jinj88 - This Little Light

February 16, 2020February 16, 2020

Dear God, if there is a God, are you there? Also, I apologize for asking.

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.

https://studio-abachar.myshopify.com/products/king-mackerel-fish-plate-104

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.

February 14, 2020February 14, 2020

Babes part II – Oscar Poscar Pants

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 sister had her baby the next day**.

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.

“Listen, I don’t care if it takes us all night, we’re gonna figure this out” *ash tray full next to him*

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.

**Michigan man – boy loved shoveling snow**

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.

**Coolest dude at the Asparagus Festival – Empire, MI**

February 13, 2020February 13, 2020

TT: Virginia Update

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.

**They really really really wanted to help**

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.

**One of those calvings that Emily misses**

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.

February 7, 2020February 8, 2020

Babes part I – Indie bindi pants

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.

**India’s painting – I did one for each child**

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.

**She pretty much slept the first 3 weeks of her life – I even had to wake her to feed her**

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”.

February 4, 2020

Things that make you go “whaaa??”

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.

**Chewbacca “Chewy” – one of our first animals**

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).

**Super sweet stallion I got to work with as a groom before Vet school**

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*

**My own sweet boxerX who escaped and was hit by a car and killed the day after I brought Oscar home from the hospital**

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.

**My favorite childhood dog – Maybelle**

February 2, 2020February 2, 2020

TT: Let me brag about my Wife

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 just a few days old**, **you can still see the sutures in his stump.**

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.

February 1, 2020

Upcoming post

Hi everybody, this is Tony. I’m just sending out this email to all of Emily’s followers to let you know that I will be posting a story tomorrow. The story will be about how awesome Emily is and more specifically how she saved the lives of 3 out of 4 of our pets. Its been a rough couple of days for her (she has been working long hours recently) and I’m trying to cheer her up. I’m hoping you could help me with this by sharing some love her way through the post tomorrow.

Anyway, just thought I would send out a heads up, look for the post tomorrow, and, as always, thanks for reading

January 29, 2020January 31, 2020

What if..

I was raised to feel lots of confusion over body image and weight. On one hand, I grew up thinking that if I gained weight or didn’t look just right, I would 1. Never get a boyfriend/husband or 2. My boyfriend/husband would leave me because I was no longer attractive. My parents divorced when I was in high school and once I heard that my father had said my mother was no longer attractive to him because she was over weight. My mother struggled with her body image as far back as I can remember – always dieting or trying a new exercise class, but she hated how much she weighed and even how tall she was. As a 5’11” woman in a world where she thought men wanted “cute and petite” girls, it was hard for her to feel pretty or sexy at all, but then when she started gaining weight after children, it was a downward spiral. My father, on the other hand, has been smallish from the start. He was is also 5’11” and has always been very active with playing tennis, running almost everyday, biking, swimming, whatever he can do to stay fit. It was his passion, obsession, even. He was very proud of his body.

So, on one side of the coin, I was sincerely sympathetic to my mother’s cause. I hated that she hated herself. I was always very careful to never mention or hint at anything around her that might hurt her feelings more than they have already been hurt. I was quite sensitized to the feelings, frustrations, and fragility of being overweight and trying to conquer it. For my dad, the answer was easy – just go out and exercise more. Everyone sees the world from a different perspective and has different things that drive them in everyday situations. For some people, like my dad, losing weight is easy, you just do it. When he was diagnosed with a health condition where his body does not process “good” fats properly and essentially all fats for him are bad, he just cut out fat. Done. The poor man now struggles with eating enough calories in sugar and protein to maintain his 4500 calorie/day (with his exercise habits) needs and he has to do that with FAT-FREE oreos and cheetos! He immediately dropped weight when he made this change and lost his “dad bod” belly.

On the other side of the coin, I’ve seen what media (movies/tv shows, etc) and my own family experiences tell me about men and how they perceive women: you need to be thin AND shapely AND endearing or you will not be desirable and will be left or, more likely, cheated on. I went through a really rough time when I was dating Tony where I lost all faith and trust in men and just knew that I was eventually GOING to be cheated on and hurt severely. That was, of course, centered around the divorce that my parents were going through and I eventually got over it, well, learned to deal with it better, but for awhile, I was pretty sure men were the worst. Yet, somehow, while blaming men for making me feel this way, I still felt this way and was still driven to stay cute and little and always be as engaging as possible. I exercised, I got depressed when I gained weight, I didn’t complain about it to anyone except Tony because I was not overweight and would be scoffed at, but I just knew that it was a slippery slope to Tony not loving me.

