A Veterinary Journal by Claire Poole
Chapter 1
Page 8
Chapter 1
Sunday 4th January
Monday 5th January
Thursday 8th January
Thursday 14th January
Thursday 21st January
Monday 25th January
Tuesday 26th January
Back to the Clayfern Intro Page
Chapter 2
Tuesday 26th January
Lucky Tom - still in bed as Jay and I drag ourselves up for work. The ‘Norwegian shovel’ is hard on the stomach muscles and we both feel we have had several rounds in a boxing ring. We also have bruised toes from indiscriminate stomping at the ceilidh, and another day off to recover would be nice.
Julie and I have a stressful morning to get through – we have to spay a friend’s dog. The friend is ultra nervous about the operation and the tension has been building up for days. ‘She will be okay?’ she asks anxiously, ‘She’s very special to me.’ The atmosphere is tense as the operation commences. There is an old veterinary adage that if anything is not to go smoothly, it will be with an animal belonging either to a friend, neighbour or a doctor. We like to think that we are professional enough not to let outside influences affect us, and the procedure proceeds as planned. Once the surgery is finished and the bitch is recovering in her kennel, we heave a mutual sigh of relief. ‘There was only one sign that you were nervous,’ Julie says, ‘You kept tying extra knots on the ligatures.’ ‘We would be nervous wrecks after too many more of these,’ I comment. A statement such as that is all it takes to set us off on our tension-relieving pursuit of inventing amusing imaginary scenes. As we clean and tidy the ops room, we visualise a rest home for stressed-out vets - one inmate sits continually tying knots; another bends and straightens like a yo-yo, peering under a chair - checking an imaginary post-op. patient in a kennel.
Meanwhile, a clapped out veterinary nurse repeatedly grabs eating utensils from other residents, cleans them then puts them in the microwave in polythene bags (parodying the procedure for dealing with dirty surgical instruments). This makes us sound completely mad, but I like to think that it is such daft imaginings that help to keep us sane.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully, and I find time in the afternoon to visit my aunt in the local old folks’ home. On the way in, Matron asks me about the resident cat who has had a ‘funny turn’. As she explains ‘She was sitting on the desk when she suddenly began to hyperventilate; her mouth was open and she began to salivate.’ Two nurses nearby stop chatting and listen intently – ‘She was fine when I saw her 10 minutes ago,’ one exclaims in horrified tones. Much hilarity ensues when it is pointed out that we are talking about the cat - not my aunt! As often occurs when the vet calls, Lacey is nowhere to be seen. It sounds as if her turn may have been an asthma attack. When I was training to be a vet, it was thought that cats don’t get asthma. It is now known that they do. I recall a story told by a speaker at a veterinary conference. His client - an attractive young lady – complained that her cat was ruining her love life. Everytime she had a big date, the cat had an acute asthma attack. The date was invariably cancelled, and instead the evening was spent at the local veterinary clinic. It transpired that the cat sat on the dressing table as she got ready for her date and it was obviously reacting to one of the sprays or perfumes used in the beautifying process. I suggest to Matron that if Lacey has another ‘do’, she takes notes of whether there is anything nearby which might cause a reaction. I will arrange to check the cat when I next see her.
As I leave, thick clouds of cavorting rooks are coming in from the surrounding fields to roost in the nearby trees. Their raucous calls are as evocative a winter sound as that of the geese cackling by the river’s edge.
Chapter 2 coming soon
Copyright Claire Poole 2005
