? Some of them showed up at church the next day. :) And they heard how much God loves them and they heard how much trial and suffering He endured just so they could know Him and experience His love and forgiveness. They heard that He loves them just as they are - no exceptions.
It was one of the more unique mission trips I've taken. Though I didn't leave the country, I did leave my culture. My safe, normal, 'people like me' culture. And as usual, God did something in my heart.
I only pray that every day can be seen as a mission day to me. That I would prepare and expect. That I would be able to love people like Jesus did - especially those that are cast out and looked down upon by 'normal' society.
It's how He did it. And that's good enough for me.
Compassion is the key. Listening helps, too. :)
It's been quite a long time since I've prayed like that. It's been a long time since I've felt God stirring in my heart - trying desperately to say something to me.
He did.
A revelation occurred to me. I love organized missions. I love overseas mission trips. I love planning with other people to go and tell about Jesus' love - I get all excited. I love expecting God to do something, because we are asking and we are waiting for Him to move. And it has been my experience that when we are expecting Him to move, He allows us to see when He does.
The difference between a mission trip for me and my everyday life is that when I approach a mission trip - I prepare my heart through prayer and the Word. I also expect God to move. I do neither of these things on a daily basis anymore.
It had been so long since I'd dealt with God on day to day terms that I had forgotten what that looks like, what it feels like. I claim that my interaction with people through my profession is a ministry - and I believe that it is - but I have for so long been doing so on my own strength. I have no expectation of God doing anything, so I am unaware when He actually does.
Wednesday night as we prayed, my heart was softened. I felt more of that same compassion that I felt for the people with so many dogs.....(see previous post) I felt like God was imparting to me a bit of His heart. What a privilege.
Matt commented on how much He felt like the Spirit of God was there and working among us that night. I understood what he meant.
Our mission was simple. We were to spend the next 3 days doing renovations on a home owned by an older couple in our area. The husband, Wes, was very handy and had started a lot of projects on the house. They never got finished, however, because last July he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. They operated, but his health has been declining. The wife, Shirley, had let the chores of the house go undone as she cared for Wes. We came together as a team to bless them by doing the things that Wes wanted done. My church is full of carpenters and those skilled in home repair - they look for opportunities to use their skills to help others. This time I got to play along.
We arrived Thursday morning after meeting at the church as a team to spend time with God alone and to then come together to pray. We arrived at the work scene and quickly divided to do our jobs. I was a power-washer. I power washed all the decks and 2 sides of the house. For seven hours I power washed. :) It was great - like cleaning with power tools. At 10am or so, Shirley left the house to go a doctor's appointment of her own. She had not left Wes's side for weeks. Wes passed away shortly after she left. We stopped working. We got together and prayed. We then got back to work. We all felt so strongly that our presence there at this specific time was nothing short of Divine planning.
Shirley returned home and suddenly our work seemed so trivial. We had planned for months to do this work, but now it seemed almost wrong to do. Shirley asked that we continue. So we did. We got a lot done and I only pray that as we were there over the next few days our presence was a comfort to this family. I hope that as Shirley goes out and looks at her new yard and deck and water garden that Wes wanted her to have that the beauty and newness will comfort her.
We finished at the work site everyday around 3:30 and we then would go to the YMCA to take much needed showers. We would then go back to the church and eat supper then head to the local park. We had two teams at the park: a Kids Kamp (think VBS) for kids in the park and an evangelism team who went out to share the love of Christ with people hanging out in the park. The first night, Matt and I were in the Kids Kamp as 'parents' - our job was to talk with parents who had brought their kids to us and to act a literal parents to the young ones running around to ensure that all were safe and having a good time. It was a fun night and we had the kids from our church and several 'newbies.'
We went back to the church, shared our experiences, and then went to bed. I was in a room with about 10 teenage girls - but I slept great. :)
We were encouraged to know that God was indeed moving and working among us as we 'debriefed' that night. Two of our teenage kids went out to talk to some other teenagers in the park's skateboard area. The skaters asked our two where they went to high school. As Rachel said that she went to Grace Christian School, one of the skaters said "Man, I wish I could be a Christian!" Excuse me?!? That's not a normal response, folks. Our two shared the Gospel with this young man and he is indeed now a Christian believer. Woo Hoo!
Friday morning started at 6:30am to ensure that all of us got to spend time with God alone, then eat, then pray as a group. At the house was more work, more power washing for me and then lots of painting. Matt and I were to be evangelists that night at the park and we were paired up with different folks. I don't think I can explain ALL that happened but here's the breakdown:
Matt and Chris went and talked to some kids at the skate park. One, Danny, talked with Matt intently about some life issues. He was interested in talking about what being a believer is like, what it means. He had just come back from a Young Life camp and was encouraged by Matt.
