Again with the skipped week, this time because I went and caught the flu from somebody. It's going around. Yay.
So I went in the week, determined to work hard, even if I was still a little tired from being sick. I was the second person in the office, J being the first, and I noticed that the trash had't been taken out the night before. Neither had many counters been wiped down, nor dishes washed. I went in the back, and found the three newest boarders - dropped off just before I arrived - hadn't really been settled in yet with water or food. So I got to work making them comfortable. Oddly enough, it was the three from the week I'd been there before: the excitable piddler dachshund, the loveable orange tabby, and the grumpy-ass pretty kitty. Also there was a bearded dragon (settled in on a heating pad), and two shy stray kittens.
I got the charts set up and cages stocked with litter boxes, water bowls, and fed everybody. T came in and turned on the heat lamp for the lizard, and informed me that the two strays were adoptable. We cleaned up as much as we could, doing a dang fine job if I may say so, and tried to ignore the small orange kitten as he started meowing. A lot. We ended up putting the kittens in isolation later because they werebeing super-noisey, but they were calmer as long as they were together. And well behaved, too. A little bit of comfort-petting and they purred readily.
The doctor, B, and D came in, returning from the early-morning rattlesnake vaccination clinic. Things got rolling. First patient was an exotic: a green-tree python. Beautiful snake with great big golden eyes and light emerald skin. One problem, though: his bowel had prolapsed. Not the best thing in the world. I reminded myself it probably felt worse than it looked, so I stayed sympathetic instead of being grossed out. We ended up anesthetizing him (I didn't know you could anesthetize a snake...) to surgically put things back in where they belonged. I got to "restrain" him for the procedure. I put "restrain" in quotation marks, because a sedated snake doesn't need much restraining. I just needed to keep him from slithering off the table. I tried to keep him warm, too.
After that, the aggressive chow-mix from two weeks prior came in for a recheck. He needed restraint. I was it. Awesomely enough, he offered very little resistance, and we did just fine. I felt like I passed a barrier, with confidence and skill.
A lot of cleaning was in order for the day, so when I wasn't holding animals, I was scrubbing equipment and wiping down exam tables. A hairless cat came in, apparently having flipped out and gone aggro on her owners to the point where he - a grown man - asked to not be in the same room when we opened up her box. It was double-taped shut, a thick filing box. The inside was dark, quiet, and ominous. I opened it up and...!
This little pink cat blinked squintily up at me. I pulled her out, she patiently held still, and let the doc prod and palpate with no trouble. We went to run a blood test, and the poor thing squeaked and twitched when we went to poke her. I ended up having to defer to T to hold her, since I wasn't keeping her still enough. I tried. *sigh*
She was very cuddly, though. And very sweet. We gave her back to the owners and assured them we'd get to the bottom of the behavioral issue.
Last part of the day, we had a dog with a foxtail in her ear. We ended up having to knock her out completely to get a good look. First time seeing an intubation. The doc was nice enough to let me observe, grabbing the tongue and hoisting it out of the way, shining the light down the dog's throat so I could see where things needed to go. At points I was a little worried, because the dog would stop breathing for longer than felt right, but D was there, monitoring everything, forcing air intake as correct. Turned out she just had a waxy blockage, not a foxtail, and I got to observe her coming out of anesthesia. I stayed with her for the requisite 10 minute observation period, to make sure she didn't get sick or collapse. She did freak out, so the doc had to give her some sedatives to keep her from failing and hurting herself, but she was fine by the time her owners came to get her.
End of the day and I cleaned up thoroughly, making sure everyone was fed, walked, bedded down, and everything was well stocked for Monday. The snake went home, all stitched up. It was quiet now, just the boarders and the two strays. It felt good to know I was leaving things better than I found them, and I spent a little extra time cuddling the two kittens. I told B that - if they weren't adopted by next Saturday - I'd be taking one home.
Lesson learned: success stories make it worthwhile. And kittens. But I knew that one already.
May 24, 2010
May 10, 2010
Veterinary Assistant Externship: Day 3
I missed last week. Woke up with a splitting headache that threatened to make me lose my lunch (last night's dinner?) if I even thought about getting up. Ended up sleeping half the day. Restorative, yes, but I felt like I'd wasted the day somehow. Especially since a full day's work of externshipy goodness had come and gone without me.
