Sundays at Marina Animal Clinic are like a box of chocolates: You never know what you’re going to get. Many pet owners who don’t want to pay for urgent care at Tulsa’s emergency hospitals turn to Marina because most other general practices are closed. In the wake of staff turnover last year, I agreed to work every Sunday, a decision that was either courageous, collegial or insane, depending on your viewpoint.
One recent shift left me feeling like a rodeo cowgirl who’d been whiplashed while riding a bucking bronc. It started with a fuzzy Chihuahua puppy that presented with blackish diarrhea — “for a few days,” we heard — and was now lying motionless, although breathing, with fixed, dilated pupils. We intubated the tiny white-and-black creature and put her on oxygen. She was holding onto life by a thread and seemed about to go agonal. I administered epinephrine, and her heartbeat picked up for a few minutes, but she remained unresponsive and died as soon as the drug wore off.
The lobby, meanwhile, was filling up with clients and patients waiting their turn to see me, the only veterinarian handling walk-ins that day while my colleague did surgery. I checked on Max, a tomcat hospitalized with a urinary blockage, and determined he was ready to have his catheter removed to see if he could urinate on his own.
A Pregnancy Problem
Between answering questions from veterinary technicians, kennel techs and receptionists, I received my first patient. Momma was a brindle French bulldog who started labor seven hours earlier and had produced one stillborn puppy. I could not feel a puppy in the birth canal, but radiographs showed three large fetuses in her uterus. The clients asked if I could tell whether they were alive. Listening to vague details about how long they had owned the dog and when she was bred, I quickly concluded that her owners were unaware of the perils of bulldog birthing and explained that bulldogs usually need caesarian section surgery to deliver a litter.
Presented with the estimate for an emergency C-section, the clients clutched their pearls and said they didn’t have the money. We explained that Momma’s predicament was dire and that, unfortunately, there was no alternative if we were going to save her. I was prepared to pay for the surgery myself and adopt the dog. It was 10:30 a.m., and the clock was ticking.
Messy Matters
While Momma’s owners scrambled to find the money for surgery, I turned to 15-year-old Linnie, a senior dog who arrived for a wellness exam and heartworm and fecal tests. She was followed by Jojo, a puppy needing outpatient parvovirus treatment. The client reported that Jojo was brighter but still not eating on his own, and incidentally, he had vomited in the car on the way to the clinic. Jojo was assigned another round of injections and fluids, and I instructed his owner to return the following day.
About that time, I encountered Cookie, a chocolate cocker spaniel who was so disgruntled by the idea of being at Marina that he wanted to bite everybody, including his owner. Wishing us luck, the client practically threw the leash to Aaron, the kennel tech. In addition to his unshapely behind, which jutted out like a coffee table, poor Cookie was suffering from several uncomfortable conditions that were difficult to treat because of his personality problem. His eyes were inflamed, dry and crusted with mucus. His ears were inflamed with yeasty exudate, and he was itching madly. After an ear cleaning, fluorescein eye stain, injection and five prescriptions, I bade goodbye to Cookie and crossed my fingers that the medications would improve his life.
Mixed Bag
Lunchtime was approaching when the practice manager told me that Momma’s owners had found the money for a C-section. I rejoiced and watched with satisfaction that afternoon as Dr. C. delivered three healthy puppies.
Back from lunch, a technician informed me that Max, the tomcat, had not urinated, his bladder was large, and she could not manually express him. Palpation revealed a hard bladder and urinary reblockage, which would require recatheterization. I sighed with resignation, and we called his owner.
Zuki, a 13-year-old Yorkie heart patient, came in for a medication recheck. Stevie, a 6-year-old kitty, arrived with an ear infection. Troy, a 2-year-old golden doodle and therapy dog, needed a wellness exam.
Then came Diesel, a 6-year-old Rottweiler, who presented for acute non-weight-bearing on his right front leg. Radiographs showed no fracture or pathology, but the dog had alopecia, fleas and skin allergies, and the client said he chewed his feet. He also had an ear infection. The right front paw was tender and sticky on the bottom. I wondered if it could be a hot spot.
I gave Diesel a hydromorphone injection to relax him for the radiographs and limb palpation. As I mulled the situation, I flexed and extended his elbow and detected possible joint tenderness. So, I covered my bases, bandaged the paw, treated with carprofen and cefpodoxime antibiotic, and told the client to restrict his activity.
The Home Stretch
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face a technician holding a pet taxi with a black-and-white rabbit inside. The owners brought him in for euthanasia because his back was broken. I compartmentalized my sadness and ended his suffering.
That was the grand finale of a Sunday at Marina Animal Clinic, where multitasking is a mind-boggling lifestyle. I couldn’t wait to take my weary mind home and collapse.
No one said being a veterinarian was going to be easy. I often work from experience and instinct and wonder if I’m missing something.
Recently, I called an emergency veterinarian for advice on a suspected splenic tumor in a patient and blurted out that I felt like I needed to be smarter. She said, “I think we all feel that way at times.” I continued babbling but took her words to heart.
When the day is over and I ask myself if someone else could have done a better job, the answer is that someone else might have done it differently, but no one else could have done a better job of being Lou Anne Wolfe, DVM.
BROKEN BACKS
According to The Merck Veterinary Manual, “Fracture or dislocation of lumbar vertebrae with compression or severing of the spinal cord is common in both pet and commercial rabbits. The predisposition to a fractured back highlights the importance of adequate and proper restraint skills by the handler.”