It was the end of a long day, I'd just walked out the door of the clinic and was headed for home. I was tired, and cold, and ready for the dinner I knew my wife had waiting for me. Of course that's when the phone rang. A lady had a young pig in labor, and it was having trouble.
I'd never been to this place before, they were the clients of another veterinarian. But, he'd been trying unsuccessfully to pass a kidney stone for the last four days, so I was covering for him.
The "farm" was thirty minutes in the wrong direction from home. It sat directly off a busy road, but had seen far better days. The first thing I noticed was that there was no barn, and I could see no pens with pigs anywhere in sight.
So I knocked on the door. The lady that answered invited me in, saying "Come on in, the pig is in here." As a large animal veterinarian, I'm often standing on the backside of animals, so you never know what I may have recently stepped in. I try to keep my boots clean, but it's usually a losing battle. With this thought in mind I lean over to remove my boots before entering. Just then a 20 pound piglet races through my legs and out the door. Three small children follow it in hot pursuit, two under my legs and one squeezing between the door jam and I. The mother yelling at them, "Get that pig back in the house before it gets run over on the road."
It is then that I realize, they have pigs in the house. So I leave my boots on and follow the lady inside. She directs me to a gilt penned behind the sofa wedged in the corner of the living room.
A quick exam makes it clear that a C-section will be needed to deliver these babies. By now I've realized that if these people lose this pig, it will be a serious financial loss to this family, and that they could really use as many live piglets as we can get. No pressure.
I anesthetize the gilt, and prep her for surgery. The light in the corner is poor, so I have them holding a flashlight for me. Somehow this job fell to a five year old boy, leaning over the back of the couch. With each piglet I pull from the uterus the boy squeals with delight, and jumps wildly up and down on the sofa, sending the light bouncing off the walls in a spectacular light show, but leaving my surgical field in virtual darkness.
As I'm cleaning up to leave. There are now six little piglets nursing from the mother behind the couch. The little boy is still jumping on the sofa, "The spotted one is mine! I'm going to name him Bacon!"
Walking through the door pf my own home, my own five year old throws his arms around me. "Dad, guess what. Mom fixed bacon for dinner! Come have some bacon!"
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Monday, January 30, 2017
Is it dead?
One of my least favorite parts of my job, is helping to end an animal's life. Everyone I know that becomes a Veterinarian does so because they love animals, and want to help them, they want to save lives.
Not every animal can be saved though, and sometimes the kindest course of action is to help alleviate an animal's suffering via a quick and painless death.
Determining if an animal is dead though isn't always as easy as it sounds. You listen for a heartbeat, but sometimes the silence and the absence of sounds plays tricks on your mind. Sometimes you may hear your own heartbeat, via blood coursing through your ears. I'm always fearful, that I'm going to pronounce an animal dead, and that it's then later going to get back up, causing the owners of the animal to have to go through the grieving process of watching it die a second time. I think that would be horrible.
Perhaps the reason for this fear is a story they told me in Vet school. They had euthanized a horse, the Doctor on call had pronounced it dead, they had then moved it into the cooler to store it over night, then the next morning when they had more time, they would perform a necropsy on the animal. Well, when the first technician arrives the next morning, they hear a horse neighing in the cooler. When the cooler is opened, the animal that had been euthanized the previous day is standing there presumably wondering why it's now so cold outside, and wanting to know when it's breakfast time. I figure if it can happen to the experts at the Vet school, it can happen to me too.
Halloween day a few years ago, I was called out to euthanize a long time patient of mine. It was a horse of over 30 years of age. It had been suffering with arthritis for the last several, and the owners had decided that it was time to say goodbye. The process of euthanizing an animal is fairly simple. I hit a vein with a needle, or a catheter, then inject a large volume of a drug that will stop the heart. This time turned out to be even simpler. I had a technician with me, holding the horse while I inserted the needle into the jugular vein. I was in the process of connecting my syringe to the needle, but wasn't there yet. Then something truly strange happened. The horse fell over dead. My tech and I looked at each other and mouthed "What just happened?!" The people behind me were also astonished, "Wow, that stuff works really fast." I went ahead and injected the euthanasia solution, out of fear of the horse getting back up, and these poor people having to watch their horse die twice. But I really don't think it was needed. That horse was dead. I think that what must have happened was that the horse had a heart attack, just before I euthanized it. Well, it was Halloween so maybe my tech's scary costume actually scared the horse to death, of course he wasn't wearing a costume. I still recommended that he go home shave, and really clean up I'd hate for him to scare his family to death as well.