So, I vowed this week I would take care of myself, get to bed at a reasonable hour, and get my butt to the clinic like a good student. Had to leave a rather well-going Warcraft raid to do so... but work comes first. Er, study. Er... animals, dangit.
So I Got to the clinic bright and early. Oddly enough, D wasn't at the front desk like the last two times. A new lady was there, K. I said hi, discovered I was the first one to arrive that knew anything about the back rooms, shrugged and got to work, stocking syringes and setting out chairs and garbage bins. I went in the back to check on our boarders, if we had any. And boy howdy, did we.
Two regular old-fashioned boarders were there, a ginger kitty with a sweet disposition and a mini dachshund who could have vibrated into another dimension if she got excited enough. Seeing's how I was the first one there and her chart said she'd not been check up on this morning, I opted to walk her. I nabbed a leash and opened her kennel. She proceeded to get so excited she piddled all over her kennel floor.
Goody.
Slipped the leash over her face, set her down, and off we went. She knew right where the door was and was more than happy to get going. I got her outside to door, went to adjust her leash, and she rolled over onto her back. Clearly I was coming in to pet her tummy. Which apparently excited her again. A rather impressive stream of puppy piddle ran down the asphalt.
Well, at least we were outside.
Proceeded with the walk, she did her business (which impressed me that she had anything left), and came back in. I gave the ginger kitty some lovin's before scoping out the next row of cages.
Another regular boarder, a fluffy pretty kitty with a disposition not unlike Shiko's.
"Hi kitty..."
*hsssss.*
"... okie doke. Good to know."
*hsssssssss.*
"I got it the first time. Not a social girl. I'm going over here now, so chill."
It was a very matter-of-fact hiss. Not "I'm scared" or "I'm angry". Just... distilled "bugger off" with a scoop of grumpy for good measure. I left her alone for the rest of the day. She slept pretty much the entire time, so it wasn't an issue.
Then there was the feral.
Wrapped in an E-collar, tucked in a corner, a large gunmetal-grey male curled in obvious discomfort sat, unnamed, with a large tag on his door labeled "CAUTION". I looked a little closer, and he cried.
I say "cried" because there was no other word for it. It wasn't a howl or yowl. But it had that deep-mouthed tone to it, nothing as domestic as a mew or meow. It was a cry, a pathetic, forlorn sound of loss and fear. And my closer look showed me why. There, behind his E-collar, gazed one golden eye back at me... the other, sewed shut.
Ferals lead a hard life. They must hunt and forage for food, often risking poison from rodents who have ingested vermin-controlling substances (which is why I DESPISE rat-poison), dodging cars and loose dogs and bored humans with violence on their minds. You'd be amazed how many people will torture a cat and think nothing of it. Setting them on fire. Force-feeding them firecrackers. Drenching them in acid. Crushing them or beating them against a wall. Drowning them in a bag. I wish these were isolated horror stories, but those are the most common. Then, if they survive all that, and manage to eat for a day, they have to defend themselves from other ferals to eke out a territory and make a life for themselves. Unprotected from disease and the elements, even a small malady can become life-threatening.
This one had some run-in or another that cost him his eye. Fortunately for him, some good soul brought him in to get it seen to, but for the rest of his life he would bear that defect, and add an extra blind spot to his already difficult life.
Hard cases. Hard lessons. Necessary. If an animal is well, they don't need us. We have to be here for the ones who do.
So I checked on him periodically. Talking to him soothingly, he cried as though his heart would burst, as though he needed comfort but too afraid in this strange place to trust it. He cried, and I kept talking to him. Slowly his voice eased, and he cried less. It went from a mournful sound to a simply tired and sad one, and he drifted off to rest for a while.
T and B came in after the doctor did. Apparently today was my day to learn in-room techniques. I got to hold a Boston Terrier while he got shots, a bad-breathed Pomeranian while his canine influenza vaccine was administered (which is a nasal spray... which dogs DO NOT LIKE!), and a chow-shepherd mix that had to weigh nearly as much as I do as the doc administered eye drops. Again with the did-not-like. But It was important they stayed still, so I held my ground. I communicated with the other more protective chow-shepherd mix with body language, baring my throat and looking away, and he stopped growling at me. It was simple: his master and canine companion were in this strange place with strange people in it. It was possible we meant one or both of them harm. He would not allow this. Not wanting to get bit, I had to communicate that I meant no harm.
