For my daughters 7th birthday we (being grossly unprepared in the present department ) made a last minute purchase of a Guinea Pig from the local PetSmart.
She was a 3 month old, smooth-coated, piebald with a wicked cowlick and a penchant for cilantro. Abby christened her "Gemma Jane" and proudly displayed her on her dresser for many months.
Now, Guinea Pigs are not the most social of creatures, they are rodents that are prey to many, larger animals (humans include) and therefore, understandably shy. And although Gemma never asked to be picked up, she tolerated holding, brushing and the occasional bath without too much fuss.
I am not particularly interested in rodents, or any other small twitchy animals. No, give me something I can put in a chute, or through a saddle on. So, it came as a great surprise to me when I developed a soft spot for the little fur ball.
After a move to a new abode, Gemma's domicile ceased to be Abby's dresser and became the corner of the dining room - in the shade of dresser stuffed with old Halloween costumes, unfinished art projects and fuse beads. Although a caring "parent" my daughter now needed a gentle reminder to feed, water and check on our little "whistle pig" as my husband dubbed her.
Now, I tend to rise before my family, to run mountain trails in the dark of morning and Gemma and I developed a ritual.
After pouring coffee and letting the dogs out Gemma would emerge from her igloo and begin doing laps around her enclosure whistling her fool head off. This display of vim and vigor never ceased to amuse me and in return I would deposit green grass, or cilantro, in her little dish before heading on my way. My husband was equally fond of these antics - and protested that she needed a buddy for company, but in lieu of another pig would content himself by whistling back at her.
Anyway - I imagine you know where this is going, too many past tenths and all that.
This week, while Ali and the kids hit the road for a week in Utah, I stayed behind to log hours as a newbie fourth year on an equine surgery and lameness rotation.
During a brief conversation with my wandering spouse I head Abby say in the background "Tell mom to check on Gemma." "She's fine" I replied, but in that moment, as those words were leaving my mouth, I realized I hadn't actually heard from her lately and that the morning whistling had been ominously quiet.
Gemma was still alive, but clearly ill. Her fresh grass from that morning was untouched, a grave sign indeed. I took her to the veterinary teaching hospital, where we have board certified zoo medicine vets, and went over our options.
No many really - we could take radiographs and/or draw blood for a biochemistry profile, all of which would stress her greatly and perhaps worsen her condition. So, we did what is commonly done in this world of veterinary medicine - I was sent home with broad spectrum antibiotics and well wishes.
Gem went down hill, my force feeding, subcutaneous fluid administration and vitamin C shots did nothing to change the course of her illness.
The kids arrived home last night, Abby was devastated by the sad sight of her small girl, and guilt ridden that she hadn't spent much time with her lately.
This morning I woke early and went down to check again on the pig. She was gasping and limp but still with us. I forced more medicine down her throat and held her for a while before putting her back into her igloo.
Ali followed an hour later, saddened by her harsh breathing he held her in his arms while we drank coffee and planned our day.
In those minutes Gemma slipped quietly away, as unobtrusively as she had entered our life, so she was gone. The tiny little whistling light, despite our best efforts, sailed away.
I am inordinately sad - out of proportion really, with the event. I desperately wanted to make this one tiny, being better - and was unable to do so. And then there is my sobbing daughter, walking through that horrid, but unavoidable, first brush with mortality. I can hear my friend Nancy, a teacher and parent to two girls saying, "Parenting is really delivering disappointment in manageable doses."
And heartbreak, too, I would add.
So we make a box for Gemma, with her bell, and a sprig of spring lilac and some fresh grass. My husband digs an impressive hole, next to a bush of flowering purple iris - and we say goodbye. Everyone shares a story, or a thank you for Gemma, even the dogs give her a good snuffle (Abby interprets this as an affectionate gesture and I don't disabuse her of the notion.)
And so it goes. These funny little creatures come into our lives, and exit, teaching us such lessons along the way; lessons of compassion, and guilt and self recrimination and ultimately love - in all its varied and unique forms. So thank you Gemma, for bringing joy, and your whistles, into our family, and for delivering valuable heartbreak to us all along the way.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
And so it begins!
Now a brief message......
For those not in the know (and why the heck would you be??) vet school takes four years - like all educations that stamp you with the word "doctor" upon completion. For the first two years of that, one is granted the usual summer/winter/spring breaks - but not between our third and fourth year - nope - the plan is devious, test the crap out of 'em, give a brief 12 hour respite then through them into senior year clinics.
During our fourth and final year as vet students we are the man power at the hospital (albeit rather ignorant and insecure manpower at the beginning.) So this is it -
May 2nd through the 6th.