As of this writing I am just returning from a pheasant hunting trip in Kansas with another veterinarian. We had gotten up early and were walking a ditch bank, a flutter of wings from directly underfoot woke us both up quickly. A quick shot with my trusty Mossberg .20 gauge shotgun, put our first pheasant on the ground. It was motionless as I retrieved it, but I wrung it's neck just to make sure that it was dead. Hunters never want their game to suffer. I then put the bird in the large pocket in the back of my vest, and we continued hunting. After about another hour of walking each of us now had one bird, we also had frozen fingers, and decided to return to the house to warm up, and take a break. After sitting in the truck for a few minutes, I feel the bird behind me start to move. "Randy, this bird is still alive!" I yell. "Shut up Mike, I watched you ring it's neck." "I'm serious, this bird is moving." I pull off my vest, which turns out to be a mistake. The bird now has more room to move, finds it's way out of the pocket, and is now flopping all over the cab of the pickup. Beating each of us with it's wings, while feathers are flying everywhere. With the distraction of the bird, Randy narrowly avoids putting us in the ditch. "Kill that bird!" He yells. I try to ring the birds neck again, but it's clearly already broken. The bird continues to flop. Suddenly the birds head pops off in my hand. The bird continues to flop around the cab of the pickup. "Kill that bird!" Randy yells again. "What do you want me to do?" I ask, while showing him the head of the pheasant.
Clearly I need to continue to worry if animal's are truly dead after euthanizing them. There were two Veterinarians in the pickup that day. Neither one of us able to tell if our pheasant was dead yet.
Not every animal can be saved though, and sometimes the kindest course of action is to help alleviate an animal's suffering via a quick and painless death.
Determining if an animal is dead though isn't always as easy as it sounds. You listen for a heartbeat, but sometimes the silence and the absence of sounds plays tricks on your mind. Sometimes you may hear your own heartbeat, via blood coursing through your ears. I'm always fearful, that I'm going to pronounce an animal dead, and that it's then later going to get back up, causing the owners of the animal to have to go through the grieving process of watching it die a second time. I think that would be horrible.
Perhaps the reason for this fear is a story they told me in Vet school. They had euthanized a horse, the Doctor on call had pronounced it dead, they had then moved it into the cooler to store it over night, then the next morning when they had more time, they would perform a necropsy on the animal. Well, when the first technician arrives the next morning, they hear a horse neighing in the cooler. When the cooler is opened, the animal that had been euthanized the previous day is standing there presumably wondering why it's now so cold outside, and wanting to know when it's breakfast time. I figure if it can happen to the experts at the Vet school, it can happen to me too.
Halloween day a few years ago, I was called out to euthanize a long time patient of mine. It was a horse of over 30 years of age. It had been suffering with arthritis for the last several, and the owners had decided that it was time to say goodbye. The process of euthanizing an animal is fairly simple. I hit a vein with a needle, or a catheter, then inject a large volume of a drug that will stop the heart. This time turned out to be even simpler. I had a technician with me, holding the horse while I inserted the needle into the jugular vein. I was in the process of connecting my syringe to the needle, but wasn't there yet. Then something truly strange happened. The horse fell over dead. My tech and I looked at each other and mouthed "What just happened?!" The people behind me were also astonished, "Wow, that stuff works really fast." I went ahead and injected the euthanasia solution, out of fear of the horse getting back up, and these poor people having to watch their horse die twice. But I really don't think it was needed. That horse was dead. I think that what must have happened was that the horse had a heart attack, just before I euthanized it. Well, it was Halloween so maybe my tech's scary costume actually scared the horse to death, of course he wasn't wearing a costume. I still recommended that he go home shave, and really clean up I'd hate for him to scare his family to death as well.