When I was in vet school, I gained about 20 lb and for the life of me, could not get it off. I lived on rice and beans, ran 3-10 miles or biked 30 miles a day, had air-popped popcorn and watermelon for dinner and could not drop a pound. At first I was convinced that it was all just muscle, but eventually, while pregnant with India and I reached 170 lb and the doctor said something to me about my weight, I knew it wasn’t just normal weight gain. I was crushed. I had tried for years to lose that 20 lbs and only seemed to be gaining (even before the pregnancy).

Eventually, I would be blessed with a revamped metabolism after breastfeeding coupled with a painful abdominal condition that doesn’t allow me to eat more than very small portions of food before feeling very uncomfortable to painful. Then, I was finally able to drop the weight and get back to a comfortable size for me. Yes, I’ve been to all the doctors, have had imaging done, had my gallbladder removed, and have been on every medicinal combination including natural remedies, and no, nothing helps. So, for the most part, my own body regulates my weight, but I do love to exercise or at least I love to be active and I love the feeling of being sore and tired.

**Nothing makes a girl feel pretty like this amazing gift from one of the film crew teams – pregnant with Calvin**

What if we showed each other love and appreciation even if we all weren’t the magazine body type? What if when you saw someone who was out for a jog but was jogging slower than you could walk and instead laughing, we said “good job! You’re amazing!”? Yes, I can agree that being overweight can be unhealthy, but not all overweight people are unhealthy, and when was the last time telling someone they’re overweight helped? Let the medical professionals worry about their physical health. We should all worry about each other’s mental health. What if we just supported them and showed them the love every human deserves? If most people react to things like my husband, then telling them how you think they should change will only make them do the exact opposite (super fun in a marriage). Looking around, I’ve noticed that seemingly everyone has body image issues. So, it totally sucks that media makes women think that men only want a certain type of woman, but if you really ask honest men, you’ll find that different men like different types of women. Some men do NOT find thin, lanky women attractive, some love the softness of larger women. Same for women – no, we don’t all want to be able to complete a muscular anatomy exam on your body, some do, but we all have different things that make us tick. So, to single out one body type and make everyone else feel bad about themselves for things they cannot change – no, I will never have curvaceous hips (“birthing hips” – my mother in law warned me with my first pregnancy I would have trouble having babies – still pushed an 8.5lb baby out in less than an hour) with my body type. If I started gaining weight (even with doing 1000s of squats) I would simply take on the appearance of a candied apple.

Once my mom got away from all of that pressure and all of that loathing of her body, she found herself. She found activities that she loves. She walks or hikes almost everyday in the Rocky mountains and feels great about herself. I was thinking about this one time while I was running. I haven’t been able to just run 3-4 miles since I had Oscar. I found that my body and my mind do better when I run a “warm up” mile, then sprint/walk/jog the rest of the way as feels best for my body – when I can no longer breathe, I walk; when I catch my breathe, I run again. But it’s not a normal way to run. Sometimes I will skip or walk with lunges, or walk backwards or sideways, or dance or strut to the song in my earbuds, but I always have to make sure no one is looking. Why? God forbid someone sees me doing something that’s not seen as “normal” exercise. But, what if we were all in support of any activity, no matter how weird it looks to us? People wouldn’t be afraid to go out and find something they love that could also be considered exercise. Want to bear crawl across your lawn? Great! Good for the shoulders. Like to belly dance to Led Zepplin? Power to you!

I will never be able to shake the idea I got when I was 15 years old, studying the Victoria’s Secret catalogs, that this was how I was supposed to look. I didn’t yet know how I would go about adding 2-3 lumbar vertebra to my spine or develop D cup breasts and grow a second length of femur, or, most importantly, develop those perfect faces (though Tony says most of them look mad), but I knew that’s what I had to look like or I would never be loved. Yet, here I am; 35 years old, three kids later, scars up and down my belly, an umbilical hernia from the pregnancies, abdominal muscles that will never line up again, boobs that sag with age and three episodes of demanding nursing babies pulling on them while they summersault, a face that is tired, worn and pretty much needs make-up to be seen in public, but Tony doesn’t see all that. And none of that affects the way I see other people. You are beautiful.

