An attempt to inspire, make you smile, and laugh!
Hopefully you’ve seen our video blog q&a, if not, catch it here:
We did have some pretty good outtakes and cuts that Emily and I thought you might like to see, hope you enjoy.
If you like what you’re seeing, be sure to share with your friends, leave a comment, and give us a like. Hope you enjoy, and, as always, thanks for reading!
This post has been put off much like Calvin’s creation. Things were going well, and I just now got around to thinking about the third child – who was not – and then was – planned.
Tony, India, Oscar, and I were pretty happy with just the four of us. When coming up with kids’ names when we were dating, India and Oscar appeared and that was it. Tony, being raised most of his life with one sibling, thought two children was plenty. Me, being raised with two siblings and a whole onslaught of cousins near-by thought at LEAST three. But then we had two and everything was going just fine. We had bought a small Subaru Crosstrek the year before, knowing we were done having kids. Oscar was about to turn 2 years old, India was 4 and we were finally, FINALLY a mobile family. Anyone who has had an infant can testify that you just can’t do much when they’re babies. We could now take the kids hiking, camping, biking and they loved it. Then my brain got in the way.
As you have read, I may be a tad ridiculous in my listening for God’s word, but after Oscar, I suffered some major post-partum anxiety that I had to seek professional help for. PPA is different than depression in that I was constantly worried and picturing, in detail, my children being maimed, severely injured, or killed in horrifying detail. All I could think about when I was alone was yet another scenario that was heart wrenching and my mind played it out like a movie and I would just start sobbing over something that has never even come close to happening. The worst was one night when I was trying to comfort (typical) screaming Oscar and my mind asked “what if this was the Holocaust and if he doesn’t stop screaming, the Nazis will find you and rip him from you and throw him on the hard ground, immediately killing him?!!?” So, I sought out help via a therapist who helped immensely.
So, one of my wild manifestations of my PPA was that even though I knew we were done having children and even though I knew as a well-educated doctor that this wasn’t true, I started to imagine that every time I had my period, that I was just flushing a personality down the toilet. Each and every egg that was not fertilized was another potential being, a contributor to the world, someone’s soul mate just missing their chance at life. I told my therapist about this and she suggested I just go ahead and have another baby. It was almost like I was looking for someone to tell me that. I got very excited, even though the pragmatic part of me started listing off all the reasons this would not be a good idea.
I talked to Tony about all that I told the therapist while we were on a bike ride with the family on the rail trail in Clare. He stated that he was happy with just the two kids, but would do whatever I wanted if I really wanted it. I’m pretty sure Calvin was made that night – we were quite lucky with our fertility.
I was excited even though I was experiencing nausea and headaches even before the positive pregnancy test – and craving grilled cheese sandwiches. I nervously told Dr. Pol while I was spaying something and he cried with joy – he’s always been a sensitive soul about that kind of thing. It was all very happy and exciting until I was about 6 weeks pregnant and started bleeding. This was not as acute and heavy as when I bled with India, but no pregnant woman wants to see any red/brown tinge on the toilet paper. The bleeding started off moderate like an early period, then got a little heavier. I cried and cried – all of my thoughts, no matter what I was doing would migrate to “am I losing it? am I losing my baby?” I ultrasounded myself with the machine at our work (probably 20 years old) and saw a fluid filled uterus with a tiny cluster of cells with a possible “flutter” that would be the heart beat and felt a tad better, but still made an appointment with my doctor.
My doctor was professional, but certainly not comforting. The ultrasonographer found that I had a subchorionic hematoma. This meant that there was a pocket of blood between the uterine wall and the placenta that was leaking out. They found that the baby was still alive, but my doctor told me straight up that I could still lose the pregnancy. So, I went home and waited, changed pads several times a day for 7 LONG weeks that I was still seeing blood. I ultrasounded myself 2-3 times a day. Sometimes, if I didn’t sit just right it would look like the uterus was empty and I would go home sobbing. Then, Tony would tell me to go back to the clinic and try again – when I would see the black fluid where a tiny blob of tissue floated with a very healthy heartbeat.
Around 13 weeks into the pregnancy, I finally stopped seeing blood every time I peed and could settle into my future with a third child – and eventually allowed myself to come up with a name. Going into my second trimester, I started having horrific pelvic pains that felt like the bones at my pubis were relaxing apart and would rub and click against one another when I walked. I could only walk for brief periods before I had to sit down. It felt like my pelvis was about to split in half with every step.
By the time my third trimester came along, I was pretty certain my body would not survive a fourth pregnancy as I was barely holding it together at this point. Calvin was being a good baby, though and was facing head down. Around 36.5 weeks (normal pregnancy 40 weeks) I got to where standing and walking was near torture. Between braxton hicks contractions and my pelvis splitting in two, the very idea of getting up and walking was awful.
The day before I went into labor, I was tired, I was the only person at the clinic that afternoon as Dr. Brenda was out on farm calls. Right about closing time, a very good client called and said her goat herd had been attacked by a couple of dogs and they were all mangled and in need of repair. I stuck around, but sat on a rolling chair and gave all the wonderful people who worked at the clinic that day detailed instructions on drugs, dosages, surgical material, etc. One by one, they carried in goats for me to evaluate on my rolling chair, sedate and suture, or euthanize. I think we had 7-8 goats in all that needed attention. My abdomen was so tight by the end of all that, I went home barely able to stand.
The next afternoon I went into labor, I was at work and had seen a sick patient and come up with a treatment plan. I was currently having a doubled over, bear down, teeth grinding contraction that I thought was just bad diarrhea and told Tony I needed to go home, but needed to talk to the client first and didn’t think I could stand up. He asked if he could just go get the client and bring him to my desk so I could go over the plan and not have to stand. I thought that was a genius idea. Tony brought me the client, I went over the x-rays on my computer, went over the treatment plan and all the medications while sitting in my chair, keeping my insides from breaking out of my pelvis, then sent them on their way. Tony later told me that Diane took a call just a few minutes after I left for the hospital with a complaint from that man that I was not being professional when I made him come back to talk to him. I’m not sure what he would have thought had I waddled down the hall to his room, in a cold sweat, bent in half while panting out his instructions.
