Vet Tech Stories

Not too many of these. Vet tech work is comprised mostly of a lot of nasty clean up work, and not much to tell about. The fun stuff for a vet tech is the stuff most people faint over, so I will try to spare you that. However, I do have a few tales that are worth the trouble...

A Shaggy Dog Story
Christmas Bloat
Juggling
Listlessness

A Shaggy Dog Story

While I was working at the vet clinic, a beautiful young girl came to work with us. Oh, great I said, just what we needed - a dumb blonde named "Missie" of all things, to be pretty and do no work. That was as far from the truth as anything could possibly be. As it is, she has become a very good friend. Anyway, one morning Missie had gotten the short straw that week and was working the 7:00am till 3:00pm shift. When she got to the clinic that morning at 6:30 to open, she found the doors blocked by a grocery cart from the store up the way. In the darkness she angrily shoved it out of the way, down the sidewalk, before realizing that there was something in the cart. She brought the something into the clinic. When I arrived at 8:30, I found her in the floor with the UGLIEST puppy you have ever seen. Imagine if you will an old camel hair coat which has been in the attic, gotten wet, and had moths living with it. There - that is the picture of this pitiful rag of a dog. No hair on any of his feet, his rump, or his tail. Ear mites in both ears. Toes so swollen from mange that he could hardly walk. Missie was in love. Always a sucker for a hard luck case, she adopted him right away. We tried desperately to get her to send him to the pound, but she refused. We all knew that they would have destroyed (humane society jargon for killed) him at first sight, as he was obviously un-adoptable, and she would have none of that. Once we realized there was no changing her mind, we all sort of adopted him, too. He had to have multiple treatments to get rid of the mange, and he sort of became the "clinic" dog, since he was living there during the treatment cycle. Everybody loved him - even my bitchy old Shelties. As this ugly puppy grew rapidly into an even uglier dog, he became the center of attention. The game we played most with him was "guess the pedigree". In this game, the object was to come up with the most imaginative breed for this mess of a mutt. A description will help you to understand. He had long golden-red fur like a Golden Retriever. Ears like a Greyhound. Tail like an Irish Setter's. Feet like - well, there have *never* been feet like this. Great Dane feet that have been smashed with a 10 pound sledge might give you the right idea, and they were webbed. Yes, like a duck. Now, the most um... unusual feature this dog had was his mouth. His upper jaw fit the Golden Retriever idea. His bottom jaw was, shall we say, mismatched. It was at least two inches shorter than the upper. At first we thought there would be no way this puppy could eat solid food, but he managed just fine. Our doctor finally came up with the winning entry - Purebred Swamp Collie. When we asked him how he came up with *that!*, he explained:

Long thick coat for shedding water.
Saber tail for use as a rudder when swimming.
Huge, flat, webbed feet for paddling.
Oversized upper jaw for (get this!) sieving the sediment to find
crustaceans, like a flamingo does.

That last one got him the prize!

September 07, 1995

Christmas Bloat

When I was working at the Small Animal Emergency Clinic, one of the things we used to dread was the gastric torsion. This is a condition where a dog, usually one of the barrel-chested breeds, for one reason or another has a lot of gas develop in the stomach, and when the animal rolls around trying to get comfortable, the stomach spins around, creating a twist in the esophagus and intestine. Always fatal if not treated, and usually very complicated to treat.

I had drawn the short straw that year and ended up working Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. About 2:00am on Christmas Day, just after Santa had finished his deliveries, we got a frantic call. A miniature Schnauzer had torn down one of the kids stockings and was now lying in the floor, distended and groaning. Bloody hell. I told them to bring the dog in ASAP, and woke the vet. We bustled about getting all the anticipated things ready.

Too soon the bell rang. I let in the people carrying the dog, all anxious. The animal was in even worse condition that I had imagined. When the vet came into the exam room, he just looked at me and sighed. I took the animal in the back for x-rays while he discussed the case with the owners. The poor dog was in such a state that I was able to x-ray him by myself. He couldn't even move, his stomach was so distended. I developed the film, but I couldn't find the classic black circle of gas which usually indicates bloat, so I left them on the viewer and waited for the vet to come look at them. He came back in with the full story.

Apparently the stockings had each had a package of candy in them. When they found the dog, there was the remnant of a package, but no candy. When asked what kind of candy it was, they weren't sure. Some had been chocolate, but there had been some other kind too, they just couldn't remember. He had told them to go straight home and find out for sure what kind of candy it was. Most folks don't seem to know that chocolate is toxic to dogs.

Meanwhile, he checked out the x-rays. Well, he said, whatever it was he ate is still there. If we can get a stomach tube down him, maybe we can evacuate the stomach and reduce the torsion, if there is one. I began preparations. Fortunately, this was a small dog, easy for two people to tube. Not like the St. Bernard... but that's another story.