Sara, Page, and myself appeared later at the skate park. We spoke with several kids: Josh, Kaitlin, and Jenny. A little into our conversation, Danny appeared. Danny then proclaimed to his friends that he was a Christian, how he became so, and began sharing the benefits of being a believer (righteousness, forgiveness, etc.) He spoke boldly and with confidence. Kaitlin was distant at first, but softened as we spoke with her. Josh was eager to listen and share his opinions. Josh and Kaitlin both spoke of how they have been treated by 'the church' - commenting that their opinions were not valued and that people were 'stuck up.' We listened with compassion - and they said that we could come back and talk with them about spiritual things anytime.
So cool!
Side story: I recently read a book called 'Blue Like Jazz' - and it has so made me reconsider how the church operates. It has made me think about how Jesus did things, how He loved people. And how the modern day church doesn't do a very good job with this. Things the author said kept coming to mind as I talked with these kids.
At debriefing that night we were so excited to hear each other's stories. We had no idea Matt had spoken with Danny - and Matt was thrilled to hear that the same guy he had spoken to who was unsure of his belief was now - 15 minutes later - sharing his faith boldly! THEN - we find out that Thursday night the teenage girls had all gotten together and prayed specifically for Kaitlin - for they know her because she used to attend the church when she was small but has since rejected the church. They had prayed that someone would be able to talk to her. It was quite amazing. I was convicted though about how much I talked, and how little I listened.
Saturday we were up early again - we spent time in the Word, ate, prayed, then went out to finish the work project - and it was just so great. We then spent the rest of the day in the park - and had a cook out. I was asked by two of our girls if I would go with them to the skate park to look for Kaitlin. We made our way over there, but she wasn't around. We decided to just hang out and talk with the kids and invite them to our cookout. They said they would come. ALL of them. Then Kaitlin arrived. And she also came to our cookout. Incredible. She does NOT like the church - and not only did she come to our 'church cookout' she brought friends. She then left, and came back with more!
Now, you need to understand that these kids fit the typical skater crowd. They are all dressed in black, have tattoos, long hair, piercings, speak in rough language, etc. Not the 'type' that would come to a church cookout, let alone feel comfortable doing so. But as we listened to them - heard their stories, their pain, their trials - they began to trust us. We behaved as if we liked them - as if we actually cared about them. And it was through HIS heart that we actually did! So they in turn came to eat with us. And we were able to care about them some more.
It was quite a sight seeing these 15 or so skater kids descend on our church picnic, but everyone welcomed them. We had some good, no great, conversations. And you know what? Some of them showed up at church the next day. :) And they heard how much God loves them and they heard how much trial and suffering He endured just so they could know Him and experience His love and forgiveness. They heard that He loves them just as they are - no exceptions.
It was one of the more unique mission trips I've taken. Though I didn't leave the country, I did leave my culture. My safe, normal, 'people like me' culture. And as usual, God did something in my heart.
I only pray that every day can be seen as a mission day to me. That I would prepare and expect. That I would be able to love people like Jesus did - especially those that are cast out and looked down upon by 'normal' society.
It's how He did it. And that's good enough for me.
Compassion is the key. Listening helps, too. :)
Sunday, August 06, 2006
The gift of text....
I was recently told I had the 'gift of text.' In short order, that means I write a lot. I also talk a lot. This past weekend, I did a lot of listening. Thought I would share with you my experiences (through my gift of text.) :)
It all started with an unusual house call. As a vet, I make a lot of farm calls to deal with cows, horses, etc, but I also make house calls for dogs and cats. The most common house call I make is generally to put someone's pet to sleep for them. Letting a beloved pet pass on in its own bed is comforting to a lot of people - the pet doesn't have to deal with the added stress of coming to the clinic. It's much harder emotionally on me and my staff going into the family's home, but it's a service that I'm proud we offer.
Sometimes we also make house calls to do routine vaccines for multiple pets - instead of owners having the hassle of bringing 4 or 5 pets to us, we go to them. I always take along a technician to assist me - owners are not allowed to hold their pets as I'm examining them or giving them injections. I don't like getting bit. My staff ensures that I don't get bit.
I am going somewhere with this - hang with me.