I insisted on driving myself home as I thought it was just bad diarrhea and didn’t want Tony home with me to witness that. The office staff, however, insisted that Tony drive me home. About 3/4 of the way home, still clinging, white knuckled to the “oh crap strap” in the car, I decided I had better go on to the hospital. When I got there, the doctor checked me and said I was at 2 cm and was having contractions, so they placed me on IV fluids and the contractions slowed, then stopped. I was still three weeks early and technically considered premature and the nurse told me if I were to have the baby now, he may end up in NICU and I might not even get to hold him. I decided to go home and try to delay the inevitable.
I went home, had a horrible contraction, then had some toast and fell asleep on the couch. Tony woke me up to go to bed and I was feeling much better. Then, when I lay down in bed, the contractions started again. Not as violent this time, but very deliberate and regular. I decided I’d rather spend the night in the hospital being monitored than risk something happening to my baby (one nurse told me my uterus could rupture due to my previous cesarean, so I might have panicked a little). Luckily, Missy from work had already taken India and Oscar to her house in case this happened, so we didn’t have to worry about them at a hospital – my mom was on the way, but didn’t expect me to go this early.
I went to the hospital and told the nurse not to call the doctor because I didn’t think I was in labor, but just needed monitoring. She called him anyway and he said I was progressing and technically in labor. Because it was after hours on a Friday night, at this particular hospital I couldn’t try a natural birth, it had to be a c-section. So, a few minutes later, much more calmly than Oscar had entered the world, Calvin was delivered three weeks early, 6lb ?oz – at least 2lb smaller than our first two and he was TINY! Everything about him was perfectly healthy and normal. We had the horrifying scare at the beginning of the pregnancy, but now we have three beautiful, rambunctious, trying, wonderful children!
Alright, the vlog is up. We couldn’t post it to our blog directly, but we were able to post it on youtube, https://youtu.be/ACkrmNTx4T8
I told everybody I was trying to talk Emily into doing a video q&a blog. Well, she’s agreed, and she’s pretty excited about it. We are trying to figure out how to go about it and the logistics of a vlog, but I think we’ll figure it out. We don’t have any specialized equipment, so we’ll be recording on our phone and trying to edit on our computer. It will be a learning experience, but it will also be fun. I can’t wait to get this out to you guys. My hope is that we’ll get the video on the website by Sunday. Anyway, just thought I would give you guys an update, and wish us luck. And, as always, thanks for reading.
-Tony
You may have read my previous post (and I encourage you to before reading this one): https://dremilythomasvet.com/i-appreciate-it-but-youre-wrong-about-me/ But if not and you don’t feel like it right now 1. you’re my kind of person 2. Here’s some background (you may skip if you’ve read my previous post)
I was raised in the deep south where you were either Southern Baptist or straight up heathen. My parents did not raise me to be religious (me=heathen) and I struggled a lot with whether or not there was even a God. I believed there was deep down inside but couldn’t wrap my head around the “loving God” that the people trying to save me taught versus the highly judgmental, hateful god they all acted like they served by their demeanor. (btw “Saved!” is a fantastic movie if you want to know what it was like to live in my town)
So, before you decide to stop reading – ugh! another religious, witnessing post – just know that I felt and sometimes still feel the way you might about people wanting to talk to you about religion. This post is purely to walk you through a part of my journey. To be quite open and honest, I still struggle with the workings of God, whether we’re all worshipping the same god, but kill each other over the minor differences in translations, whether we just made God up to give us hope in the dark depths of despair of there just being nothing after death, why no one we love has come back and told us there really is a God, and maybe, if we all just lived like we are told, following the golden rule (in almost every religion), maybe that’s just the best way for us all to live and thrive – through love.
So, here’s a few stories about my asking for an answer from God and getting them. I’ll tell you He certainly does not answer all the time or even most of the time. There are definitely periods in my life where I think I just made all these experiences fit with there being a God, but then sometimes, He answers again when I’m not expecting it.
I’ve told you the story about how I came to work for Dr. Pol – I prayed for an answer to our current situation – I needed a new job fast and I was pregnant – and then Dr. Pol called me and off to Michigan we moved – from South Carolina – and that ended up a good thing for me – I have people interested in me and I made good money with the Nat. Geo Wild network. But then, there was leaving Pol Vet. I was miserable – as you can read in my blog “Growing as a Veterinarian” – too much time given to work, too little time with my little ones. I was angry, always miserable, didn’t have many friends due to having kids and always being busy, no family, and was quite honestly, lonely despite being surrounded by people ALL the time. My therapist kept telling me over and over to just leave, get a new job somewhere else where the environment was better for me.
I was scared. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find a job somewhere else and what if I did and it were even worse?! At least at Pol Vet, I knew what the struggles were, a new place could be worse. Unbeknownst to me until more recently, God sent a very indirect message that, sure enough, got me moving. I had been going to see my doctor on a relatively regular basis and had always gotten along with him pretty well. After we became Facebook friends, I realized we had a lot in common from sense of humor to political views. I talked to Tony about it, and though he thought it was a bit weird, agreed to hanging out sometimes. I invited the doctor and his wife to go out for a beer sometime. He agreed, though he and his wife were separated. My other best, good friend, Dr. Sharkey had already been swooped away (mentally and emotionally) by my brother – which was also cool.
We all hung out a few times at a local brewery, having a ball; talking, laughing, swapping horror stories about our professions. He and I chatted on Facebook messenger often (I even showed Tony our conversations as they were always just silly and fun and I’m, like, the most honest person you will ever meet and didn’t want to be thinking Tony might be thinking anything weird was going on) and I got some good laughs while at work which totally brightened my day. We met up with our kids and his for play dates and had him over for dinner and game night. Eventually he would tell me that he had a girlfriend – I was ecstatic for him! I tried to invite her out with us too, but she was frequently breaking up with him and then making up – I couldn’t quite figure it out until a message from him greeted me one morning at work that just said that his girlfriend was jealous of me and that he wasn’t allowed to be friends with me anymore.