As of this writing I am just returning from a pheasant hunting trip in Kansas with another veterinarian. We had gotten up early and were walking a ditch bank, a flutter of wings from directly underfoot woke us both up quickly. A quick shot with my trusty Mossberg .20 gauge shotgun, put our first pheasant on the ground. It was motionless as I retrieved it, but I wrung it's neck just to make sure that it was dead. Hunters never want their game to suffer. I then put the bird in the large pocket in the back of my vest, and we continued hunting. After about another hour of walking each of us now had one bird, we also had frozen fingers, and decided to return to the house to warm up, and take a break. After sitting in the truck for a few minutes, I feel the bird behind me start to move. "Randy, this bird is still alive!" I yell. "Shut up Mike, I watched you ring it's neck." "I'm serious, this bird is moving." I pull off my vest, which turns out to be a mistake. The bird now has more room to move, finds it's way out of the pocket, and is now flopping all over the cab of the pickup. Beating each of us with it's wings, while feathers are flying everywhere. With the distraction of the bird, Randy narrowly avoids putting us in the ditch. "Kill that bird!" He yells. I try to ring the birds neck again, but it's clearly already broken. The bird continues to flop. Suddenly the birds head pops off in my hand. The bird continues to flop around the cab of the pickup. "Kill that bird!" Randy yells again. "What do you want me to do?" I ask, while showing him the head of the pheasant.
Clearly I need to continue to worry if animal's are truly dead after euthanizing them. There were two Veterinarians in the pickup that day. Neither one of us able to tell if our pheasant was dead yet.
Monday, January 23, 2017
The smart one in the family
My brother's and I all like to hunt. Each of us has pursued this passion in a different fashion. I figured that being a Veterinarian would help me get acquainted with a multitude of farmers who own land perfect for hunting on. One brother became a surgeon, figuring it would afford him the finances necessary to pursue his hunting dreams. Another brother is currently in Medical school finishing up a dermatology residency, he too hopes that this occupation will provide him with the means necessary to go hunting. Our other brother went to work for the division of wildlife resources in the hopes that his job would help him scout the best locations to hunt.
Each of us has met with varying success in our endeavors. Recently as I was arriving on a farm to vaccinate some cattle. I noticed that they had some geese that had landed in the field in front of their house. I pulled over, pulled my shotgun out from behind the seat. Snuck up as close as I could get before the geese took flight, then unloaded my gun at them. They all flew peacefully off into the distance. Hey, I said I loved hunting, I didn't say I was any good at it.
I then got back in the truck. Drove around the house, and parked near the chute. Here was the farmer with his two teenage daughters. Normally their younger brother is also there to help, as he loves anything to do with cows. So I ask "Where's Connor today?" "Oh, he's in the house pretending to be sick. But we know he's not. Because we just heard three gun shots in the front yard, and then watched a flock of geese fly over the house. The little turkey is "too sick" to help with the cows, but amazingly feels well enough to go hunting. Little brothers can be such a pain." "Yeah, I know what you mean, little brother's can be a real pain." "Oh, do you have brothers too." "As a matter if fact I have three of them. One is a surgeon, one is a dermatologist, and one works for the Division of Wildlife resources." "Wow! You have three Doctors in your family. What a smart group." "Too bad we weren't all as smart as the one who works for the DWR, he's the smart one in the family. He actually gets paid to hunt and fish. I'll call him and ask "What are you up to today Troy?" And he'll respond "Oh, we're doing a fish count today." "How exactly do you count fish?" I'll ask. "Well, you have to catch 'em he'll reply."