Last Wednesday I was asked to go on a house call to vaccinate twenty dogs. Yes, that right. Twenty. 20. I was asked to do this by our local animal control officer. You see, in our county, you are only allowed to have 4 dogs max unless you have a kennel license. In order to get a kennel license, all dogs have to be healthy, vaccinated, and licensed with the county. These dogs were healthy, but not vaccinated or licensed. So, they were in a bit of a panic to get them so or else the county would take them away. There were a myriad of phone calls to this owner from my clinic - and the long and short of it is that I knew I was heading into an unusual circumstance. They could not give me directions to their house. They could not tell us the names of all the dogs. They could not tell us what breed of dogs they were. The animal control officer (who is a good friend of mine) asked me to call him when I was leaving to go out there - he wanted to meet me there to ensure my safety. He described them as 'unusual people' and some of the dogs were very large and he feared, quite vicious. He means well, but sometimes he underestimates me. :)
We were told that some of the dogs (12, in fact) were chihuahuas. The rest were large mixed breed dogs. So, me, my technician Jenny, and my high school mentee student, Ashley loaded up with our rabies snare pole, multiple muzzles, leather gloves, and lots of vaccine to our unknown destination. We had an address, and thankfully, I was able to find my way there. (The animal control officer had been called away to another house and was unable to meet us.)
On the way to this call, I really fought the urge to make fun of these people. I knew that more than likely, we were going to encounter poverty and ignorance. I was convicted that this was not grounds for judgment. They had already had their life attacked by the law that day - it was not up to me to make their day worse by judging them. I was there to provide a service for their pets, and I made up my mind to do so with the same care and dignity I try to deliver with everyone.
We pulled up to the gate - and they did not open it for us. :) We got out and let ourselves in (they were standing there watching) and I went and introduced myself and my crew. I looked them in the eye, shook their hands firmly as I asked their names. I smiled at them. They smiled back. I was introduced to the ladies sister - and was told that she has dementia and might say strange things to us. I went and shook her hand. She smiled.
I was overcome with compassion before I even arrived at their house - that was not of me. It was this compassion that stayed with me for the next several days and is the subject of this blog. (Aren't you glad we are finally getting around to that?)
We vaccinated 12 healthy little chihuahuas - and didn't get bit once. For those of you who don't know this breed of dog, they are kindly referred to in the vet profession as 'land sharks' - they often bite. Their small size makes them difficult to restrain, but my Jenny is a master. I have to brag on one move she made for it was vet tech perfection! The owner was handing the little dogs to Jenny one by one. As she did so, some would try to bite her. In one particular instance, the dog turned quite quickly to bite Jenny on the hand that was trying to hold him. Jenny (in one of the more impressive moves I've ever seen) let go of him from underneath, and as he fell, she caught him by the back of the neck in a 'scruff.' This rendered his teeth unable to reach any of us. I then took his back legs and gave him his shot. It was so quick and so smooth - my mouth fell open. You can't teach skill like that, folks.
Jenny and Ashley followed my lead and were so kind and friendly to these folks. They were an older couple and they bickered back and forth as is they had been married for years. Turns out they were just boyfriend and girlfriend, but the manner in which they regarded each other told us they had been together a long time. It was quite amusing.
After the chihuahuas were done, we entered the bonus round: seven dogs of various breeds - all large - all chained to trees in the backyard. I was impressed with their health, the amount of shade provided to them, and how clean their limited surroundings were kept (no dog crap to be seen.) We had the owners muzzle them, and then Jenny would restrain them for me. One in particular gave us a bit of a fit - a 13 year old, 120lb Rottweiler. The owner kept telling us to go up and pet him on the head - but we knew from the look on the dog's face that to do so would result in us losing a limb. She muzzled him and as we approached him he began to growl fiercely. She said "Oh, he doesn't like that muzzle, I think he'd do better if we took it off." Jenny and I remarked in unison "no!" - we'll leave it on, thank you very much. :) Jenny practically sat on him and he took his shot bravely.
I really am rambling at this point, but I have to remark on one more thing. After we were done, I did my normal chatting with the owners just to be polite and caring. The gentlemen took the opportunity to ask me a question. He asked me (straight faced and serious) why the female dogs only had puppies every 3-4 years (as opposed to yearly) - then remarked that they always kept the males away from them unless the males broke their chains.
Did you catch that?
I asked him if the female dogs appeared to be cycling - coming into heat (swelling and bloody discharge from the rear end) every six months or so like normal? He said they were - but then remarked AGAIN that they always kept the male dogs away from them.
I gently explained how dog reproduction works. The males have to breed WITH the females when they are in heat to make puppies. I really did want to come up with some other story as not to encourage them to breed even more, but I am not quick enough for that. He seemed to understand what I was saying and thanked me. We said our good-bye's and left.