And just like that, he was gone. I was blocked from contacting him at all, complete black out. One moment we were joking, then next, he was gone from my life. I was crushed. I hadn’t had a good, consistent friend in so long and now I was back to being lonely. That whole day sucked, then a Tom Petty song came on the radio “Time to Move on” and it hit me full on. I knew that it was time to get out of my situation. I can only now look back at that time and see that as the final push to get me to pick up and move out. God knew I was scared and hunkering down, clinging to anything I could to not have to make a change, then he just shoved me off the cliff. And I’m very thankful that He did, though I still secretly wish my friend would be my friend again.
The next story is a little silly, but I still give it a lot of credit due to the timing and odd occurrence. I was dating Tony and still wondering about God, did He exist, did He not? We were vacationing with my mom’s family at Pawley’s Island, SC, staying in The Penguin as my family had since my grandmother was adopted at 16 years old (orphaned with her brother due to alcoholism and suicide). Fishing and crabbing were activities we sincerely looked forward to every year. We would surf fish – wade into the ocean, holding the fishing pole high over our heads as we battled waves, just to cast as far as we could past the surf and would usually pull in anything from the regular spot or pinfish, mullet, bonnet head shark pups, and the occasional sting ray or particularly stubborn crab who wouldn’t let go of the bait.
One night, I had convinced Tony to go night fishing – same thing, just in the dark of night where it feels like the ocean just might swallow you into the swirling blackness. I had done this activity several times with my brother and cousins, and we would catch about the same things as during the day, but sometimes bigger sharks – 2-3ft sand sharks. I cast my line and, after awhile of not getting a bite, I decided to reel back in. With surf fishing, the rhythmic tugging and releasing of the line can hide bites and strip the bait off the hook. I reeled and reeled, and finally saw my lead on the beach, but it looked like there was something on it. When I got up to it, sure enough, there was a fish on the hook – not a very active one, but a decent sized fish that I did not recognize. I needed to know what kind of fish this was because, one, I am a scientist and need to know, and two, I had made a rather silly request to God about a week earlier. I had been praying about whether or not God exists and had jokingly said “if you exist, maybe I can catch a mackerel so that I can then say “Holy Mackerel!” – not actually knowing what a mackerel even looked like.
Well, I ran up to the house, grabbed an empty trash bucket, ran back down to the beach, grabbed some seawater, put the strange fish in there, then ran it back up to the house to ask around with the other “fish experts”. No one had seen this fish before – in the years and years of fishing there, night and day. Defeated, I returned the fish to the ocean and proceeded to catch nothing else that night. The next morning, eating a bowl of cereal, I had found a book on the ocean somewhere in the house and was flipping through to see if I could find my mystery fish. Then, I saw it, my exact fish – a King Mackerel. I dropped my spoon.
My last story is a little dark, and looking back, I realize it could have easily been a figment of my imagination/eyes playing tricks on me, but it scared me enough to definitely not discount it. I was in high school and going through one of the hardest times in my life so far. My parents were getting a divorce, but staying together until I graduated. My brother and sister had already moved out of the house at least 3 years prior. The news of my parents’ divorce was a shock and devastating. I suddenly felt like all of my childhood memories, no matter how precious they were to me, were lies, and if not lies, were too painful to revisit and therefore, slowly disappeared from who I was as a person. I was not a popular person in high school, I was a weirdo (still am) and most people steered clear of me. I was dating Tony at the time, but he was about an hour and a half away at a Christian college (Brewton Parker) and we were dealing with long distance, which I hate.
I don’t remember if there was any particular incident that triggered that night, but I was deeply depressed, hated myself. I wanted to die. I considered all the ways to die and thought if there was a handy gun in the house, that would have been the easiest. But, all my dad had was a shotgun that wasn’t loaded and I didn’t know if we even had any bullets. I was too scared of doing anything else for fear of the pain I would inflict on myself, so I came up with, what I thought, was a full proof plan. I prayed. Not the kind of prayer most would tell you about though. I prayed for God to kill me. I figured if there was a God and if He is all-powerful, he could certainly (if not easily) smash me like a bug. I was laying in my bed, crying my eyes out, praying over and over for God to kill me, listing all the reasons I deserved it- over and over.
I don’t know how long I was begging for God to take my life, but against the very dull light coming from through my open door, I saw them coming. Dark shadows, creatures slowing crawling from the far corners and the end of my bed. They did not have a lot of definition, but were simply black with long claws that pulled them closer and closer to me. My tears dried up immediately, I went silent. I thought I was seeing things and tried to open my eyes larger to adjust the light but the dark creatures just kept creeping toward me radiating pure, cold evil while they approached. The fear took over every ounce of sadness I felt and I knew that death was NOT what I wanted. I quickly prayed again, this time apologizing for my earlier request and begging for God to take these dark creatures back to where they came.
Immediately, the darkness receded and I had the most overwhelming sense of relief. I thanked God over and over and apologized again and again. It took me a little while to fall asleep after that, but I was happy and content when I did.
I know these stories sound crazy and even silly, but they stick in my mind as powerful times in my life. I STILL definitely have moments where I question His existence. It doesn’t seem to matter how convincing one or more scenarios are and I still feel guilty every time I know God has taken such effort to convince me and I still doubt, but I think that’s pretty natural and have come to accept that’s just how it’s going to be. Maybe one day, after I die, I will come back and tell someone what happens, unless it means not making it to heaven, in which case; Bye, good luck to you!
*Side note: all the art work on this post (except the mackerel) is my original work and all inspired somehow by spirituality.
Comment on last post: Some have asked us how we came up with the name “India”. I honestly don’t remember the exacts of how they came about but I know Tony had picked out “India” from an Alanis Morissette song and we had India and Oscar picked out before we ever even decided to have children.
When India was about a year old, we decided that it was time to try for a second child to put them around 2 years apart because we thought that that would make them closer as siblings – we forgot to consider that it would give us two children in diapers for awhile. As quickly as we had conceived India, we were a little troubled to find that it took about 3 months to get Oscar on board (yes, I know, we were really lucky every time – it seems absurd that we were worried about the 3 month stretch now based on all the couples I know with difficulty) – I do remember being mad at Tony the night Oscar was made – I don’t remember why, but I wanted a baby. I used to blame Oscar’s anger as an infant (cried for a solid 9 months) on my attitude when he was made.