Granted, B came in to restrain that particular dog, since he had - prior to his recent extensive training - been much more aggressive. They weren't about to let a newbie handle an aggressive. But I did well with him when I was near him.
I also held onto a mellow but wary kitty with a hurt paw. He ended up staying with us a while while the anesthetic and other drugs knocked him out, and stayed with him when the doc fished around in his paw for whatever ailed him. I checked up on him later as he came out of it... dazed, disoriented, but all right.
As usual, I cleaned. I took the puppy out for her noon walk (she peed with excitement in her crate again), and ran a urinalysis. I even got to try my hand at running a blood sample. I'm still not confident enough to stab anything with a needle yet. T gave me confidence, telling me I would miss, it happens, everyone misses occasionally, but I'd be good because I'd be careful. I prepped drugs and antibiotics, shadowed the doctor, cleaned up rooms after visits so we could get a new patient into an exam room right away, and basically ran around doing as much helping things as I could. The doctor bought us lunch, which was awesome, and I learned some new dog-training techniques from him.
Close up came around, and I took the puppy out for her last walk (got her out to the right spot before she peed this time). I mopped the floors, put up the chairs, half a dozen other cleaning duties that worked up a good sweat. The mellow kitty we'd anesthetized earlier went home with his people with some antibiotics, and we started closing down for the night. B showed me a few new restraint techniques with the excited-piddler, who, of course, piddled on the table as we worked, thumping her tail gleefully. I told B I didn't mind, since I'd rather deal with a dog that piddled when excited than a dog who bit instead. She laughed and agreed.
It was a nice way to end the day, having helped T take off the E-collar from the feral, and seeing him curl up protectively in the corner again. I felt so sorry for that cat, knowing he'd probably be released well before I came back, and only being able to wish him well.
Lesson learned: a little laughter goes a long way.
So, I vowed this week I would take care of myself, get to bed at a reasonable hour, and get my butt to the clinic like a good student. Had to leave a rather well-going Warcraft raid to do so... but work comes first. Er, study. Er... animals, dangit.
So I Got to the clinic bright and early. Oddly enough, D wasn't at the front desk like the last two times. A new lady was there, K. I said hi, discovered I was the first one to arrive that knew anything about the back rooms, shrugged and got to work, stocking syringes and setting out chairs and garbage bins. I went in the back to check on our boarders, if we had any. And boy howdy, did we.
Two regular old-fashioned boarders were there, a ginger kitty with a sweet disposition and a mini dachshund who could have vibrated into another dimension if she got excited enough. Seeing's how I was the first one there and her chart said she'd not been check up on this morning, I opted to walk her. I nabbed a leash and opened her kennel. She proceeded to get so excited she piddled all over her kennel floor.
Goody.
Slipped the leash over her face, set her down, and off we went. She knew right where the door was and was more than happy to get going. I got her outside to door, went to adjust her leash, and she rolled over onto her back. Clearly I was coming in to pet her tummy. Which apparently excited her again. A rather impressive stream of puppy piddle ran down the asphalt.
Well, at least we were outside.
Proceeded with the walk, she did her business (which impressed me that she had anything left), and came back in. I gave the ginger kitty some lovin's before scoping out the next row of cages.
Another regular boarder, a fluffy pretty kitty with a disposition not unlike Shiko's.
"Hi kitty..."
*hsssss.*
"... okie doke. Good to know."
*hsssssssss.*
"I got it the first time. Not a social girl. I'm going over here now, so chill."
It was a very matter-of-fact hiss. Not "I'm scared" or "I'm angry". Just... distilled "bugger off" with a scoop of grumpy for good measure. I left her alone for the rest of the day. She slept pretty much the entire time, so it wasn't an issue.
Then there was the feral.
Wrapped in an E-collar, tucked in a corner, a large gunmetal-grey male curled in obvious discomfort sat, unnamed, with a large tag on his door labeled "CAUTION". I looked a little closer, and he cried.