Capstone exams. Cumulative exams that cover the last three years of our education. Two are practical exams, made up cases posted on cardboard. You must answer a series of questions about the case, step behind the screen and see how poorly you did on that particular set of questions. For example: there is a close up photograph of a tooth, in some sort of mouth, but it is so closely focused you can't tell what the hell species you are looking at. You answer "that is the 1st molar of a dog" go behind the screen and find out "Haha idiot, that's the 2nd premolar of a chinchilla!"
The third, and final exam,is a 161 multiple choice behemoth - the stacks of paper are so numerous that the ladies passing it out have to steal their children's red, Radio-flyer wagon to accommodate the pile. They drag it around the huge lecture hall dolling out bubble sheets and exams moaning - "bring out your dead!" - actually they don't say that, but it would have been appropriate if they had.
May 9th through the 11th
Final exams: more tests -I start drinking brandy in my coffee at 10:00AM - that's all there is to say about that.
8:00 AM May 12th 2011
Senior year - here it is. I stay up late organizing clipboard (you will remember from anesthesia how key they are in feeling professional) stethoscope, note cards, cheat sheets on lists of appropriate antibiotic choices in the horse. In the midst I forget to bring a blue/black pen and arrive with a red sharpie instead (a real no no for medical charts I am told later.) I arrive early for my first rotation which is equine surgery and lameness. Waiting alone in our "rounds" room a multitude of wide eyed, frantic fellow newbie fourth years trundle in, "Where do we meet for equine medicine? Equine ambulatory? Dermatology??"
My fellow rotation mates arrive, looking equally ashen and unprepared. Finally a technician takes pity on us and tries to "orient" us to the equine barn and the twisted, Machiavellian system of charts, medical records, charge sheets and innumerable other pertinent points of interest. Most of what she says bounces off our overly tested skulls and ricochets around the high gloss,medical grade paint walls.
11:00 AM May 12th 2011
I get my first case!!! (Due to the sensitive nature of this material, and maters of patient confidentiality I am unable to divulge the particulars.) During the history taking I become completely inarticulate - forget to ask basic questions such as "How is your horse housed? What do you feed?" and "What brings you in today?" Luckily the owners are lovely and understanding and don't hold my ineptitude against me.
One of my rotation mates stands in the background watching, he had become more grim and grey though out the process. I ask "how's it going" he responds "I think I'm going to have a cardiac event!!"
2:00 PM May 12th 2011
We are called into the food animal barn where our equine resident is scrubbing in on a surgery of a 3 week old calf with a suspected infected umbilicus. The room in filled with two surgeons, one gal running anesthesia, one of my class mates scrubbed in to assist and three on lookers clothed in surgical mask and cap (me being one of them.)
The procedure is rather straight forward, dissect abound the umbilicus (without cutting into the nasty, pus filled area) and remove all infected material. Now one of the deals with surgery is that when someone is scrubbed in, capped and gowned they are "sterile" and therefor a no-no to get near or touch if you are not in said condition. Never-you-mind that our patients are poop encrusted balls of gnarly bacteria, we have standards to keep. Well the sterile fourth year, who was evidently too anxiety stricken at the start of her clinical year to eat breakfast, stands up, brushes past me (in my very un-clean condition) slams into a stainless steal medical cabinet and promptly passes out at my feet.
The surgeon glances up causally from her procedure and says "someone call Dr. B and get some cold water on this girl." Then she goes back to her cutting. Yikes, I guess that tells you were we all stand, less important then the nasty, infected belly button of a dairy calf.
5:30 PM May 12th 2011
We are technically "on" from 8 AM to 5 PM. However....... if one has a patient in the hospital you are solely responsible foe that patients 7AM and 7PM treatments and physical exam. On top of that you must fill out screes of paper work so the likelihood that one will go off at 5 and be back by 7 is low to none. Navigating the counter-intuitive client software took me the grater part of two hours, at which point my 7PM treatments were due.
9:30 PM May 12th 2011
I arrive home to sleeping children and the blue light of the television humming softly from the back room. My stalwart husband smiles warmly and welcomes me home, at which point I burst into tears. I curl up on his shoulder with a glass of wine while he rubs my head and whispers sweet falsehoods in my ear, about how fabulous I'll be at the end of this and "what a star" I am. I'm not entirely sure what I did right in a past life to deserve such a man, but I'm thankful, entirely thankful for him.
I pass out from exhaustion (or possibly an overindulgence of Malbec) pondering the question
"what the hell was I thinking???"
But here I am, three years down and one to go, so I better "stay the course."
Goggles on mates!
For those not in the know (and why the heck would you be??) vet school takes four years - like all educations that stamp you with the word "doctor" upon completion. For the first two years of that, one is granted the usual summer/winter/spring breaks - but not between our third and fourth year - nope - the plan is devious, test the crap out of 'em, give a brief 12 hour respite then through them into senior year clinics.