The next week, we went to Colorado to have Christmas with my family. I had an awful headache the whole trip and thought it was the altitude, but that headache ended up continuing for the next 4 months. While on the trip, my sister announced her second pregnancy, which surprised us as she was NOT trying, and got me thinking maybe that’s why I was feeling off. On the way home from Colorado, I got the call from Dr. Pol offering me a job in Michigan. I took a pregnancy test the next week and got to share my entire pregnancy with my sister which was a neat experience.
My pregnancy with Oscar was pretty uneventful, except I got terrible morning sickness with him that I didn’t get at all with India. I had migraine type headaches and nausea for a solid 3 months. No scares, no bleeding, although I’ve told people that you’ll never realize how many non-white fibers are in toilet paper until you’ve been pregnant and inspected the toilet paper EVERY time you pee to check for signs of bleeding. I had no trouble that is, until he got super comfortable with his little butt in my pelvis and refused to turn the proper way (make like a baby and head out). My OB didn’t believe me at first, and kept putting my concerns off, but at 38 weeks, you could almost see his little round skull sticking out from under my ribs (and I could ultrasound myself). I actually embarrassed myself pretty good with my doctor – I didn’t want to seem like one of those “I’m a doctor, I know” so I told him I was pretty sure Oscar’s head was still up but wasn’t 100% sure because “we only have a rectal probe at my job and it doesn’t penetrate very deep” – didn’t think anything of it, left the office, then realized what I had said a few days later and was incredibly anxious to get back to the office and inform him that I did not, in fact, probe my rectum, but that the probe was designed for cattle or horse rectal pregnancy exams and the ultrasonic waves only go about 4 cm into tissue. *insert foot in mouth*
So, a couple of weeks before my doctor decided to be concerned, I was out doing some TB testing on some dairy cows and the owner was a midwife and was asking me about my pregnancy and I expressed my concern that the baby was not head down. She got very upset about how the doctor will likely just want to do a c-section and that these babies can be turned. So, naturally, I got upset and went and read about “turning babies” and then spent the next 2 weeks or so with my hips above my head. Tony would find me just laying on the couch with my butt in the air just watching TV on numerous occasions, but none of this seemed to do the trick.
Finally, at 38.5 weeks, my doctor scheduled a cervical version – this is a pretty darned uncomfortable procedure where the doctor grabs the baby from outside your belly and with the help of an ultrasound technician, attempts to dislodge the baby from your pelvis and then turn him to where his head is then in the pelvis and hopefully stays there. Well, unfortunately, as late as 38.5 weeks Oscar (a beast) was already 8.5lbs and 19.75 inches and was wedged pretty hard in my pelvis. After lots of very uncomfortable shaking and shoving of my abdomen, the doctor was able to get Oscar about halfway around and then Oscar promptly went right back to where he was.
What the version did accomplish was to piss off my uterus. I started bleeding almost immediately at the park we took India to play. I called the nurse and she said that it was normal. I went to bed that night on my back with my hips propped up on some pillows because that’s just what I did at that point. I awoke very suddenly about midnight to the most intense contraction. I jumped out of bed and told Tony it was time to go. We ran down the stairs and didn’t even stop to tell my mother who was staying with us to be with India that we were leaving. I just grabbed a couple pairs of clean underwear and then jumped in our Toyota Echo and sped off, texting my mom on the way.
We got to the hospital in less than 15 minutes, I told them I had a breach baby and would need a c-section, they got to work very quickly. When I got to the hospital I was already dilated to 9 cm and the nurse could feel feet trying to come through the cervix, but the membranes were still intact. They didn’t believe me when I said I had only had one contraction. They probably thought I had been sitting on this all night, but I swore I came in as soon as I woke up to the first one. They very quickly got my IV and urinary catheter placed, then rushed me to the surgical suite. I was stark naked at this point in a large room full of people with all the spot lights on me. I didn’t care too much, having full blown contractions and worried about my baby, but I was sitting there, straddling a large (very warm and soft) table while 4-6 people looked on and I tried to harness some calmness and stillness as the anesthesiologist was piercing my spinal fluid as I didn’t care to have a lacerated spinal cord.
Once the epidural kicked in, it felt like I was just swaddled in a big, soft, warm sleeping bag and couldn’t move anything from my neck, down. It was actually quite comfortable and in stark contrast to the sharp contractions, pains, and body tremors I was having seconds ago, it felt amazing – euphoric. Then, the surgery started. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel my whole body shaking as they tried over and over to wedge Oscar’s head out from under my ribs – he was apparently stuck with his butt in my pelvis and his head under my ribs. Finally, after one of the doctors pressed really hard on my diaphragm, Oscar popped out. The pediatrician took him and held him to my face while he screamed. I wasn’t sure what to do or what the doctor expected me to do, so I just said “hey” a few times (all awkward like when you first meet someone) before he finally took him to clean and “process”.
When they finally brought Oscar to our room after everything they do with them and I was starting to feel things in my toes again, I looked at his tiny, sweet face, gently stroked his face, studied his tiniest of features, then looked at Tony and asked if this was actually our baby. Tony was confused. I asked if he saw them take him out of me. He said “yes”. Then I asked if he saw them put the ankle bracelet on him. He said “yes” Then he asked why I was asking all of this and I told him “He doesn’t look like either of us – are you sure this is ours?” – Ends up there was only two babies born there that night and Oscar was the only one in the nursery while I was recovering – so yes, he IS our child.
Emily and I have had a lot of people asking for an update on our lives in Virginia. So, I’ve decided to write a little post on how it’s going in the state that’s “for lovers.”