I say "cried" because there was no other word for it. It wasn't a howl or yowl. But it had that deep-mouthed tone to it, nothing as domestic as a mew or meow. It was a cry, a pathetic, forlorn sound of loss and fear. And my closer look showed me why. There, behind his E-collar, gazed one golden eye back at me... the other, sewed shut.
Ferals lead a hard life. They must hunt and forage for food, often risking poison from rodents who have ingested vermin-controlling substances (which is why I DESPISE rat-poison), dodging cars and loose dogs and bored humans with violence on their minds. You'd be amazed how many people will torture a cat and think nothing of it. Setting them on fire. Force-feeding them firecrackers. Drenching them in acid. Crushing them or beating them against a wall. Drowning them in a bag. I wish these were isolated horror stories, but those are the most common. Then, if they survive all that, and manage to eat for a day, they have to defend themselves from other ferals to eke out a territory and make a life for themselves. Unprotected from disease and the elements, even a small malady can become life-threatening.
This one had some run-in or another that cost him his eye. Fortunately for him, some good soul brought him in to get it seen to, but for the rest of his life he would bear that defect, and add an extra blind spot to his already difficult life.
Hard cases. Hard lessons. Necessary. If an animal is well, they don't need us. We have to be here for the ones who do.
So I checked on him periodically. Talking to him soothingly, he cried as though his heart would burst, as though he needed comfort but too afraid in this strange place to trust it. He cried, and I kept talking to him. Slowly his voice eased, and he cried less. It went from a mournful sound to a simply tired and sad one, and he drifted off to rest for a while.
T and B came in after the doctor did. Apparently today was my day to learn in-room techniques. I got to hold a Boston Terrier while he got shots, a bad-breathed Pomeranian while his canine influenza vaccine was administered (which is a nasal spray... which dogs DO NOT LIKE!), and a chow-shepherd mix that had to weigh nearly as much as I do as the doc administered eye drops. Again with the did-not-like. But It was important they stayed still, so I held my ground. I communicated with the other more protective chow-shepherd mix with body language, baring my throat and looking away, and he stopped growling at me. It was simple: his master and canine companion were in this strange place with strange people in it. It was possible we meant one or both of them harm. He would not allow this. Not wanting to get bit, I had to communicate that I meant no harm.
Granted, B came in to restrain that particular dog, since he had - prior to his recent extensive training - been much more aggressive. They weren't about to let a newbie handle an aggressive. But I did well with him when I was near him.
I also held onto a mellow but wary kitty with a hurt paw. He ended up staying with us a while while the anesthetic and other drugs knocked him out, and stayed with him when the doc fished around in his paw for whatever ailed him. I checked up on him later as he came out of it... dazed, disoriented, but all right.
As usual, I cleaned. I took the puppy out for her noon walk (she peed with excitement in her crate again), and ran a urinalysis. I even got to try my hand at running a blood sample. I'm still not confident enough to stab anything with a needle yet. T gave me confidence, telling me I would miss, it happens, everyone misses occasionally, but I'd be good because I'd be careful. I prepped drugs and antibiotics, shadowed the doctor, cleaned up rooms after visits so we could get a new patient into an exam room right away, and basically ran around doing as much helping things as I could. The doctor bought us lunch, which was awesome, and I learned some new dog-training techniques from him.
Close up came around, and I took the puppy out for her last walk (got her out to the right spot before she peed this time). I mopped the floors, put up the chairs, half a dozen other cleaning duties that worked up a good sweat. The mellow kitty we'd anesthetized earlier went home with his people with some antibiotics, and we started closing down for the night. B showed me a few new restraint techniques with the excited-piddler, who, of course, piddled on the table as we worked, thumping her tail gleefully. I told B I didn't mind, since I'd rather deal with a dog that piddled when excited than a dog who bit instead. She laughed and agreed.
It was a nice way to end the day, having helped T take off the E-collar from the feral, and seeing him curl up protectively in the corner again. I felt so sorry for that cat, knowing he'd probably be released well before I came back, and only being able to wish him well.
Lesson learned: a little laughter goes a long way.
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