"Case Study"

Our Terminology professor gave us all a writing assignment for Friday--use ten words from the last two chapters of our Term book (dealing with the skeletal system and its components), and write a case study. If we had a real one that had happened to a pet or a friend's pet, we could use that, or we could invent one. I asked if I could make it fun, and she said yes. So here is my attempt to use ten veterinary terminology words in a vaguely interesting way, and also make my English degree not a complete waste of time.

Enjoy.

“Case Study”

(The Wanderer, 1818, by Caspar David Friedrich)

Brandon stood upon the crest, overlooking the natal grounds. He clasped and unclasped his hands behind him, pausing at times to check his pocket-watch. Today was the day. Since his brother, Ambrose’s discovery Brandon had put all his wealth to work for them, sure that no number of antique cars would equal the worth of what they were attempting to bring to life.

Ambrose had unearthed ancient osteoblasts in the stomach of an engorged mosquito, legs akimbo, frozen in time in a drop of amber. A hapless ant was also curled in death in the golden-orange jewel, but she contained no exciting discoveries for the brothers. Brandon realized, distantly, still lost in memory, that he was suffering from an anxious tetany, perhaps linked subconsciously to the spasms working inside the wonders below him.

Suddenly, he saw a movement. He hastened down the slope, almost losing his footing in the loose soil, and collapsed, kneeling, beside the large, multi-faceted ovoid before him. The sun hit his face and reflected his visage perfectly a thousand times over in the tiny, smooth areas of the egg. He saw some new wrinkles on his brow, but noted them not--they no longer mattered.

Ambrose was beside him in an instant--his equipment had also picked up the movements in the egg, and summoned him to his brother’s side. Brandon’s myalgia was becoming more intense, and Ambrose murmured close beside him that it was nearly time. Brandon fell back into his reverie, remembering the ups and downs of the last fifteen year’s work.

By far the worst time was when an intern, quivering and sweaty, had come to them and squeaked that he’d found evidence of epiphysitis in the extremities of the diamond-egg tenant. They’d woken experts in their field across the globe and flown them, bleary and cross, to the brothers’ labs. Realizing what was at stake, the experts had set to work with lasers and prayers to correct the issue, and had withdrawn, satisfied, leaving only faint seams in the developing limbs to remind the men, in xrays, what almost happened. Now they were about to witness the results of their work.

Now the egg twitched, moved from inside, and a spine shoved roughly through the egg’s membrane and impossible outer shell. It slashed away at its holding cell, and then momentarily stayed still. The brothers held their breaths, fascinated. The spike seemed to be made of the same substance and beauty of its encasing shell, multi-faceted, clear, and perfect, yet incredibly thin and strong. The amniotic fluid seeped out of the rend in the shell, and a long muzzle, attached to the other end of the spike, shoved its way out and made a whuffling sound. Suddenly, with a heave, the occupant pushed the rest of its shell aside and slithered out onto the grass, gracilis, long legs tangled together like a newborn foal’s.

“Looks like the osteoclasts did their work,” Ambrose breathed. Brandon could not yet reply in words. He reached out and gently felt up and down each leg and tiny, cloven hoof. The seams were invisible now. He grasped the forleg nearest him and firmly bent it in and let it extend again.

“Flexion’s good,” he said. “I think they did.” The brothers fell silent, watching the new life. A light, late afternoon breeze rustled between them, and roused the bundle of silken hide and slim bones lying in the grass; the little creature began scrambling against the ground, bringing its long legs underneath it. It succeeded, took a tiny breath, and heaving itself up, it whinnied.

Stories from Vet Tech: The Lot of Tech Husbands, and Hell Hath no Fury like a Cat.

All my professors thus far are women. Married women at that. This industry, like human nursing, tends to appeal mostly to women. In human nursing, that's beginning to change--the stereotype of female nurses is being beaten down. But it hasn't kicked in yet in Animal nursing. I think I've seen two men in leadership/teaching roles at VTI, and about 6 male students.

"It makes no sense," said Animal Tech. "I would love to have a man handy when I have to wrestle a 150 pound Mastiff down into lateral recumbancy."

For the men here, they have both more and fewer obstacles than the women have. On one hand, it's easier for the (generally) stronger men to restrain a large, frantic dog. On the other hand, if an animal has been physically abused, it's (generally) by a man, so the Vet Tech guys have an extra major hurdle to jump in winning the trust of biased, abused animals with PTSD.

But perhaps the roughest place for the men is as Animal Tech husbands. They deal with 3am ER visits for their wives and girlfriends with septic cat bites, and they must be flexible when it comes to strays. Luckily my husband is just as likely to bring home a stray as I am, but not all are as willing. With good reason.

~~~

"Best story," said Terminology. "We'd just gotten married. We were relaxing in bed, just enjoying each other's company, when I heard a noise. I turned on the light, and my cat had just had explosive, gelatinous diarrhea all over my new husband's pillow. We both freaked out and spent an hour cleaning everything, all the while me dragging towels around and weeping and begging him not to kill that cat. 'How much longer could he live, anyways?' I said. Well, he lived another 17 years. And he peed on everything. If it was on the floor, it was fair game. You bet my husband and kids learned to pick up their clothes real quick."

