I began the week feeling very sorry for my self: test - test - homework - test. Yuck. Interspersed with swim team for the elder child and jujitsu for the younger and obligatory meal preparation in between.
Anyway - what in the world does this have to do with being a vet student??? Nothing - Just some Friday evening, three glasses of red wine down, sort of self indulgent yuck that no one wants to hear.
So........ earlier this week:
I arrive Monday morning to the rounds room of equine internal medicine, bright eyed and bushy tailed - all ready to make my mark, ask insightful questions and generally contribute to the rich academic air.
But, no cases. So we have a "rounds" topic discussion on strangles - which is the layman's term for an equine respiratory infection with Strep equi subspecies equi .
I fancy myself sort of up on the subject and plan insightful commentary in my head, waiting to wow the clinicians with my acumen on the subject. But as the discussion progresses I realize I am way out of my league.
"What diagnostic test would you use in a suspected case of purpura hemmoragica?"
Now this particular syndrome is a sequel to Strep equi infection that is, in short, a bad deal.
I have no idea...
PCR? No
Florescent antibody? No
M-Protein immunoglobulin binding??? Yes
The senior students dominate - none of these are my answers. I stare mutely down at my lap top, typing furiously in an attempt to look busy.
Bloody hell - M-protein binding???? Did I know about that?
Thankfully my wounded ego is saved by an incoming case.
Sweet horse with mild neurological deficits - which would be cute in a kitten but are down right deadly in a 1300 lb animal.
Euthanize - his owner is weeping while we students flock together, analyzing the horses gait and mentation, reflexes and proprioceptive deficits. It is unsaid - but known, that this will not end well, that even if there is a "cure" in this case that due to the size of the animal and the cost involved it would be prohibitively expensive to attempt.
The gelding stands in his stall - looking around munching alfalfa and it occurs to me why I admire animals so much.
It is because they are themselves - without apology. I am not one to indulge in anthropomorphizing - what makes animals amazing is not that they are like us, but rather that they are like themselves.
There he stood - taking in the moments of his day, the smells, the sounds, the weeping girl in his stall, and they just were.
I do not relish this part of my job - the all to frequent task of ending a life, but on the same hand I see it as a gift. The ability to provide a peaceful death - a passing into the next.
I am sorry for the sad girl - it is always those of us that are left behind that are most heart-broken.
But I would thank her and this horse, that passed through my day of test - test - homework - test.
They remind me to pause - to not be in such a hurry to get the answer right, nor to resent the swimming, the meal preparation and the bloody homework.
But to just be, for a moment - with the chaos all around.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Braving Radiology
When I was younger (and arguably far more stupid) I used to relish being asked to ride the "challenging" horses at the dude ranch I worked at. I felt that this request was inspired by my exceptional horsemanship skills and riding ability. It was only recently that I realized the request was made because I was young, stupid and willing - it was simply that the person making the request didn't want it to be his/her head to hit the ground with a resounding crack.
Vet school forces one to be brave in that not-sexy-at-all sort of a way. I have the privilege of looking like a complete idiot at least once a day.
Just this week on radiology a group of us third years were restraining an older, very sick dog for an ultrasound. She was very brave and lay on her back without complaint.
The two radiologists stared intently at the screen covered in black and white static. Of course no image became apparent to me. I think I would have more luck understanding the insides of this particular dog if I tried reading her tea-leaves, or tarot cards.
All of a sudden I recognize something shaped like a wagon wheel.
Ah ha!
I decide to wow the doctors with my incisive acumen.
"That's the kidney, right?" I pipe up.
Now of course if I had been particularly clever I would have discerned that the ultrasound probe was nowhere near either of the kidneys and was rather right on the mid-line of the dogs abdomen.
"No, that's not the kidney - that's the stomach. The kidney is more like a watermelon cut in half"
Nailed it!
Earlier in the week we were reviewing radiographs (x-rays) in preparation for our junior radiology exam.
"What's wrong with this picture?" the head radiology technician asks us.
"Overexposed?"
"Too much kvp?"
"Not enough MaS"
"Underdeveloped?"
She looks at us sadly. Finally one brainy member of our group offers "It's a double exposure, right. I mean there shouldn't be a heart in the abdomen?"
ah - yes...... there shouldn't be.
So feeling stupid comes along with the learning curve. I hate looking stupid - but it appears there is no way out of this program without feeling like a dunce.
There is always someone smarter than me, and I imagine what I don't know could fill an ocean but I'll just keep showing up and pray that wagon wheels and watermelon half's will all fall into place one day.
