When my mother got sick with ovarian cancer in 2006, I left full-service veterinary practice for a less intense gig that allowed me to take her to chemotherapy appointments and emergency room visits. My new job consisted of vaccinations, wellness appointments, and feline spays, neuters and declaws. Having hit my stride as a veterinary practitioner and surgeon, I felt regret at stepping away. At the same time, I could set aside my career goals and take good care of my mother.
My new job was uncomplicated and low on stress, and I made more money than ever. Unfortunately, I was unfulfilled, lonely and bored.
Time went on, and my mom passed away. By then, I had worked for the practice for nearly 10 years. One day, I looked up at my veterinary license on the wall and saw the signatures of the Oklahoma vet board members. I was touched simultaneously by the memory of my classmates and colleagues and my early ambitions. I asked myself whether I could redeem the time.
I have never done anything solely because I could make a lot of money. I have always followed my heart — a hard-wired notion that has led to fabulous adventures and a rich, colorful life.
Taking a deep breath, I stuck my toe into the water of the veterinary employment pool and dove in. After working for a couple of practices that were not a fit, I found myself in May 2017 at a place I never expected: Marina Animal Clinic in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where I first started in 2000. I have never looked back.
Tame days are when I treat skin and ear problems, spay or neuter cats and dogs, or repair aural hematomas. Typical days are a mixture of the routine and the incredible. A weekend this past summer leaned toward the latter.
Friday, August 18
Bingo, a 6-year-old German shepherd, was brought in by Spanish-speaking clients because he had not eaten for three days. He was so weak and dehydrated that he could not hold his head up. Dirt caked the dried saliva on his forelimbs. He was an outside dog and was having diarrhea, his owners said. No history of vaccines.
“This dog is dying,” I thought as I gently examined him.
Bingo’s breath was so foul it could choke a horse. His heart was bradycardic and pounding hard. The clients agreed to parvo and fecal tests and bloodwork. I took his temperature without a reaction, but he thrashed wildly and snapped when I inserted the parvo test swab into his anus. While a veterinary technician attempted to steady and calm him, a second staff member stepped up to assist her. The dog bit each of them badly. They backed off, and Bingo twisted off the exam table and onto the floor.
Horrified, I attended to my injured staff members while a fresh kennel attendant stayed with Bingo. Through a translator, I told the clients their dog would need to be observed for rabies or be euthanized and decapitated for testing at their expense. They decided to euthanize him. As I tried to inject Euthasol into his cephalic vein, Bingo died. He later tested negative for rabies at the Oklahoma Animal Disease Diagnostic Laboratory.
Sunday, August 20
Layla, an 11-week-old pit bulldog, presented for acute-onset bleeding from her left nostril. The client noticed it that morning and said Layla might have been head-butted while roughhousing with adult housemate dogs. The owner lived in a rural area and said Layla had access to a field.
Her skull radiograph was unremarkable for trauma. Next, I did bloodwork, which showed a reduced red blood cell count of 3.6 and hematocrit of 25%. However, her platelet count was normal at 230. So, I did a clotting time profile, which revealed a PT > 35 (high normal 19.0) and an aPTT > 200 (high normal 105.0), which was consistent with rodenticide toxicity.
We packed the left nostril with epinephrine-soaked gauze, but the right nostril started bleeding. I injected Vitamin K and recommended that Layla be left with us for monitoring since the injection would take 24 to 48 hours to kick in. The owner agreed, saying he had a party to attend and would check in later. The puppy continued bleeding and then broke with bloody diarrhea. Her condition was declining rapidly.
I called the owner and told him Layla needed a plasma transfusion to replace her clotting factors as we waited for the Vitamin K to work. He wanted to wait about 90 minutes to see whether she improved and said he would call back. He didn’t, so I called and told him that since we didn’t know what the puppy might have ingested or how much, she might need a blood transfusion. He decided by phone to euthanize his puppy.
Friday, August 18
Back to Friday. Someone abandoned a brindle female Pomeranian in a crate on the sidewalk outside our clinic. She appeared neurologic and soon began seizing. Her sclera was hemorrhagic, suggesting head trauma, but a physical exam revealed no swelling or skull fracture. She had a right-sided head tilt.
We started her on IV fluids, administered dexamethasone, took radiographs and did bloodwork. The rads showed a possible old cranial fracture but no swelling. The bloodwork was normal.
By the next day, the dog’s hydration had improved, but her mental status hadn’t changed. She appeared unable to swallow, which, coupled with the neurological signs, hinted at rabies. The prognosis was grave.
Reluctantly and in consideration of the employees who had cared for the dog, we euthanized the Pomeranian and tested for rabies. The results were negative, so we concluded that the dog suffered from chronic head trauma.
Sunday, August 20
Sunday again. More patients. Surveillance video captured a black SUV speeding away from our parking lot after abandoning a crate full of 13 pit bulls that appeared about 6 weeks old. The surprise was tantamount to turning Marina Animal Clinic into a pet shop.
We rearranged a treatment ward into a puppy nursery and went to work. Kennel attendants and technicians cared for the youngsters around the clock, segregating the runts from the vigorous and the sickly from the robust. We treated for coccidia, intestinal parasites and ringworm.
Janitor care was a major task, and puppy love from our staff was beyond significant. The public response was better than we hoped or dreamed. I was amazed when I arrived at work one day and found the nursery empty.
Not long afterward, I vaccinated Ace, one of the adopted puppies, whom his proud young owner brought in. My internal tail wagged as I admired Ace’s pert flopped ears and keen blue eyes. The throwaway pup ended up with a young man who cherishes Ace and will give him the home he deserves. Ace is a good investment because he will give back twofold in love everything his owner gives him in food, toys and companionship. That’s something money can’t buy.
I now make more money than I did at the safe clinic. But the privilege of doing this job earns me loads more in career satisfaction, self-respect and joy.
TWO DOZEN PUPS
According to the Guinness Book of World Records, the largest canine litter consisted of 24 puppies delivered by Caesarian in 2004. Carried by a Neapolitan mastiff, one puppy was stillborn and three died in the first week.