I talked with Jenny and Ashley on the way home, we chuckled a bit about that last comment. We wondered if they had any children. :) But then I talked about how important education is - it is evident that these two missed out. We don't know what life circumstances they had to endure as young people. Our blessing is that we were able to be educated - and well - in our life. I felt warm fuzzies for them for the care they provided to her sister. They didn't have to do that - they could have the state take care of her. But they do it. I'm sure it's not easy, but they do it anyway. They are poor, they are uneducated, but they take care of their own.
It's a good lesson.
I learned more good lessons as the weekend went on - next blog, please. The compassion story does continue.
It all started with an unusual house call. As a vet, I make a lot of farm calls to deal with cows, horses, etc, but I also make house calls for dogs and cats. The most common house call I make is generally to put someone's pet to sleep for them. Letting a beloved pet pass on in its own bed is comforting to a lot of people - the pet doesn't have to deal with the added stress of coming to the clinic. It's much harder emotionally on me and my staff going into the family's home, but it's a service that I'm proud we offer.
Sometimes we also make house calls to do routine vaccines for multiple pets - instead of owners having the hassle of bringing 4 or 5 pets to us, we go to them. I always take along a technician to assist me - owners are not allowed to hold their pets as I'm examining them or giving them injections. I don't like getting bit. My staff ensures that I don't get bit.
I am going somewhere with this - hang with me.
Last Wednesday I was asked to go on a house call to vaccinate twenty dogs. Yes, that right. Twenty. 20. I was asked to do this by our local animal control officer. You see, in our county, you are only allowed to have 4 dogs max unless you have a kennel license. In order to get a kennel license, all dogs have to be healthy, vaccinated, and licensed with the county. These dogs were healthy, but not vaccinated or licensed. So, they were in a bit of a panic to get them so or else the county would take them away. There were a myriad of phone calls to this owner from my clinic - and the long and short of it is that I knew I was heading into an unusual circumstance. They could not give me directions to their house. They could not tell us the names of all the dogs. They could not tell us what breed of dogs they were. The animal control officer (who is a good friend of mine) asked me to call him when I was leaving to go out there - he wanted to meet me there to ensure my safety. He described them as 'unusual people' and some of the dogs were very large and he feared, quite vicious. He means well, but sometimes he underestimates me. :)
We were told that some of the dogs (12, in fact) were chihuahuas. The rest were large mixed breed dogs. So, me, my technician Jenny, and my high school mentee student, Ashley loaded up with our rabies snare pole, multiple muzzles, leather gloves, and lots of vaccine to our unknown destination. We had an address, and thankfully, I was able to find my way there. (The animal control officer had been called away to another house and was unable to meet us.)
On the way to this call, I really fought the urge to make fun of these people. I knew that more than likely, we were going to encounter poverty and ignorance. I was convicted that this was not grounds for judgment. They had already had their life attacked by the law that day - it was not up to me to make their day worse by judging them. I was there to provide a service for their pets, and I made up my mind to do so with the same care and dignity I try to deliver with everyone.
We pulled up to the gate - and they did not open it for us. :) We got out and let ourselves in (they were standing there watching) and I went and introduced myself and my crew. I looked them in the eye, shook their hands firmly as I asked their names. I smiled at them. They smiled back. I was introduced to the ladies sister - and was told that she has dementia and might say strange things to us. I went and shook her hand. She smiled.
I was overcome with compassion before I even arrived at their house - that was not of me. It was this compassion that stayed with me for the next several days and is the subject of this blog. (Aren't you glad we are finally getting around to that?)
We vaccinated 12 healthy little chihuahuas - and didn't get bit once. For those of you who don't know this breed of dog, they are kindly referred to in the vet profession as 'land sharks' - they often bite. Their small size makes them difficult to restrain, but my Jenny is a master. I have to brag on one move she made for it was vet tech perfection! The owner was handing the little dogs to Jenny one by one. As she did so, some would try to bite her. In one particular instance, the dog turned quite quickly to bite Jenny on the hand that was trying to hold him. Jenny (in one of the more impressive moves I've ever seen) let go of him from underneath, and as he fell, she caught him by the back of the neck in a 'scruff.' This rendered his teeth unable to reach any of us. I then took his back legs and gave him his shot. It was so quick and so smooth - my mouth fell open. You can't teach skill like that, folks.
Jenny and Ashley followed my lead and were so kind and friendly to these folks. They were an older couple and they bickered back and forth as is they had been married for years. Turns out they were just boyfriend and girlfriend, but the manner in which they regarded each other told us they had been together a long time. It was quite amusing.