Emily and I have lived in the South (Georgia and South Carolina) and the North (Michigan.) We knew we didn’t want to return to Georgia. It is way too hot down there. Summer starts in mid February and the heat doesn’t relent until December. To top off the heat, the humidity is brutal. I would start to sweat once I stepped out of the shower, and I wouldn’t stop until I took another one. There was just no escape from the heat in Georgia, and Michigan was exactly opposite. The bitter cold of a Michigan winter would start to bite in October, with winter’s teeth sinking into my bones through January and February. I’ve seen it snow in May, and I have pictures of my family in jackets in June. So, when it was time to leave Michigan, we had an idea of what we wanted. Weather wise, we both like all four seasons. We wanted a place where we would get some snow, some heat, and a lot of the beautiful days that fall in between. On top of the seasons, Emily and I wanted to stay in the East. We considered California and Oregon, but they felt too far from family. Emily and I both have a considerable amount of family in Georgia. Our third desire was for fairly quick access to mountains and the ocean, with mountains being more important. Add this all together, and Virginia became an obvious place for us. Within Virginia, the Shenandoah Valley was appealing. The Shenandoah National Park is basically in our front yard, and there is a nice river for canoeing and kayaking. And so, we moved to Front Royal, Va.
The move, of course, was stressful. Any time you relocate a family there will be a lot of stress. India and Oscar still talk about friends they left in Michigan, and they bring up things we use to do but probably won’t be able to do again (like going to Glenn Arbor). But, all in all, the kids have settled in nicely. They have made new friends and they enjoy their new school and daycare. India and Oscar are about to go to their first dance, a Valentine’s Dance. We hike a lot, and the kids love it. We’ve been to the top of mountains and to the bottom of waterfalls. The kids can be hard to get on the trail, but once we get out there, they run and play. If you are ever in this area, I would recommend Little Stoney Man and White Oak Canyon trails if you only have a few days to hike. In the summer we splashed in the river a good bit. This coming summer we’re planning to take the kids down the river in tubes for the first time. Even more exciting than tubing the river, this summer will be Calvin’s first trip to the ocean. India and Oscar have both been to the ocean, but not in over four years.
This is a little aside, but I thought it bared mention; Emily and I first moved to Virginia in late June. In late spring and early summer the fireflies light up the woods every night. It was so beautiful. We would sit on our porch after it had gotten dark, and just watch the show the fireflies were putting on. It was an amazing display, an intricate ballet of light. Emily described the fireflies like being in a stadium with thousands for flash bulbs going off all around you. It is truly amazing.
Not only are we enjoying all the outdoor activities Virginia has to offer us. We are both enjoying our new jobs. We work together at the same veterinary clinic. Emily is one of nine doctors working there (the clinic has two locations.) And, she is not nearly as stressed or over stretched as she was in Michigan. The pace of our new clinic is much more manageable. Although it is a busy clinic, we are very well staffed with a lot of support for the doctors. To top it off, there’s also a black clinic cat named Dan. He and Tater (the Pol Vet clinic cat) are both amputees, although Tater is missing a leg and Dan is only missing half a tail. The clinic we work at now is small animal only, and Emily will admit that she misses the large animal side of things. She misses her cows and especially her calvings and foalings. Instead of doing a little bit of everything like I did at Pol Vet, I, for the most part, work as a doctor’s assistant. I’m assigned one doctor to help through out the day. In general, things are really good for Emily and me at work right now. As an added bonus, a lot of the people at the clinic have children that are roughly the same age as ours. So, our kids have a lot of other kids to play with at work gatherings.
The only thing that’s not so great is that Emily is picking up emergency shifts at a local veterinary emergency clinic so we can pay the mortgage on our Michigan house. Actually, as I write this, she’s at her second job. But her shifts at the ER are not nearly as bad as the on-call she used to do. She only works a weekend or a few week days a month, and when she’s done, she’s done. There is no worry about being called back in. All in all, we are super happy in Virginia. The mountains, the water, the work life balance, it’s all what we wanted. It is what we were looking and hoping for.
I’m trying to talk Emily into doing a vlog for a Q&A post. She’s not all that keen on it, but I’m trying. Vlog or no vlog, my next post will be a q&a. So, last chance to ask any questions. And, as always, thanks for reading.
This is part I of the stories of my three babies. I was super lucky enough to have not lost one pregnancy and for that, I cannot be thankful enough. When Tony and I started dating when I was 16 and he was 17, I did not want kids at all. They were loud, annoying, and honestly, I always felt judged by them (they just stare at you like they’re so cool). But as I aged, I started getting a hankering for, maybe, a family. Then, once, when I went off to an externship to Rood and Riddle, Tony gave me a cute little teddy bear as a going away present. One night, while I was laying in one of the bunk beds provided to externs, waiting for an emergency colic or dystocia call, I was cuddling that bear and half asleep, felt the incredible softness of the top of the bear’s head on my lips and imagined it was that heavenly downy hair of an infant and immediately knew that I wanted children in my future. It was good timing too, because I also was sure that I wanted to be one of the amazing vets at Rood and Riddle but then saw how busy they all were that only one of the many female doctors there at the time had a child. When I asked one of them about it they just told me that their lives were way to busy and chaotic to even consider children.
Once I finally graduated vet school and got done with my internship, I was already 27 and knew that the longer I waited, the more risky pregnancies became. I had just started my first real job and the last thing I wanted to do was to get fired for being pregnant (yes, I could have been fired as the company was less than 50 employees – actually less than 5). I also did not want to sacrifice the health and safety of me and my potential babies by continuing to wait until “the right time” as many have told me there is never a right time. So, 2 months into my first job, we finally decided to stop preventing pregnancy as we’d heard that it can take awhile. Well, the next month, I was pregnant. I knew I was before I even took the test – I was at a dairy and had just pulled a calf as a huge thunderstorm was just clearing up and I just felt a little tinge of excitement that radiated from my abdomen and just knew what that meant.
I took a pregnancy test before I even missed my period and it was faint, but it was positive. It was right around Christmas time and so I quite sloppily rolled the stick that I peed on in some wrapping paper and asked Tony to open an early present. He opened it, looked at it for a second, then looked at me funny and said “why did you give me a negative pregnancy test?” – which kind of took the wind out of my sails, but only for a second as I led him over to the closest window to show him that in the right light, you could see the faint blue line. He still was not sure about it, but I was and he was excited for me – I had to take another one later, after I missed my period to really prove it to him.