~~~

"I got this Golden when I was 19," said Animal Tech. "He died when I was in my thirties. He saw me through college, marriage, and kids. My kids grew up with that dog. I didn't realize it would destroy me when he died. I could not stop crying. Decided to try and find a dog in Pennsylvania or Ohio. More than that was too far. Well, I found this dog. This perfect dog. I kept coming back to her photo--there was something about her. But she was in Indiana. But I needed a dog. That dog. One day my husband came home from work, and I was under the kitchen table, cleaning up taco meat and crying. I'm talking Night of the Living Dead. Mascara everywhere. I hadn't had to clean food up off the floor for years because of my Golden. My husband looked at me. Now, he is not an animal person. If anything, he wanted just a little foofoo dog. One of those tiny ones. Something he wouldn't have to deal with too much. I wanted a manly dog. With teeth. But he looked at me and was like 'you want to go tomorrow morning and get that dog?' So the next morning we drove six hours to Indiana, spent twenty minutes with the dog, and drove six hours back home with her. She's been with us ever since."

And for heaven's sake don't breed your dog or buy from a breeder, either. If you think you require a certain breed because of how it looks/acts, you're doing it wrong. Shelter animals have all the personality traits (and a lot of the looks) you need and want, you just need to know what to look for (or find a friend who does!).  PLEASE get your pets neutered. So not kidding. 

~~~

"You have to be prepared," warned Animal Tech. "Be gentle with old animals, but do not ever underestimate them. This one time, some people brought their cat in to be put down. It was 22 years old. It looked like death. Like somebody had just draped skin over some cat bones. Worst mouth I had ever seen. Teeth like eugh. One bite from that one and you were going straight to the E.R. But it was completely emaciated, right? The owners said it had just gone downhill all of a sudden the last two days, and they knew it was time. So the vet and I took it back and are getting ready to euthanize it and I'm making jokes about how I don't even need to do anything to hold this thing down, I mean, look at it. And the vet was like 'yeah, scruff that cat.' And I'm like 'Really? are you kidding?' I was still fairly new at this. But thank God he told me to scruff it. The second that needle went in, that cat took on new life, freaked OUT. If I hadn't had it scruffed, it would've eaten my face right off. Now, of course, it was dead in like, two seconds. It was just like the last hurrah. Don't ever underestimate old animals. No matter how crappy they look. There's still life in there."

Stories from Vet Tech: New Friends, Amputees, and Cat People

I slunk into the orientation room on the third floor, little knowing I would, for the next eight weeks, spend 50 minutes here every day for Biology.

"This will be your biology classroom," said somebody.
"Students are not to use the elevator," said somebody else. "The teachers have to move large things up and down it frequently. Please use the stairs."
"Your lockers are in the basement."
It wasn't until later the painful enormity of these facts all cohered together for us.

As is the habit of many new students I religiously avoided eye contact with all other students, exchanging only greetings with my admissions counselor, and found an aisle seat near the front, for maximum powerpoint viewing. As is also the habit of anxious new students, I'd forgotten that 2 minutes prior, whilst still on the street outside, I'd texted my husband a message that would require a response.

Suddenly, unmuted, a nerd sound to end all nerd sounds began its alarm from deep within a zipper pocket of my book bag.
The girl across the aisle turned to look back at me while I fumbled the phone.
"Is that [nerd sound] your text alert?" she said.
"Yeah," I said.
"Awesome," she said, and smiled.
I'd made a friend.

~~~

"My kids were whelped in a vet clinic," said my Terminology professor. "They grew up knowing a heck of a lot more about animal medicine than any normal child should. But this one time, when my son was young, we were at a walk for Alzheimer's or something and we were talking to somebody else with a rescued Pit Bull, and my son goes 'MOM. Why does that pittie have four legs?' Poor kid. All we ever had were rescues from dogfighting rings and ones that had been hit by cars. They're all amputees."

~~~

"I'm a dog person," said Animal Tech. "I mean, cats are fine. I have nothing against cats. But give me a dog any day. Cat people are weird. At the vet clinic I work at, we had somebody bring in their cat to have it euthanized. She handed it over. The cat was already dead. I swear to God. They'd been carrying around a dead cat in their arms. The techs decided the least traumatic thing would be to pretend the cat wasn't dead. We took that dead cat and pretended to euthanize it, then just ushered the owner out and told 'em not to worry about the cost; it's fine. Go home. It's been a bad day. Yeah. They just handed us a dead cat.
You know what else cat people do? I had somebody with a bunch of cats. Whenever one died, they'd put it in tupperware. Just to hang onto it for a while or something. I don't know."

I thought to myself, I hope they at least kept it in the freezer. I should've asked.

"Actually," Animal Tech went on. "I should tell you guys, while I'm thinking about it... take cat bites seriously. I had a cat bite me right down to the joint in my finger once. Tiny little hole. I went septic because I was afraid going to the doctor for a puncture would make me a wuss. Yeah, ended up in the ER at 3am and was getting prepped for surgery by 6. I was in the hospital a week and almost died. Had three surgeries on this hand, actually. Seriously, you're not a wuss. Get that looked at. But moving on to the cat body language lecture... cats are great, you guys. I love cats. We have the best job."