After the chihuahuas were done, we entered the bonus round: seven dogs of various breeds - all large - all chained to trees in the backyard. I was impressed with their health, the amount of shade provided to them, and how clean their limited surroundings were kept (no dog crap to be seen.) We had the owners muzzle them, and then Jenny would restrain them for me. One in particular gave us a bit of a fit - a 13 year old, 120lb Rottweiler. The owner kept telling us to go up and pet him on the head - but we knew from the look on the dog's face that to do so would result in us losing a limb. She muzzled him and as we approached him he began to growl fiercely. She said "Oh, he doesn't like that muzzle, I think he'd do better if we took it off." Jenny and I remarked in unison "no!" - we'll leave it on, thank you very much. :) Jenny practically sat on him and he took his shot bravely.
I really am rambling at this point, but I have to remark on one more thing. After we were done, I did my normal chatting with the owners just to be polite and caring. The gentlemen took the opportunity to ask me a question. He asked me (straight faced and serious) why the female dogs only had puppies every 3-4 years (as opposed to yearly) - then remarked that they always kept the males away from them unless the males broke their chains.
Did you catch that?
I asked him if the female dogs appeared to be cycling - coming into heat (swelling and bloody discharge from the rear end) every six months or so like normal? He said they were - but then remarked AGAIN that they always kept the male dogs away from them.
I gently explained how dog reproduction works. The males have to breed WITH the females when they are in heat to make puppies. I really did want to come up with some other story as not to encourage them to breed even more, but I am not quick enough for that. He seemed to understand what I was saying and thanked me. We said our good-bye's and left.
I talked with Jenny and Ashley on the way home, we chuckled a bit about that last comment. We wondered if they had any children. :) But then I talked about how important education is - it is evident that these two missed out. We don't know what life circumstances they had to endure as young people. Our blessing is that we were able to be educated - and well - in our life. I felt warm fuzzies for them for the care they provided to her sister. They didn't have to do that - they could have the state take care of her. But they do it. I'm sure it's not easy, but they do it anyway. They are poor, they are uneducated, but they take care of their own.
It's a good lesson.
I learned more good lessons as the weekend went on - next blog, please. The compassion story does continue.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Wow, I'm in a writing mood. That hasn't happened in a while. :)
The title of this blog is 'the life of dr. brown' - and that life has been pretty interesting lately. From some massive calvings gone wrong to dealing with a dog whose tongue was ripped off (literally) I can say that my job has been anything but boring.
But it seems that when I talk about my job, most of my references go back to that first year. There are just so many good stories to tell. Adventures in my 5-speed truck, adapting to the personal side of dealing with clients, and dealing with farmers who would rather 'have a man to come out and do the job.' What a year that was. I so wish I had kept a blog or even a journal. Oh well.
What I can do is re-create the past several weeks of work. It's spring - lots of babies, lots of vaccinating horses, lots of work period. There are some days that I just drive all over creation vaccinating horses - which is great (to a point) for there are far worse places to drive around than central VA in the Spring. :) It really is beautiful here.
Several, several weeks ago I had two significant calvings in a week. I don't remember the first - but I remember that it wasn't a big deal. The second was a true breech - tail first - that took some work to deliver. The calf was dead, but not rotten. I did my normal clean up routine and went about my business. Several days later I began to feel very tired. VERY tired. Go to bed at 7pm tired. I lost my appetite. And though I never developed a fever, I began to experience some lymph node enlargement and significant discomfort in my right armpit. The one lymph node continued to enlarge and the two nodes below it began to enlarge as well. The entire area ached even when I was laying still - any kind of movement was oh so painful. My roomate is a nurse and finally conviced me to go to the doctor. I have a GP here - but I've only seen him once (it's not often that I'm sick.) He took a look at my nodes (the largest of which was about the size of a large grape) and made the statement that he 'was worried.' I'm a doctor. I know doctor speak. "I'm worried" means "I'm worried that it's cancer." He arranged for me to have some bloodwork done and a referral to a surgeon for a possible biopsy. The surgeon couldn't see me for a week. I asked my boss to just go ahead and aspirate my lymph node so I could know something. He wouldn't. So I had to wait and wonder for a week. Not fun. I went to the surgeon. My lymph nodes were going down. My bloodwork was normal. No need for any further tests. He said that it was probably just something viral and to try to rest and take better care of myself. Well, I thought, at least it's not cancer. Cancer doesn't just go away.
I began to feel better. I slept alot. I tried to eat better. I had a 4 day weekend with some of my best friends on the planet. I came back a new person. Ready to be a vet again.
Fast forward to 2 weeks ago - I worked the weekend - was quite busy - and was looking forward to sleeping in on my customary "I worked the weekend so I don't have to be in till 10am" Monday. One problem. I'm on call till 7am. The pager goes off at 6:45am. sigh. It's a calving. It's 45 minutes away. It's at Dr. Bowman's brother's farm. I have to go.