Things were going well for us for about a week and a half when I was riding one of my horses and he decided that he was done being ridden and started bucking a little. I immediately got off of him to be proactive since I was now pregnant and had to be more careful. Later that day, I was in the shower when it happened – I started bleeding. I had a river of blood running down my legs. It was scary, but it stopped and I thought maybe I had just irritated something with the bucking. I was a little worried, but went to my first doctor’s appointment for the pregnancy and mentioned it to the nurse checking me in. She said that I would have to go and talk to the triage nurse. Tony and I walked into the office, knowing something was not right. She talked to us like something bad had happened and that I would need an immediate ultrasound to see if I was still pregnant. I can’t tell you why, but I had never thought about that bleeding being a finality in my pregnancy. We were not scheduled to have an ultrasound that day, so we had to wait in line behind all the women who had a scheduled appointment.
We sat there, outside the ultrasound room for over an hour and watched couple after couple go in, heard the Doppler find the heartbeat, and then saw them leave, smiling with their adorable black and white print out of their healthy, live, little one. Tony and I just sat in silence. This was the first that we thought that we may have lost our baby. We didn’t know what to say to each other and were both barely holding it together without having to make our voices behave. I sat there, holding some stupid brochure the triage nurse had given me, wringing my sweaty hands, my whole body shaking. Finally, an eternity and a half later, they called us in. She asked me to lay down and explained that since I was so early, she would have to ultrasound me trans-vaginally. Honestly, I didn’t care where she had to put that probe, I just needed to know right now if our little life was still alive.
I lay back and stared at the black ultrasound screen. I’m not sure if I was breathing at all at that point. She inserted the probe and started the scan. We saw black fluid in the uterus, she scanned and scanned and scanned for what seemed like an eternity when out popped this beautiful little round creature with an even more beautiful strong heart just fluttering away. She looked just like a baby sea turtle to me in that moment. We were so happy – everything was okay. We also got an adorable little black and white photo of our little sea turtle and left that room with smiles as big as our faces. That was India – and I later gave her a “spirit animal” assignment of a sea turtle.
She was born the day after I was out performing a DA surgery on a cow. I was actually scheduled for an induction due to her large size, but she had other plans. I showed up the morning before my scheduled induction at the Columbia, SC hospital and told them I was in labor. I think they thought I was just a day early to check in for my induction. They kind of nonchalantly got my file as I had disappeared behind the check-in counter doubled over in pain and then led me to an exam room. They made my mother and Tony go to the waiting room. I quickly got undressed and into my gown feeling like my undercarriage was about to fall out and tried to lay/sit on the bed but was way too uncomfortable. The bed that was in the room was some weird triage bed or something and different sections of padding was coming undone and falling to the floor. So it was like I was laying in a foam pit you would see at a gym.
Finally, about 45 minutes to an hour later, a nurse came in (again, nonchalantly) and saw that I was in labor by my face. She put the contraction monitor on my belly and told me that my contractions were not that bad – which immediately made me feel like a wimp because I was currently dying. Then, at some point, someone finally checked my cervix and I was at 7 cm. THEN they rushed me to a delivery room where I asked for an epidural. Now, I’ll tell you – I was GOING to go all natural, I had read all the opinions on this and was certain up until the point that I was sure my nether regions had already split in twain and there was not yet a baby on the floor. When the anesthesiologist showed up maybe 10 minutes later, the nurse was checking me and delightfully informed me that it was too late for an epidural, that I was ready to push.
I pushed for 30 minutes, kicking a student nurse holding my leg in the face (on accident) and promptly apologizing, before the doctor came in and informed me that I was not pushing right. She showed me how to push and I got India out in another 30 minutes, feeling every tear and popping of flesh as she made her way out. She was a healthy 8lb 2oz. They put her on my chest as they sewed me up and she just cried and cried. I asked when she would stop crying and the doctor informed me “Not until she’s 18”.
I’ve only been in the veterinary business (including schooling) about 14 years, but I’ve seen some stuff that made my heart stop and took my breath away. I will be talking about some of the people, clients, vets that I have worked with but will not be using names. Please don’t assume you know who I’m talking about. Just because you may have only seen me work for Dr Pol doesn’t mean there haven’t been numerous others (vets or clients) I have worked with.
I had a clinician I worked with who said “whether it’s something you do or don’t do, you will kill an animal one day”. I will start with a story about myself since that can only be fair. I was working on emergency one night when I got a call that a cat was unresponsive and rushed in to see it. It was a young cat, but obviously very sick as it was laying flat out, barely alive other than breathing and a heartbeat. It was severely dehydrated so I placed an IV catheter and drew some blood for testing. I was in such a hurry to get this cat rehydrated, I made the fatal error. I forgot to run fluids through the lines before hooking them up to the cat. So, the first thing she got was a big bolus of air straight to her heart. She immediately started agonal breathing and, having not realized my mistake yet, I put my stethoscope on her chest and heard what sounded like cellophane crackling with every heartbeat. Still not realizing what had happened, and armed with the results from my bloodwork showing severe kidney failure, I recommended euthanasia. The owner cried and agreed. I euthanized the poor kitty while it was likely already dying from my mistake. I later performed a necropsy (opened the body up to see what could have killed it) and found the heart full of air bubbles. I was perplexed and that’s when it dawned on me what I had done. My heart fell, I suddenly knew that I was a dark smear on the veterinary profession and I would never forgive myself. As a coping mechanism, I would eventually tell myself the cat was dying anyway and likely would not have survived whatever caused her kidneys to fail in the first place, but it still rides hard on my heart even years later.
I was working with one vet on a farm, collecting semen from stallions when the farmer told his farm hand to go and get this stallion who was stalled right next to the breeding dummy and had just witnessed another stallion getting collected. The horse in the stall was on fire! He was hot and blowing and throwing a tantrum in his stall, rearing, bucking, kicking the sides of the stall, raging with testosterone (stallions can be extremely dangerous and unpredictable). The poor farm hand got a little pale faced when he was asked to go into the stall to get this beast, but did as he was told. He went in, we heard a lot of swearing and wall kicking and squealing from the horse, when the man stepped out of the stall holding one of his hands in his other hand, in obvious pain. We went over to see what had transpired. The man was shaking and reluctantly showed us his injured hand that he had obviously not even had the courage to look at and we all gasped. The bones in his hand, the ones between the wrist and the fingers were snapped in half and completely sticking out of his skin. Picture a bony Wolverine. He asked us if we could fix it and we said no, he would need surgery, but we cleaned it and wrapped it for him to get him to the hospital. We later, at our next visit, heard that he had to have pins put in all the bones and, the farmer complained, “he was just being a big “baby” about it” (replace baby with that horrible “p” word).