January 24, 2020January 26, 2020

Tony Takeover: A Day in My Life at Pol Vet

**The kids dancing in front of the projector the film crew uses for interviews**

In this blog I hope to give you a glimpse behind the preverbal curtain at my time with Pol Veterinary Service. I can’t and won’t talk about the Doctors, it is neither my place to talk about them, nor are those stories mine to tell. Instead, I can write about what my job was like, and what I did at the clinic; and, believe me, it was fast paced, loud, and hectic. Hopefully, this will be an entertaining story about a crazy busy clinic and the people who mostly stayed just to the side of the camera’s screen, but kept the clinic together. This blog isn’t about a specific day, or a specific event, but rather just a general description of a typical day. Enjoy!

7:45 a.m. The clinic opens at 8 o’clock, so I would try to arrive about ten to fifteen minutes early so I could unlock the side door and let the camera crew in. Once the side door was open, five or so guys would run around the clinic turning on their big show lights and setting up any still cameras they wanted for that day. I would have about ten minutes to get the computers up and running, the surgery patient information together, and open the front door for the flood of patients to begin pouring into the front office/lobby. On an average day there was three people working the front office where people would check in, check out, and receive their take home medications.

8:00 a.m. I have just unlocked and opened the front door to the clinic, and four to six owners with their animals in tow would pour into the little lobby because they all dutifully did as instructed and showed up at 8 a.m. sharp for surgery drop off. There are only two computers in the front office to check people in, and I step to the first computer (I tried to claim the computer on the left with a sticky note, but no one respected it). As I step to the computer, at least three clients come towards me. I have to quickly figure out which one was first, or which one seems the most in a hurry, and get that patient checked in for surgery. If the patient I pick just so happens to be deemed the most interesting case by the film crew, everything slows down. Microphones are produced and placed on me and the client, two different cameramen take their places, one behind me looking at the client and one behind the client looking at me. When everyone is ready, the check in begins.

Within minutes I have to figure out which patient I’m checking in, determine if that patient is due for vaccines, decide if the patient will get a chemistry panel (a blood test) to check their liver and kidneys, amongst other things, to determine if the patient is a good candidate for surgery or if the doctor needed to treat an underlying problem. After the patient is checked in and the vaccines and chemistry panel is decided, I take the patient from the owner and back to the surgery/prep room. I help with the blood draw and any other diagnostics the doctor orders, and start the blood test (all the while a guy with a camera and possibly someone else with a boom mic follow me through an already tight building). Once the patient is in the kennel and the blood test is running, I head back to the front to do it all over again with the next surgery patient. Also, there are one or two other people checking in surgeries, so, I’m not just working around the film crew, but my coworkers who are just as busy as I am.

Me cuddling one of our more “exotic” patients

8:45 a.m. All the surgeries are checked in and, on some days, I’m the one that goes back to the surgery room to help shave, prep, and generally work with the doctors in surgery, but on a normal day I’m in the front filing the charts from the previous day and pulling charts for tomorrows surgeries and general appointments. Sometimes even this monotonous task is filmed. My coworkers and I have about fifteen to thirty minutes to get whatever charts from yesterday put away, and pull any charts we will need for tomorrow. Hopefully today’s charts were pulled yesterday. Around 9-9:15 a.m. the first of the general appointments start to roll in.

9:15 a.m. Once the first client walks in for their scheduled appointment, the seal is broken and it sometimes feels like the levees break. The clients, from that point on, do not stop coming; wave after wave crash upon that front desk. On a typical day the clinic will have two or three doctors seeing appointments from 9 a.m. to 11 or 12, and the schedule will be quadruple booked with an appointment every fifteen minutes. That comes out to be somewhere between 32 and 48 patients coming in for an appointment in the morning. If we have three doctors, each doctor will need to see 10 to 16 patients.

Check-ins have to be quick. I have to get a patient checked in, weighed, get a brief history from the owners, and get the patient into an exam room for a doctor as fast as possible. Because, once that check in is done, another client will be ready to check out. On top of checking patients in and out at a breakneck pace, I was also expected to restrain patients, clean rooms between appointments, fill prescriptions, run blood work, fecal floats, and run urinalyses in the lab, and work in radiology. Anything a doctor needed, that was my job, and one doctor or another almost always needed something. I was doing all of this with a six person camera crew filming everything they could. A dog needed to go to radiology, the film crew followed; a growling dog needed to be restrained, the film crew was there. The film crew really was great at staying out of the way as much as possible, but there was only so much room in that clinic.