Until then, I will keep cracking my head.
Vet school forces one to be brave in that not-sexy-at-all sort of a way. I have the privilege of looking like a complete idiot at least once a day.
Just this week on radiology a group of us third years were restraining an older, very sick dog for an ultrasound. She was very brave and lay on her back without complaint.
The two radiologists stared intently at the screen covered in black and white static. Of course no image became apparent to me. I think I would have more luck understanding the insides of this particular dog if I tried reading her tea-leaves, or tarot cards.
All of a sudden I recognize something shaped like a wagon wheel.
Ah ha!
I decide to wow the doctors with my incisive acumen.
"That's the kidney, right?" I pipe up.
Now of course if I had been particularly clever I would have discerned that the ultrasound probe was nowhere near either of the kidneys and was rather right on the mid-line of the dogs abdomen.
"No, that's not the kidney - that's the stomach. The kidney is more like a watermelon cut in half"
Nailed it!
Earlier in the week we were reviewing radiographs (x-rays) in preparation for our junior radiology exam.
"What's wrong with this picture?" the head radiology technician asks us.
"Overexposed?"
"Too much kvp?"
"Not enough MaS"
"Underdeveloped?"
She looks at us sadly. Finally one brainy member of our group offers "It's a double exposure, right. I mean there shouldn't be a heart in the abdomen?"
ah - yes...... there shouldn't be.
So feeling stupid comes along with the learning curve. I hate looking stupid - but it appears there is no way out of this program without feeling like a dunce.
There is always someone smarter than me, and I imagine what I don't know could fill an ocean but I'll just keep showing up and pray that wagon wheels and watermelon half's will all fall into place one day.
Until then, I will keep cracking my head.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Chicken necks and cow bums
Below is the original post that I had assumed was deleted. I have apologized profusely to Angus and even allowed a brief foray onto miniclips.com
During the last three years of my vet school education I have learned more about the female reproductive system then I ever thought there was to know - and realized at the same time - that what I don't know could fill an ocean.
In pursuit of furthering my education and gaining a deeper understanding of the bovine "ba gina" (as my daughter used to call it) I recklessly registered for a four day artificial insemination course offered by a reputable supplier of semen. Hummmmm.......
The classroom time was easy enough, we were an eclectic mix of vet students, local ranch owners, a few cow hands interested in earning some money on the side, one matronly lady from Texas and a lone Australian dairy specialist.
The lecture consisted of graph-graph-graph-chart, all depicting, in one form or another the benefits of AI over using live bulls in a breeding program. I used this time wisely, to assess my fellow students, leaf though handouts and plan a counter attacks on the Lamar's donuts sitting just outside the classroom. The only moment of undivided attention that the presenter enjoyed was when he suggested that the group of us, as a whole, repeat the word "vagina" after him. This exercise was to remind us of the importance on placing ones hand in the rectum and NOT in the vagina. The Wyoming rancher next to me pulled his hat down low, but gamely mumbled along with the rest of us. After that moment of bonding we moved onto a practical discussion of the steps of palpation of the reproductive tract via the rectum of the cow and the importance of properly locating and identifying the cervix.
"It feels like a chicken neck! Its really not that hard to find, and that's your goal today, to find the cervix in each cow you go in." With these guiding words he sent us on our way.
We all suited up and tromped out into the 12 degree weather. Eagerly donning palpation sleeves (long, plastic gloves that covers one arm up to the shoulder) and cupping handfuls of the all important lube we sidled up to the cow behind of our choosing and ventured therein.
Now, luckily for me (and probably many of the other participants) I had spent some time in this position so the sensation of having ones arm encased in something like a crap filled elephants trunk is not totally outside my experience. Not so for the sweet Texan matron who I happened to be standing next to in the line up. The dancing black Angus cow in front of her had clamped her tail down tight and was unwilling to allow entry.
"Just pick up her tail and move it to the outside of your left arm" I advised, sagely. She did, and the cow immediately moved it back into position, slapping the poor woman in the face in the process. Nice Texan Lady winced but bravely advanced her fingers into her cow butt.
"It's SO tight" she said having come to an abrupt halt in the process.
"I know, its tough at first - you sort of need to brace your arm and just push on through."
She retracted her hand and tried again - that's when I realized her hand was a bit further south than it ought to be.