Get up. Eat. Drive. Show up at the farm to find a very small heifer that's been in labor for several hours. I figure it's a breech (tail first) - but I was quite surprised to reach in and feel front feet and a head. Hmmm. But the calf is laying sideways. I quickly straighten it out and plan on delivering it with relative ease. I can tell it's a large calf and it's alive - but I am confident of a normal birth. Well, to make a long story short - it was too big - as we tried to pull on the front feet - the head turned backwards behind the cervix. I knew immediately that the calf was not going to be delivered normally and I had to act fast to deliver it via C-section. They give me the go-ahead to proceed with the section (even though I've never done one before) and I start prepping her. My clippers die. Rargh. They have a pair. Whew. I give the cow a sedative and an epidural (though she is already laying down - I would rather have had her standing) and a local block where I am going to make my incision. I clean her up - clean myself up - and dive in. I find the uterus quickly enough, but I can't find any feet to pull the calf (and the uterus) up to my incision to see what I'm doing. The one farmer pushes the front feet from out of the back of the vulva into the uterus so I can feel them, but we both are unable to pull the calf 'up' into the incision. So, I shield my scalpel in my hand and go in blindly. Dodging intestines and other vital organs, I locate a foot and carefully (CAREFULLY) make an incision over the calf's front leg. I expose one front leg, but it is all I can do. I can feel the other leg, but I am physically unable to pull the other leg up. The farmer is able. We get both front feet up and the head and it takes all 3 of us to pull that calf out of that cow. Is he still alive? no. That sucks. Keep going. Time to sew up the cow. I am shaking at this point for my blood sugar is so low. I am covered in blood. But I am in good shape compared to the cow. She keeps rocking her incision into the dirt. (Not ideal.) I sew everything up and give her a death sentence. She proves me a brilliant doctor by dying 2 days later.
I do have to say that I've never had a better cheer-leader for something than Dr. Bowman's brother, Thomas. Guess it runs in the family. :)
Also, that calf was about 150# and the cow was about 700# - whether you use geometry or physics - those numbers equal a problem.
I drive back to the clinic and the construction workers gafaw at my appearance as I emerge from my truck - blood soaked and looking very, very tired. I clean up and jump right into work. I was so tired. I was so hungry. I had to take a break for I was about to pass out. I felt guilty for taking a break - we were so busy. So much to do. That is the way it was been lately.
Three days later I am having a busy morning. But, I had some time blocked off in the middle of the day for a large animal emergency - and one appeared. Another calving. Oh joy. This one is 55 minutes away in the other direction from the one on Monday. I took along with me my tallest (and longest armed) technician. The last time she and I did a calving together it turned into a 4 hours ordeal with no successful delivery of the calf. That one was in the middle of August and the calf had been dead for at least 36 hours. We had a little de-ja-vou. THIS ordeal was so crazy, though!
This ordeal involved a good sized beef cow. A very nice pet cow with a name, Molly, who had been in labor.... for a while. All that was coming out was fluid. Rotten fluid. Oh joy, really. When I reached in I was greeted not by a tail, not by feet, but by ribs. WHAT? Ribs. I was feeling the literal side of the calf. The backbone was on top, ribs went to the right, abdomen to the left. As far as I could reach, I felt no tail, no head, no feet. Oh wait, there's one leg - but I can't reach the foot. This turned into a 3 1/2 hour ordeal that involved me slicing the calf open and removing it's innards (the calf was very way dead), cutting the calf in half, FINALLY getting that one leg up and then..... giving up. Jenny nor I could feel any more feet. We couldn't find anything else to pull on. We had to send Molly to the butcher. And boy, did we stink.
Side note: the 'stain cycle' on my new GE front load washer gets extra credit. They washed and dried my calving clothes at the clinic - but they were still stained and still smelly. My 3 hour 'stain cycle' got them spotless and smelling good. Incredible. Go tide. Go GE.
Maybe I can submit that to the mastercard commercial. Farm call: $40. 3 1/2 hours of stinky hard labor with no result: $200. New GE Front-load washing machine: $1000. Having a washing machine that can remove the stench of death from your clothes: priceless.
Anyway, the rest of this saga is that 2 days later my lymph nodes start getting enlarged again. Right armpit. Either I'm allergic to uterine fluid or I have some crazy disease. I've got some people working on it. As for now, I'm sleeping a lot, my appetite is ok - not great - but, I'm hanging in there.