During our fourth and final year as vet students we are the man power at the hospital (albeit rather ignorant and insecure manpower at the beginning.) So this is it -
May 2nd through the 6th.
Capstone exams. Cumulative exams that cover the last three years of our education. Two are practical exams, made up cases posted on cardboard. You must answer a series of questions about the case, step behind the screen and see how poorly you did on that particular set of questions. For example: there is a close up photograph of a tooth, in some sort of mouth, but it is so closely focused you can't tell what the hell species you are looking at. You answer "that is the 1st molar of a dog" go behind the screen and find out "Haha idiot, that's the 2nd premolar of a chinchilla!"
The third, and final exam,is a 161 multiple choice behemoth - the stacks of paper are so numerous that the ladies passing it out have to steal their children's red, Radio-flyer wagon to accommodate the pile. They drag it around the huge lecture hall dolling out bubble sheets and exams moaning - "bring out your dead!" - actually they don't say that, but it would have been appropriate if they had.
May 9th through the 11th
Final exams: more tests -I start drinking brandy in my coffee at 10:00AM - that's all there is to say about that.
8:00 AM May 12th 2011
Senior year - here it is. I stay up late organizing clipboard (you will remember from anesthesia how key they are in feeling professional) stethoscope, note cards, cheat sheets on lists of appropriate antibiotic choices in the horse. In the midst I forget to bring a blue/black pen and arrive with a red sharpie instead (a real no no for medical charts I am told later.) I arrive early for my first rotation which is equine surgery and lameness. Waiting alone in our "rounds" room a multitude of wide eyed, frantic fellow newbie fourth years trundle in, "Where do we meet for equine medicine? Equine ambulatory? Dermatology??"
My fellow rotation mates arrive, looking equally ashen and unprepared. Finally a technician takes pity on us and tries to "orient" us to the equine barn and the twisted, Machiavellian system of charts, medical records, charge sheets and innumerable other pertinent points of interest. Most of what she says bounces off our overly tested skulls and ricochets around the high gloss,medical grade paint walls.
11:00 AM May 12th 2011
I get my first case!!! (Due to the sensitive nature of this material, and maters of patient confidentiality I am unable to divulge the particulars.) During the history taking I become completely inarticulate - forget to ask basic questions such as "How is your horse housed? What do you feed?" and "What brings you in today?" Luckily the owners are lovely and understanding and don't hold my ineptitude against me.
One of my rotation mates stands in the background watching, he had become more grim and grey though out the process. I ask "how's it going" he responds "I think I'm going to have a cardiac event!!"
2:00 PM May 12th 2011
We are called into the food animal barn where our equine resident is scrubbing in on a surgery of a 3 week old calf with a suspected infected umbilicus. The room in filled with two surgeons, one gal running anesthesia, one of my class mates scrubbed in to assist and three on lookers clothed in surgical mask and cap (me being one of them.)
The procedure is rather straight forward, dissect abound the umbilicus (without cutting into the nasty, pus filled area) and remove all infected material. Now one of the deals with surgery is that when someone is scrubbed in, capped and gowned they are "sterile" and therefor a no-no to get near or touch if you are not in said condition. Never-you-mind that our patients are poop encrusted balls of gnarly bacteria, we have standards to keep. Well the sterile fourth year, who was evidently too anxiety stricken at the start of her clinical year to eat breakfast, stands up, brushes past me (in my very un-clean condition) slams into a stainless steal medical cabinet and promptly passes out at my feet.
The surgeon glances up causally from her procedure and says "someone call Dr. B and get some cold water on this girl." Then she goes back to her cutting. Yikes, I guess that tells you were we all stand, less important then the nasty, infected belly button of a dairy calf.
5:30 PM May 12th 2011
We are technically "on" from 8 AM to 5 PM. However....... if one has a patient in the hospital you are solely responsible foe that patients 7AM and 7PM treatments and physical exam. On top of that you must fill out screes of paper work so the likelihood that one will go off at 5 and be back by 7 is low to none. Navigating the counter-intuitive client software took me the grater part of two hours, at which point my 7PM treatments were due.
9:30 PM May 12th 2011
I arrive home to sleeping children and the blue light of the television humming softly from the back room. My stalwart husband smiles warmly and welcomes me home, at which point I burst into tears. I curl up on his shoulder with a glass of wine while he rubs my head and whispers sweet falsehoods in my ear, about how fabulous I'll be at the end of this and "what a star" I am. I'm not entirely sure what I did right in a past life to deserve such a man, but I'm thankful, entirely thankful for him.
I pass out from exhaustion (or possibly an overindulgence of Malbec) pondering the question
"what the hell was I thinking???"
But here I am, three years down and one to go, so I better "stay the course."
Goggles on mates!
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