"Not in the vagina!" I barked, a bit loudly, making her jump and the guys around me flinch in unison. It was at this point I decided any advice I had for her should stay shut away in my little brain and that the insemination experts were really more qualified to help out.
I blindly sought the cervix of my own cow, coming upon a structure shaped like an avocado or maybe a frog and something that felt like a dough filled basket ball (her rumen) but nothing identifiable as a chicken neck. Disappointed but not discouraged I forged ahead - determined to find a chicken neck, if not in this gal, then in the next.
We emerged from the barn some hours later, cold and covered in manure but triumphant. Lone Aussie dude, Texan Matron, cow hands, ranchers and vet students alike had successfully located the neck of bird inside the rectum of a cow.
It was a good day.
The darnedest things make me happy!
During the last three years of my vet school education I have learned more about the female reproductive system then I ever thought there was to know - and realized at the same time - that what I don't know could fill an ocean.
In pursuit of furthering my education and gaining a deeper understanding of the bovine "ba gina" (as my daughter used to call it) I recklessly registered for a four day artificial insemination course offered by a reputable supplier of semen. Hummmmm.......
The classroom time was easy enough, we were an eclectic mix of vet students, local ranch owners, a few cow hands interested in earning some money on the side, one matronly lady from Texas and a lone Australian dairy specialist.
The lecture consisted of graph-graph-graph-chart, all depicting, in one form or another the benefits of AI over using live bulls in a breeding program. I used this time wisely, to assess my fellow students, leaf though handouts and plan a counter attacks on the Lamar's donuts sitting just outside the classroom. The only moment of undivided attention that the presenter enjoyed was when he suggested that the group of us, as a whole, repeat the word "vagina" after him. This exercise was to remind us of the importance on placing ones hand in the rectum and NOT in the vagina. The Wyoming rancher next to me pulled his hat down low, but gamely mumbled along with the rest of us. After that moment of bonding we moved onto a practical discussion of the steps of palpation of the reproductive tract via the rectum of the cow and the importance of properly locating and identifying the cervix.
"It feels like a chicken neck! Its really not that hard to find, and that's your goal today, to find the cervix in each cow you go in." With these guiding words he sent us on our way.
We all suited up and tromped out into the 12 degree weather. Eagerly donning palpation sleeves (long, plastic gloves that covers one arm up to the shoulder) and cupping handfuls of the all important lube we sidled up to the cow behind of our choosing and ventured therein.
Now, luckily for me (and probably many of the other participants) I had spent some time in this position so the sensation of having ones arm encased in something like a crap filled elephants trunk is not totally outside my experience. Not so for the sweet Texan matron who I happened to be standing next to in the line up. The dancing black Angus cow in front of her had clamped her tail down tight and was unwilling to allow entry.
"Just pick up her tail and move it to the outside of your left arm" I advised, sagely. She did, and the cow immediately moved it back into position, slapping the poor woman in the face in the process. Nice Texan Lady winced but bravely advanced her fingers into her cow butt.
"It's SO tight" she said having come to an abrupt halt in the process.
"I know, its tough at first - you sort of need to brace your arm and just push on through."
She retracted her hand and tried again - that's when I realized her hand was a bit further south than it ought to be.
"Not in the vagina!" I barked, a bit loudly, making her jump and the guys around me flinch in unison. It was at this point I decided any advice I had for her should stay shut away in my little brain and that the insemination experts were really more qualified to help out.
I blindly sought the cervix of my own cow, coming upon a structure shaped like an avocado or maybe a frog and something that felt like a dough filled basket ball (her rumen) but nothing identifiable as a chicken neck. Disappointed but not discouraged I forged ahead - determined to find a chicken neck, if not in this gal, then in the next.
We emerged from the barn some hours later, cold and covered in manure but triumphant. Lone Aussie dude, Texan Matron, cow hands, ranchers and vet students alike had successfully located the neck of bird inside the rectum of a cow.
It was a good day.
The darnedest things make me happy!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
A good editor
I had crafted a witty first post for my blog - but my six-year-old (in his infinite wisdom) deleted it in favor of a non-sanctioned video game site called 'mini-clips.'
It's OK, I use too many commas and I need a good editor.
Saturday 8:00 AM - 10:30 AM:
I rush north with my friend and fellow vet student, Jen, in tow to take a "final" in bovine artificial insemination. Today we need three confirmed "hits" - locate the cervix via the rectum, pass an AI "gun" though said cervix and deposit semen into the uterus. No problem, except we are tardy - and the cowboy adminstering the test looks hard at me as I try to unobtrusivly enter the room and says "Well, you'll make a great vet - late already."