Then I decide to regale these girls with the tale of one of our recent hunting trips:
I'd found the perfect field. It was owned by one of my clients, and it had geese landing in it by the thousands. I'd obtained permission from the owner of the field to hunt in it. Then called my brothers. "You have to get out here! This is going to be a goose hunt you'll never forget!" Of course the doctors were too busy with work to make it. So it was just Troy and I. We'd set up our decoys and had just settled into our blind. Daylight had broken just a few minutes earlier, and already we could see the first wave of geese approaching us. That's when we noticed this rusty old pickup bouncing across the field towards us. Then he starts honking his horn. "Who is this jerk, my brother asks?" "Be nice" I reply. "This jerk is the man letting you hunt in his field."
"Hey Doc" the man yells as he gets out of his truck. "I need your help. One of my cows prolapsed her uterus this morning, I need you to come put it back in. Lucky thing, you were right here in my field." "Yeah, lucky thing." I reply, as I crawl into his truck with one last longing look at our goose blind.
The dairy is about half a mile from where I'd been hunting. As I lay in the mud and manure behind this cow, struggling to push the heavy, bloody uterus, back into the little round hole where it came from. I watch wave after wave of geese descend towards my brother's hunting spot. I'm also close enough to hear the shots that he's firing. "Wow, that's a lot of shots." I think. "He must be a worse shot than I am."
When I finally get the uterus returned to its rightful location, and get the cow back on her feet. The farmer returns me to my hunting location. I'm tired, muddy, bloody, and feel beaten. Yet I'm hopeful I can still manage to get a few geese. That's when I notice that my brother is cleaning up all the decoys. "What are you doing?" I ask. "We're done hunting." He replies. "We've both limited out already." He says with a satisfied grin on his face.
"You see" I tell the girls, "I know exactly what you mean about little brothers being a pain." "Wow" they reply "He really is the smart one in your family, isn't he." I never did tell them that their little brother really was in the house sick, and that it was me that had shot at the geese. As a little brother, I think he had it coming to him.
Each of us has met with varying success in our endeavors. Recently as I was arriving on a farm to vaccinate some cattle. I noticed that they had some geese that had landed in the field in front of their house. I pulled over, pulled my shotgun out from behind the seat. Snuck up as close as I could get before the geese took flight, then unloaded my gun at them. They all flew peacefully off into the distance. Hey, I said I loved hunting, I didn't say I was any good at it.
I then got back in the truck. Drove around the house, and parked near the chute. Here was the farmer with his two teenage daughters. Normally their younger brother is also there to help, as he loves anything to do with cows. So I ask "Where's Connor today?" "Oh, he's in the house pretending to be sick. But we know he's not. Because we just heard three gun shots in the front yard, and then watched a flock of geese fly over the house. The little turkey is "too sick" to help with the cows, but amazingly feels well enough to go hunting. Little brothers can be such a pain." "Yeah, I know what you mean, little brother's can be a real pain." "Oh, do you have brothers too." "As a matter if fact I have three of them. One is a surgeon, one is a dermatologist, and one works for the Division of Wildlife resources." "Wow! You have three Doctors in your family. What a smart group." "Too bad we weren't all as smart as the one who works for the DWR, he's the smart one in the family. He actually gets paid to hunt and fish. I'll call him and ask "What are you up to today Troy?" And he'll respond "Oh, we're doing a fish count today." "How exactly do you count fish?" I'll ask. "Well, you have to catch 'em he'll reply."
Then I decide to regale these girls with the tale of one of our recent hunting trips:
I'd found the perfect field. It was owned by one of my clients, and it had geese landing in it by the thousands. I'd obtained permission from the owner of the field to hunt in it. Then called my brothers. "You have to get out here! This is going to be a goose hunt you'll never forget!" Of course the doctors were too busy with work to make it. So it was just Troy and I. We'd set up our decoys and had just settled into our blind. Daylight had broken just a few minutes earlier, and already we could see the first wave of geese approaching us. That's when we noticed this rusty old pickup bouncing across the field towards us. Then he starts honking his horn. "Who is this jerk, my brother asks?" "Be nice" I reply. "This jerk is the man letting you hunt in his field."