Soon the owners called back. The dog had eaten an entire pound of Gummi Bears! Now this dog couldn't have weighed more than 8 pounds by himself. Imagine yourself eating 20 pounds of jelly candy in one sitting and you begin to get the idea of what this dog was feeling. At about the same time as the owners called, this poor little creature started farting. I thought he would never stop. The vet and I were overjoyed by the sound. The fact that gas was escaping meant that the dog was not suffering from gastric torsion, just from gluttony! So, we sent him home after administering a healthy dose of mineral oil to help speed the passage of the candy.

A nice happy ending for a Christmas Day emergency.

September 6, 1996

Juggling

I was working in an animal clinic as a surgery tech. I had the bottle of injectable anesthetic out, and had just drawn up a syringe full of the stuff. As is habit (and a good habit at that) I started to put the needle cover back on the needle before putting the syringe down. Since I still had the bottle in my hand, I managed to miss the needle with the cover, pricking myself in the finger with the needle. This prompted me to holler and jerk my hand away. In doing so, I not only dropped the needle cover, but the (very expensive) bottle full of anesthetic, too. This in turn caused me to grab for the bottle with my other hand - yes the one with the needle and syringe still in it. I let the syringe go in my haste to catch the bottle, and as I did so, it occurred to me what a stupid thing to do that was. So, I grabbed for the syringe with the hand that had originally been holding the bottle! Somehow I managed to actually catch the bottle without breaking it, and at the same time caught the syringe with my other hand. Needle first. Into my palm. Ouch. Oddly enough, I didn't drop the bottle!

I must have looked like a juggler having a seizure, because by the time I finished with that little escapade, everyone in the back of the clinic was howling with laughter at me. Lotta help they were!

Having caught the syringe needle first, the plunger was never depressed so I didn't actually get injected with the anesthetic - good thing! BUT, the needle hole in my palm took several days to heal.

Moral of the story?

Always let an uncovered needle hit the floor - and if your feet are in the way, JUMP!

Fri, 12 May, 2000

Listlessness

I've been working with or for veterinarians since I was 19 or 20. One of my first paying jobs was at the emergency clinic. They are open when all the other vets are closed, and they usually get all the weirdos.

One night, before midnight, but late enough the vet had already crashed in the little sleeping room, the phone rang. I picked it up, and the woman on the other end informed me that her cat was very listless, and she was concerned that the animal might have something terribly wrong with it. I gave her the "it's gonna cost you just to walk in the door" speech (you'd be surprised how many folks are shocked that we want to be *paid* for our midnight work!), and told her how to get there.

Twenty minutes later the bell rang. I went out to the waiting area and opened the door for her and another girl - her daughter? - and they came in carrying this huge bundle of towels and blankets. She confirmed that she was the lady with the listless cat. She explained to me that the cat had disappeared the day before, and they had searched the house, finally finding the poor kitty hiding behind the couch. They had dragged the cat out with some difficulty, but now the animal was not eating or drinking, and didn't seem to want to move. I told them to go on into the exam room and put the cat on the table, and I'd go get the vet. After waking the vet, we discussed possible diagnoses, and prepared the surgery for the worst.

The vet (Robin) and I came into the exam room a minute or two later, and the bundle had been carefully placed in the center of the exam table. Robin introduced herself, and repeated the history I'd given her back to the clients. Sometimes folks remember stuff when the vet comes in that they can't remember when talking to a tech. They agreed that yes, that was what happened, and they were very worried. Meanwhile, the bundle on the table was completely still. We had yet to see any evidence of an animal in there anywhere. Robin carefully pulled back the topmost blanket, and sure enough, there was a cat in there. We looked at each other for just a moment in disbelief. Robin dutifully put her stethoscope on and listened to the animal's chest and throat. She carefully slid her hand under the cat to turn it to it's other side, and when she did, the cat flipped over with a KLUNK. It rocked for a moment on it's slightly distended abdomen, it's stiff paws tapping the table gently. The side which was now up was completely flat, like the bottom of a statue. Robin listened to this side of the chest as well, wearing an expression of extreme concern. Biting my tongue so hard I had a blood blister on it later, I excused myself. I ran back into the surgery, stuffed a towel in my mouth (much to the surprise of my workmate) and laughed until I couldn't breathe.

I'm sure Lynn thought I'd gone completely nuts. I couldn't tell her what was going on, so I just sent her into the exam room in my place. She also came out laughing. Two techs standing in the surgery with towels stuffed in our mouths laughing so hard our faces hurt. Not very compassionate, eh?

After regaining my composure, I went back into the exam room to hear Robin saying kindly, "I'm sorry, but I'm there's not much we can do. I'm not finding a heartbeat, and there are no breath sounds. I'm afraid she's already dead."

I'm sure it wasn't ignorance, but hope that brought that lady into our clinic with a cold, stiff, glassy-eyed cat. And we weren't laughing at her, or at her poor kitty. It was Robin, with her cool manner and calm, thorough exam of the long dead animal. I'll never forget the sight of her with her stethoscope on that flat cat, listening intently for signs of life.

Wed, 20 Feb 2002

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