Ok, now for a cooler story. I had just returned from a farm call and my tech meets me in the parking lot (never good) to inform me that we had an emergency. A year old Amstaff (think Pit Bull) had just had it's tongue quite literally ripped off by her brother. There was blood everywhere, but her tongue had stopped bleeding and I could see what was left of it - a 1 inch stump, just in front of her epiglottis. She is just sitting there calmly - letting us all look in her mouth. I treat her for her blood loss and pain and then get on the phone. Is there any hope that she can eat again? Drink? The owners decide to euthanize the culprit (he has been showing increasing aggression) and they ask me if we can transplant his tongue to hers. Hmmm. I don't know. Turns out 'no.' But, if we can find her tongue, we might be able to sew that back on. The owners do eventually find her tongue - but it's too late to try and put it back. I do an oversew of the stump of her tongue the next day and boot her to a specialist to place a feeding tube until she learns to cope. Turns out that dogs are amazingly adaptive and can learn to eat and drink with no tongue. Cool, eh? She's a sweet dog and is doing well.
Her name is Ripp. Not so funny.
But a little.
Ok, enough for tonight.
The title of this blog is 'the life of dr. brown' - and that life has been pretty interesting lately. From some massive calvings gone wrong to dealing with a dog whose tongue was ripped off (literally) I can say that my job has been anything but boring.
But it seems that when I talk about my job, most of my references go back to that first year. There are just so many good stories to tell. Adventures in my 5-speed truck, adapting to the personal side of dealing with clients, and dealing with farmers who would rather 'have a man to come out and do the job.' What a year that was. I so wish I had kept a blog or even a journal. Oh well.
What I can do is re-create the past several weeks of work. It's spring - lots of babies, lots of vaccinating horses, lots of work period. There are some days that I just drive all over creation vaccinating horses - which is great (to a point) for there are far worse places to drive around than central VA in the Spring. :) It really is beautiful here.
Several, several weeks ago I had two significant calvings in a week. I don't remember the first - but I remember that it wasn't a big deal. The second was a true breech - tail first - that took some work to deliver. The calf was dead, but not rotten. I did my normal clean up routine and went about my business. Several days later I began to feel very tired. VERY tired. Go to bed at 7pm tired. I lost my appetite. And though I never developed a fever, I began to experience some lymph node enlargement and significant discomfort in my right armpit. The one lymph node continued to enlarge and the two nodes below it began to enlarge as well. The entire area ached even when I was laying still - any kind of movement was oh so painful. My roomate is a nurse and finally conviced me to go to the doctor. I have a GP here - but I've only seen him once (it's not often that I'm sick.) He took a look at my nodes (the largest of which was about the size of a large grape) and made the statement that he 'was worried.' I'm a doctor. I know doctor speak. "I'm worried" means "I'm worried that it's cancer." He arranged for me to have some bloodwork done and a referral to a surgeon for a possible biopsy. The surgeon couldn't see me for a week. I asked my boss to just go ahead and aspirate my lymph node so I could know something. He wouldn't. So I had to wait and wonder for a week. Not fun. I went to the surgeon. My lymph nodes were going down. My bloodwork was normal. No need for any further tests. He said that it was probably just something viral and to try to rest and take better care of myself. Well, I thought, at least it's not cancer. Cancer doesn't just go away.
I began to feel better. I slept alot. I tried to eat better. I had a 4 day weekend with some of my best friends on the planet. I came back a new person. Ready to be a vet again.
Fast forward to 2 weeks ago - I worked the weekend - was quite busy - and was looking forward to sleeping in on my customary "I worked the weekend so I don't have to be in till 10am" Monday. One problem. I'm on call till 7am. The pager goes off at 6:45am. sigh. It's a calving. It's 45 minutes away. It's at Dr. Bowman's brother's farm. I have to go.