"Hey Doc" the man yells as he gets out of his truck. "I need your help. One of my cows prolapsed her uterus this morning, I need you to come put it back in. Lucky thing, you were right here in my field." "Yeah, lucky thing." I reply, as I crawl into his truck with one last longing look at our goose blind.
The dairy is about half a mile from where I'd been hunting. As I lay in the mud and manure behind this cow, struggling to push the heavy, bloody uterus, back into the little round hole where it came from. I watch wave after wave of geese descend towards my brother's hunting spot. I'm also close enough to hear the shots that he's firing. "Wow, that's a lot of shots." I think. "He must be a worse shot than I am."
When I finally get the uterus returned to its rightful location, and get the cow back on her feet. The farmer returns me to my hunting location. I'm tired, muddy, bloody, and feel beaten. Yet I'm hopeful I can still manage to get a few geese. That's when I notice that my brother is cleaning up all the decoys. "What are you doing?" I ask. "We're done hunting." He replies. "We've both limited out already." He says with a satisfied grin on his face.
"You see" I tell the girls, "I know exactly what you mean about little brothers being a pain." "Wow" they reply "He really is the smart one in your family, isn't he." I never did tell them that their little brother really was in the house sick, and that it was me that had shot at the geese. As a little brother, I think he had it coming to him.
Sunday, January 8, 2017
Instilling a strong work ethic, and family values in our youth.
Recently I was called to a farm to write health papers on some cattle that would soon be traveling to a stock show. The owner of the farm was very enthusiastic to have me there, and to show off his cattle. He quickly invited me into the barn, and began regaling me with the genealogies of each of the cattle we looked at. His wife was also in the barn, she was busy brushing, blow drying and generally beautifying the animals. Then he began to preach to me on the work ethic, and family values that showing animals instills into children. As I'm listening to this speech I notice his two children sitting in the corner of the barn, their noses buried in their phones, completely unaware that I am even there.
As his speech drags on, my mind begins to drift and I find myself being drawn back through the mists of time. As the mists clear I'm standing in a different time and place. Before me I see two brothers working together to prepare their own steer for a stock show. The younger brother is holding the lead rope on a nervous animal much larger than himself, as the older brother sprays both the steer and the younger brother (I'm sure quite accidentally) with a cold hose in an attempt to give the animal a bath. Just then a friendly neighbor drives by, honks his horn, and yells "Looking good boys!"
The honking of the horn turns the already nervous animal into a one animal stampede. With the little boy hanging onto the lead rope for dear life. How he's able to keep up with the animal I'm still not sure. Occasionally a foot seems to touch the ground, but not as often as you think it should, and it seems as if at any moment he'll land squarely on his face. Meanwhile the older brother with visions of a big paycheck at the end of the stockshow quickly evaporating before his eyes, as his steer darts in and out of traffic, is in hot pursuit. He's carrying a pitchfork, and yelling at his younger brother. "If you let go of that D@&$ rope, I'll run you through with this pitchfork!"
Just then the farmer asks me "So, what do you think?" This snaps me back to the present, and I respond, "Oh, absolutely. I couldn't agree more. Showing animals is great for children! And if nothing else it might prepare them for the track team."
"What?" He asks. "Never mind." I respond. "Here are your kids health papers, good luck at the show." As I walked out of the barn, the kids were still staring at their phones. Somehow I don't think they'll be making the track team. But at least they're developing a strong work ethic.
Friday, January 6, 2017
What's that smell?
I've never had a great sniffer, in my line if work sometimes that comes in handy. I remember in my freshman year of vet school, the girls in my anatomy disecction group used to rub Vick's vapor rup under their noses prior to lab, in order to hide the smell. I never had to resort to such measures.
Fast forward several years, and my wife and I now teach the five year olds a sunday school class at church. Recently I was called out during church to go retreat a colicky horse that I'd been working on. Having already treated this horse once, I thought it would be a fairly quick call where I could just give the horse a second dose of painkillers and make it back in time to teach the lesson I had prepared for the five year olds. Because time was tight, and I thought I knew what was in store I didn't bother changing out of my suit.