I was called out to see a colic and upon arrival, I knew the horse was not going to make it. He had ingesta pouring out of his nose (a sure sign he was either choked or, in this case, ruptured his stomach – horses CANNOT vomit). I went ahead and performed my full exam, including passing a nasogastric tube to make sure it wasn’t choke and to help relieve some pressure. I palpated rectally and found that his intestines were all distended and blown up. I gave a grave prognosis and advised referral to surgery or euthanasia. That’s when he said he knew of a way to untwist intestines without having surgery. Being curious, and not one to fight with people, even though maybe I should have, but didn’t know what I was about to see, I stayed to watch. They took this enormous Belgium draft horse, placed a wide leather strap around his girth, tied his head to his girth and then placed this whole thing on a crane. They, then lifted the 2000+lb horse, who was not taking this well – was thrashing and kicking – eventually about 5 feet off the ground. I watched as men and young boys scrambled to make sure he didn’t hurt himself, but also nearly got struck by his giant thrashing legs in the meantime. I felt pain for the horse, but also extreme worry for the safety of the people trying to save this horse who was, in all likeliness, GOING to die. Once they finally got him back on his feet and got the straps off, he took a few steps and liters of ingesta started pouring out of his nose. I told them, again, he was going to die, but they just said “we’ll see” and led him back to the barn. That was the last I knew of that case – hope he made it. I love being wrong when it’s a good outcome for the patient.
I was called into see an emergency for a dog who was hit by a car. Typically, we would roll our eyes and ask (to ourselves) “and why was the dog out in the road?” but there are certainly cases of accidental escapes and this poor lady had experienced one. An older lady, close to 80 years old pulled up with this comatose boxer. I helped her get it out of the car and into the clinic. It was breathing, but not responsive and it’s pupils were dilated. I was working in a very small rural clinic and had limited capabilities for therapy on what I suspected was brain swelling. I gave it what I could. The lady stood over her, sobbing and telling me over and over that this was all her fault and she had forgotten to put the electronic collar on her before she went out and why did she forget? She has never forgotten! She bawled and kept telling this beautiful young dog how much she loved her and how sorry she was. Then, the dog stopped breathing. Just stopped. Her heart was still going, but she had stopped breathing. I suspect her brain had herniated into her brainstem (controls breathing). I had her intubated and oxygen flowing but we didn’t have a respirator. Then, I helplessly listened to the heart as it slowed, stuttered, and then stopped. I softly informed the client that her beloved dog had passed away. That’s when the poor lady started screaming, crying so loud that she quickly passed out and hit the floor. I was able to get her back to consciousness, but she was incredible weak and could not stand. I told her I was going to call an ambulance but she strongly declined. She had me call her sons who eventually showed up and we had to wheel her out of the clinic on a rolling chair. Then, the next day, after telling the story to my boss and tech, my boss angrily said “but why didn’t you collect money from her”. He was serious. My jaw hit the floor. She paid the next day *sticks tongue out to boss*
I got called into the clinic on an emergency for a bloated great dane. I quickly ascertained that the dog had a GDV – a stomach that has flipped over and bloats quickly, and is an extreme “right NOW” emergency as the stomach can start to die immediately. I had never performed the surgery and it is very involved, so I advised they take their dog to an emergency clinic right away to have the surgery performed. Due to financial concerns, the clients declined and begged me to do the surgery even though I told them I had never done it and our clinic was ill-equipped to do it. They would rather me try a new surgery than have to euthanize their dog. I told them I would call another vet at the clinic because they had done the surgery before. I called, the doctor agreed to come in. While we were waiting, I was able to pass an orogastric tube and partially debloat the stomach. When the other doctor arrived, I had everything set up to go, IV catheter was in, fluids flowing, surgery was completely set up, drugs were drawn for anesthesia. The doctor looked at the dog, said it wasn’t that bad and said the dog didn’t need surgery that we could just hospitalize it overnight (no one is there all night) on fluids. My jaw dropped in front of the clients and they saw my face. I tried to argue and said that since we are already set up for surgery, wouldn’t it be best to just go ahead and tack the stomach just in case. The doctor said “no, he’ll be fine”. We put him in a cage and shut the door. When I came to check on him in the morning, he was re-bloated, purple, and unresponsive. We quickly got him onto the surgery table where he promptly died. Though I partially blamed myself for that one, the owners were appreciative and let me know. They, then got another great dane puppy and made sure to ask for me every time. That made my heart feel a little better.
I’m going to take a moment to brag about Emily, my wife and love of my life. She is a wonderful and caring person who pours her heart into everything she does, whether it’s her family or her work. Emily loves being a veterinarian; she loves helping animals in need, and she does her absolute best with every case she takes on. There are numerous examples of Emily trying as hard possible to save a life. She has saved countless animals, both farm animals and pets, from a huge array of issues, everything from trouble birthing to trouble breathing. She brought a pig home for the weekend to make sure he got the best care possible (I will never forget Winston). We have four pets in our house right now, and three of them Emily saved from being euthanized. In this post I’m going to tell you the incredible story of how Dr. Emily saved Merlin, Penelope, and Catina.
Merlin is our three legged Saint Bernard. He will be 8 years this coming Valentines Day, and we have had him for all but three days of his life. Merlin’s first hours of life were rough ones. His mother (for an unknown reason) killed most of the puppies in Merlin’s litter. There was only one puppy that was unharmed, most of the puppies died, and Merlin had his leg severely mangled. Merlin’s original owner rushed him to the vet to try and save the leg, and, as luck would have it, that vet was Dr. Emily. Emily tried to save the leg, but the limb was too far gone. After a day it was completely clear that Merlin’s leg needed to be amputated. The owner did not think she could handle dealing with a two day old puppy that had to be bottle fed, and kept away from his mother. The owner elected to euthanize, but Emily couldn’t do it. This puppy still had a lot of life in him, he wasn’t dying, he just needed a lot of work and a lot of love. I’m sure the original owner was ecstatic when Emily offered to adopt Merlin, she didn’t want to put the pup down, she just couldn’t take care of him. The owner gave all rights to Emily, and, just like that, Emily and I had a Saint Bernard. I believe Emily preformed the amputation that day (she said it was like operating on a chicken wing) and Merlin came home at three days old.