Ouch
Jen aces the exam and I do fine. Make friends with the smart people - their coat tails will take you far.
11:00 AM.....
I look over some notes in preparation for a dreaded "open book" small animal cardiology exam. Jen takes a nap and I decide to tackel said test while she is getting some beauty sleep.
Two hours later I am four questions in to a twenty-six question test. Bloody hell.
2:30 PM
13 questions down and 13 to go. Children arrive home from various play-dates, hungry, dirty, wanting to put on a show. Thank God, or Shiva, Buddha - who ever - for Annie's organic Mac 'n Cheese. I feel a little less like a loser mom than if it was the atomic orange kind.
4:30 PM
Cat hearts get big and tough and work themselves to death, leaving less room for blood to flow - a huge muscle in permanent flex.
Dog hearts stretch and lay down their strength in order to accommodate more than they should.
The drugs we give them sometimes help, and sometimes kill, and the margin is a knife edge that we walk in bare feet. The same drugs were once flowers - that graced my childhood home. Foxgloves dot the gardens of northern California, elegant bells in jewel colors. I played among them, unaware that they could revers the flow of sodium in my cells, could slow the beat of a heat, forcing rhythm amid chaos.
Or they could just kill you.
7:00 PM
Done and done - I have (reluctantly) learned.
My daughter dances past in a jewel colored dress, roughly the same shade as the wine that I consume with disturbing regularity.
I yell and pull my hair over the deleted post I had crafted with such care - making a small person feel only smaller.
11:00 PM
Due to a guilty conscious for previous yelling I allow my son and his dog (a devoted two-year-old blue heeler named Boon; as in baboon) to sleep next to me. I never let dogs sleep on the bed, except when I do. I put my hand on my sons chest and feel its rhythm; strong and regular and dear.
Tomorrow I will show him and his sister pictures of pretty flowers that nod innocently on tall stalks in the sun and remind them (although it is never children that need reminding of this) that there is magic in the world all around them.
It's OK, I use too many commas and I need a good editor.
Saturday 8:00 AM - 10:30 AM:
I rush north with my friend and fellow vet student, Jen, in tow to take a "final" in bovine artificial insemination. Today we need three confirmed "hits" - locate the cervix via the rectum, pass an AI "gun" though said cervix and deposit semen into the uterus. No problem, except we are tardy - and the cowboy adminstering the test looks hard at me as I try to unobtrusivly enter the room and says "Well, you'll make a great vet - late already."
Ouch
Jen aces the exam and I do fine. Make friends with the smart people - their coat tails will take you far.
11:00 AM.....
I look over some notes in preparation for a dreaded "open book" small animal cardiology exam. Jen takes a nap and I decide to tackel said test while she is getting some beauty sleep.
Two hours later I am four questions in to a twenty-six question test. Bloody hell.
2:30 PM
13 questions down and 13 to go. Children arrive home from various play-dates, hungry, dirty, wanting to put on a show. Thank God, or Shiva, Buddha - who ever - for Annie's organic Mac 'n Cheese. I feel a little less like a loser mom than if it was the atomic orange kind.
4:30 PM
Cat hearts get big and tough and work themselves to death, leaving less room for blood to flow - a huge muscle in permanent flex.
Dog hearts stretch and lay down their strength in order to accommodate more than they should.
The drugs we give them sometimes help, and sometimes kill, and the margin is a knife edge that we walk in bare feet. The same drugs were once flowers - that graced my childhood home. Foxgloves dot the gardens of northern California, elegant bells in jewel colors. I played among them, unaware that they could revers the flow of sodium in my cells, could slow the beat of a heat, forcing rhythm amid chaos.
Or they could just kill you.
7:00 PM
Done and done - I have (reluctantly) learned.
My daughter dances past in a jewel colored dress, roughly the same shade as the wine that I consume with disturbing regularity.
I yell and pull my hair over the deleted post I had crafted with such care - making a small person feel only smaller.
11:00 PM
Due to a guilty conscious for previous yelling I allow my son and his dog (a devoted two-year-old blue heeler named Boon; as in baboon) to sleep next to me. I never let dogs sleep on the bed, except when I do. I put my hand on my sons chest and feel its rhythm; strong and regular and dear.
Tomorrow I will show him and his sister pictures of pretty flowers that nod innocently on tall stalks in the sun and remind them (although it is never children that need reminding of this) that there is magic in the world all around them.
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