Get up. Eat. Drive. Show up at the farm to find a very small heifer that's been in labor for several hours. I figure it's a breech (tail first) - but I was quite surprised to reach in and feel front feet and a head. Hmmm. But the calf is laying sideways. I quickly straighten it out and plan on delivering it with relative ease. I can tell it's a large calf and it's alive - but I am confident of a normal birth. Well, to make a long story short - it was too big - as we tried to pull on the front feet - the head turned backwards behind the cervix. I knew immediately that the calf was not going to be delivered normally and I had to act fast to deliver it via C-section. They give me the go-ahead to proceed with the section (even though I've never done one before) and I start prepping her. My clippers die. Rargh. They have a pair. Whew. I give the cow a sedative and an epidural (though she is already laying down - I would rather have had her standing) and a local block where I am going to make my incision. I clean her up - clean myself up - and dive in. I find the uterus quickly enough, but I can't find any feet to pull the calf (and the uterus) up to my incision to see what I'm doing. The one farmer pushes the front feet from out of the back of the vulva into the uterus so I can feel them, but we both are unable to pull the calf 'up' into the incision. So, I shield my scalpel in my hand and go in blindly. Dodging intestines and other vital organs, I locate a foot and carefully (CAREFULLY) make an incision over the calf's front leg. I expose one front leg, but it is all I can do. I can feel the other leg, but I am physically unable to pull the other leg up. The farmer is able. We get both front feet up and the head and it takes all 3 of us to pull that calf out of that cow. Is he still alive? no. That sucks. Keep going. Time to sew up the cow. I am shaking at this point for my blood sugar is so low. I am covered in blood. But I am in good shape compared to the cow. She keeps rocking her incision into the dirt. (Not ideal.) I sew everything up and give her a death sentence. She proves me a brilliant doctor by dying 2 days later.
I do have to say that I've never had a better cheer-leader for something than Dr. Bowman's brother, Thomas. Guess it runs in the family. :)
Also, that calf was about 150# and the cow was about 700# - whether you use geometry or physics - those numbers equal a problem.
I drive back to the clinic and the construction workers gafaw at my appearance as I emerge from my truck - blood soaked and looking very, very tired. I clean up and jump right into work. I was so tired. I was so hungry. I had to take a break for I was about to pass out. I felt guilty for taking a break - we were so busy. So much to do. That is the way it was been lately.
Three days later I am having a busy morning. But, I had some time blocked off in the middle of the day for a large animal emergency - and one appeared. Another calving. Oh joy. This one is 55 minutes away in the other direction from the one on Monday. I took along with me my tallest (and longest armed) technician. The last time she and I did a calving together it turned into a 4 hours ordeal with no successful delivery of the calf. That one was in the middle of August and the calf had been dead for at least 36 hours. We had a little de-ja-vou. THIS ordeal was so crazy, though!
This ordeal involved a good sized beef cow. A very nice pet cow with a name, Molly, who had been in labor.... for a while. All that was coming out was fluid. Rotten fluid. Oh joy, really. When I reached in I was greeted not by a tail, not by feet, but by ribs. WHAT? Ribs. I was feeling the literal side of the calf. The backbone was on top, ribs went to the right, abdomen to the left. As far as I could reach, I felt no tail, no head, no feet. Oh wait, there's one leg - but I can't reach the foot. This turned into a 3 1/2 hour ordeal that involved me slicing the calf open and removing it's innards (the calf was very way dead), cutting the calf in half, FINALLY getting that one leg up and then..... giving up. Jenny nor I could feel any more feet. We couldn't find anything else to pull on. We had to send Molly to the butcher. And boy, did we stink.
Side note: the 'stain cycle' on my new GE front load washer gets extra credit. They washed and dried my calving clothes at the clinic - but they were still stained and still smelly. My 3 hour 'stain cycle' got them spotless and smelling good. Incredible. Go tide. Go GE.
Maybe I can submit that to the mastercard commercial. Farm call: $40. 3 1/2 hours of stinky hard labor with no result: $200. New GE Front-load washing machine: $1000. Having a washing machine that can remove the stench of death from your clothes: priceless.
Anyway, the rest of this saga is that 2 days later my lymph nodes start getting enlarged again. Right armpit. Either I'm allergic to uterine fluid or I have some crazy disease. I've got some people working on it. As for now, I'm sleeping a lot, my appetite is ok - not great - but, I'm hanging in there.
Ok, now for a cooler story. I had just returned from a farm call and my tech meets me in the parking lot (never good) to inform me that we had an emergency. A year old Amstaff (think Pit Bull) had just had it's tongue quite literally ripped off by her brother. There was blood everywhere, but her tongue had stopped bleeding and I could see what was left of it - a 1 inch stump, just in front of her epiglottis. She is just sitting there calmly - letting us all look in her mouth. I treat her for her blood loss and pain and then get on the phone. Is there any hope that she can eat again? Drink? The owners decide to euthanize the culprit (he has been showing increasing aggression) and they ask me if we can transplant his tongue to hers. Hmmm. I don't know. Turns out 'no.' But, if we can find her tongue, we might be able to sew that back on. The owners do eventually find her tongue - but it's too late to try and put it back. I do an oversew of the stump of her tongue the next day and boot her to a specialist to place a feeding tube until she learns to cope. Turns out that dogs are amazingly adaptive and can learn to eat and drink with no tongue. Cool, eh? She's a sweet dog and is doing well.
Her name is Ripp. Not so funny.
But a little.
Ok, enough for tonight.
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