I did take my jacket off, roll up my sleeves, and throw on a pair of coveralls before I began. It soon became apparent that this horse wasn't doing as well as I'd hoped, and I decided I needed to do a rectal examination on the horse to get a better idea of what was causing his symptoms, and what his prognosis might be. So, I drug the horse, put on a shoulder length sleeve, lube up my arm, and begin the examination. Keep in mind that I've already administered mineral oil (a laxative) to this horse the day before. Well the rectal exam relieves my anxiety as to the horses prognosis as all feels normal inside, so I remove my arm. The horse must have been straining somewhat at the presence of my arm, because pulling it out results in something like I've seen in professional locker rooms when they've just won the championship and are popping the corks on the champagne.
The problem is, I'm standing directly behind the "champagne" bottle, and the "champagne" is a mixture of mineral oil, and the stuff that the mineral oil was given to help slide out. My face is completely covered, along with my coveralls. The coveralls I quickly strip off, hoping to get them off before the "champagne" has soaked through to my suit. My face I wipe off with a paper towel.
Taking stock of the situation, I assess that one spot on my pant leg has some slight discoloration and the suit will need dry cleaned, but it's not "too bad." If I leave now, and go directly back to church I will still be in time to teach the lesson, meaning my wife won't have to cover for me, and I won't be in the doghouse.
I stop by the restroom in the church. Wash my face and hands a little better, and walk into the classroom where our class is just arriving. Soon my classes noses start to wrinkle, and a little girl raises her hand. "Yes?" I ask. "Brother Mathis, did you toot?" That's when it hits me that perhaps that slight discoloration I'd noticed on my pants leg is worse than I'd thought.
I didn't bother explaining the smell. But fortunately for my class, Sister Mathis had some Vick's vapor rub in her purse.
Fast forward several years, and my wife and I now teach the five year olds a sunday school class at church. Recently I was called out during church to go retreat a colicky horse that I'd been working on. Having already treated this horse once, I thought it would be a fairly quick call where I could just give the horse a second dose of painkillers and make it back in time to teach the lesson I had prepared for the five year olds. Because time was tight, and I thought I knew what was in store I didn't bother changing out of my suit.
I did take my jacket off, roll up my sleeves, and throw on a pair of coveralls before I began. It soon became apparent that this horse wasn't doing as well as I'd hoped, and I decided I needed to do a rectal examination on the horse to get a better idea of what was causing his symptoms, and what his prognosis might be. So, I drug the horse, put on a shoulder length sleeve, lube up my arm, and begin the examination. Keep in mind that I've already administered mineral oil (a laxative) to this horse the day before. Well the rectal exam relieves my anxiety as to the horses prognosis as all feels normal inside, so I remove my arm. The horse must have been straining somewhat at the presence of my arm, because pulling it out results in something like I've seen in professional locker rooms when they've just won the championship and are popping the corks on the champagne.
The problem is, I'm standing directly behind the "champagne" bottle, and the "champagne" is a mixture of mineral oil, and the stuff that the mineral oil was given to help slide out. My face is completely covered, along with my coveralls. The coveralls I quickly strip off, hoping to get them off before the "champagne" has soaked through to my suit. My face I wipe off with a paper towel.
Taking stock of the situation, I assess that one spot on my pant leg has some slight discoloration and the suit will need dry cleaned, but it's not "too bad." If I leave now, and go directly back to church I will still be in time to teach the lesson, meaning my wife won't have to cover for me, and I won't be in the doghouse.
I stop by the restroom in the church. Wash my face and hands a little better, and walk into the classroom where our class is just arriving. Soon my classes noses start to wrinkle, and a little girl raises her hand. "Yes?" I ask. "Brother Mathis, did you toot?" That's when it hits me that perhaps that slight discoloration I'd noticed on my pants leg is worse than I'd thought.
I didn't bother explaining the smell. But fortunately for my class, Sister Mathis had some Vick's vapor rub in her purse.
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