Merlin spent the first week or so living in a box (you’ll see this is a common theme for our pets for some reason). Merlin needed to be fed every few hours, and we had to wipe his bottom with a warm clothe to stimulate him to pee and poop. He was good training for Emily and me, we got him in February of 2012 and India was born in September of the same year. As Merlin grew, he had to find a new place to sleep, the box wasn’t cutting in after a few weeks, and he eventually found the bath tub. South Carolina is hot for a Saint Bernard, but the bath tub was nice and cool, plus, we could leave the bathroom door cracked and the room would cool down even more. As Merlin grew, it became clear that he couldn’t walk normally. Unlike most three legged dogs, he had never originally learned how to walk. He wouldn’t stand on his back leg, but instead pulled himself around using a quickly developing upper body. To this day, he doesn’t have much muscle on his rear leg. Emily saw this issue, and, instead of giving up and excepting that this is how Merlin would live, took him to another veterinarian who was a chiropractor and rehabilitation specialist who adjusted him and rented us a cart that supported his hind end with wheels. He hated that cart, but Emily worked tirelessly with Merlin, getting him to put more and more weight on his back leg, and learning how to walk. It took a solid year, but Merlin learned to walk, he can get up on all three legs and get around pretty well (he actually runs after the deer for short bursts). Most people that meet him, don’t realize he’s three legged.
At first, Merlin wasn’t given a chance at life, but now, because of Emily and her great heart, he has lived way past what anyone expected (Emily’s first boss told her Merlin wouldn’t make it to 3 years old). Merlin is about to turn eight, and he’s slowed down but he hasn’t shown any sign of stopping. Emily loves Merlin, and Merlin loves her right back (it’s obvious that Merlin cares for Emily way more than he does for me).
Penelope is the second of our three pets that owes her life to Emily. Penelope came into Pol Vet as an emergency. A good Samaritan, brought her after finding her in the ditch on cold Michigan morning. Emily was the Doctor available and rushed to see the kitten. Penelope’s body temperature was dangerously low and she was already on the way out. The good Samaritan gave up any claim on the kitten and left. Emily could have put the kitten down, and no one would have faulted her, but that’s just not Emily. Emily has a big heart and a great love, and she saved that kitten. It was very intensive and all the staff at the clinic did all they could for the kitten. Warming blankets were put all around her, a heating pad was next to her, anything to get her temperature up. At one point while trying to warm Penelope back to a good body temperature, her heart actually stopped. That kitten died for a few minutes. Emily, through drugs and chest compressions, brought Penelope back from the dead. Penelope came home with Emily that night for close monitoring. I called the kids over to see the kitten, and that’s all it took. Emily blames me for us adopting Penelope. She says that I showed the kids a kitten and you can’t take a kitten away after the kids see it, but I know Emily really just loved Penelope and she was looking for any excuse to adopt her.
Penelope, of course, survived her brush with death and hypothermia, she is, however, an odd cat. She’s not one for petting, she’ll playfully (and sometimes not quite so playfully) attack the hand that dares pet her. One of Penelope’s favorite games is to attack the feet of anyone that walks around the corner she is lurking behind. Penelope will, from time to time, get on the back of the couch and start licking any head she can reach. Social grooming is good, right? Penelope has worked her way into all of our hearts, and she is with us today, because Emily is so loving and caring that she couldn’t take the simple way out, but, instead, worked tirelessly to save Penelope’s life.
The third pet that Emily saved and gave a home to is our loving cat Catina. India named her Catina after a song she learned in kindergarten, “C” is for Catina Cat. Much like Penelope, a good Samaritan found a sickly kitten and brought her to Pol Vet. The good Samaritan didn’t want to keep the sick kitten but she couldn’t just let it suffer. Catina came into the clinic with a horrible upper respiratory infection. Her eyes had ulcerated and were crusted shut. Catina couldn’t have been more than six weeks old, and, for her eyes to be that bad, she must have suffered with that infection for most of her life. Catina stayed at the clinic for couple of weeks. Emily was treating her eyes, giving her antibiotics for the infection, and pain medication. Catina was terrified by everything. She hated the treatment, she hated us, and she was miserable. We kept her at the clinic because that is what she knew, and she seemed somewhat comfortable in her kennel, surrounded by her blankets. Emily would take her out and handle/play with her every chance she could. It was very important to give her positive attention to try and get her to trust us, and Catina slowly learned to trust Emily.
Unfortunately, Catina’s eyes never improved, and they had to be removed. The enucleation went well, Emily performed it of course, but Catina’s trust in us took a hit. After the surgery, Emily took Catina home, and Catina lived in a shallow walled box in our closet. While we were home, Emily would disappear from time to time, and I would find her in our room sitting by the closet door talking to Catina. It took weeks of talking to Catina and lots of bloody scratches and bites before the kitten would even let Emily touch her. Slowly, and through Emily’s great and loving effort, Catina began to trust Emily and then the rest of the family. Emily was the bridge that brought Catina into a life of love and happiness. For the first months of her life Catina had only known pain, but Emily gave her love.
Catina now rules the upstairs part of our house. This blind cat runs around the entire upstairs chasing toys and playing with the kids. We find her jumping on the beds and exploring all sorts of nooks and crannies. Catina is starting to brave the stairs (she’s come down about half way) and, when she does finally come all the way down, Catina and Merlin will properly meet for the first time. Because of his leg, Merlin can’t climb the stairs, and we kept Catina away from the dog to limit her stress when we brought her home. Catina is now this fearless cat that is confident and brave enough to explore and run around the house even though she is blind. And she can do all of this because Emily gave her that confidence and trust to do so.