12:00 p.m. One of the good things about the clinic’s pace is that time goes by quickly. Before you knew it, 9:00 a.m. had become 12:00p.m., the flood of clients turned into a trickle, and it was time for lunch. The doctors would shove some food into their faces and hit the road for farm calls. The doctors would average three farm calls in an afternoon, but sometimes the count was much higher. Every once in a while I would go with Emily on her farm calls, but usually I stayed at the clinic. The farm call time gave the office staff time to clean up from the whirlwind that was the morning. We would unpack and stock all of the medical supplies that had been delivered (sometimes we would get three separate shipment drop-offs), restock the exam rooms, file away the 30+ charts from the morning, and, most importantly to me, eat some lunch. The doctors’ farm call time went from noon to 3:00 p.m., at 3 o’clock general small animal appointments started back up.

**Winston the tetanus pig we brought home for a weekend**

3:00 p.m. General appointments begin. These appointments were generally a mirror image of the morning appointments with the added bonus that not all doctors would get back from farm calls by 3 o’clock. On really bad days no doctor was back by three, and then the patients would pile up in the waiting room. With the return of the doctors, the camera crew would return, and the clinic became cramped again. It was not unheard of for a client to show up at his appointment time, and have to wait an hour before a doctor could see his pet. The afternoons quickly became a blur of checking in and checking out patients, along with working in the lab, and radiology, and pharmacy. The clinic officially closes at 5:00 p.m., but that’s not really the truth. The doctors were almost never done seeing appointments by 5:00, if Emily left the clinic by 6p.m. she was doing well. On top of this, the clinic didn’t close until 6p.m. on Monday and Friday. So, the staff wouldn’t leave until around 7p.m.

I’ve gotten a couple of questions asking me how it was working at Pol Vet Clinic, and this post sums up typical day pretty well. Working at Pol Vet was frantic, it was nerve raking at times. Sometimes, I felt like a had too many balls in the air and that kept me from spinning my plates. It was also claustrophobic at times, the clinic is small, and it was hard at times fitting the office staff, with the camera crew, and the clients into that building. But, it was also fun. I loved being with the people I worked with. I enjoyed being a part of something that helped a lot of people in the community. The guys on the film crew became some of my best friends in Michigan. I don’t miss the chaos that Pol Vet brought into my family, but I do miss the people (both clients and coworkers) there.

I hope you enjoyed this post, and, as always, thanks for reading!!

January 23, 2020January 23, 2020

Sorry, mom, it’s my favorite story: six lives to go!

Childhood is a growing experience for both child and parents. The goal of a parent is to 1. raise a child into adulthood and 2. make that child into a functioning adult (My dad once told me, much to my disgust at the time, that his job as a parent was not to give me everything I want, but to make me able to function properly as an adult). I did not always make the #1 parental goal easy for my parents. I once ran away when I was four years old (in my wonder woman underwear only) and was found in a nearby trailer park where the police came and got me. A few times, I even challenged the whole living thing. I was thinking back in my childhood about the times that I was in danger, whether or not I knew it at the time. I’ve been in some circumstances that could have ended disastrously, but *spoiler alert* I survived them all. I’m still not sure if these experiences made me who I am today (ready to dive into a challenge even [especially] if dangerous) or if who I am got me into these experiences. As I thought of the different scenarios, they all seemed to include one odd, but common denominator – my dad in water.

The first event, I’m not sure how old I was, possible 5-8, but we were at The Wakulla hotel in Coco Beach, FL for our annual family (dad’s side) reunion. I, as the youngest child of three, was anxious to keep up with my older siblings and cousins. We were at the hotel pool with everyone else and I was tired of having to stay in the shallow end. I went up to my dad, sitting on a chair poolside and told him I was ready to jump in the deep end and that I could swim now. He said “are you sure?”. I looked at him confidently, held up my swimmer’s goggles as proof, gave a quick “yep!” and took off. I placed my goggles on my face and eagerly jumped into the deep end. And promptly sank/struggled/sputtered. My dad jumped right in and rescued me -surprised, I’m sure as much as I was that the goggles did not save my life.

The next incident also involved water, but occurred at the other place my family (mom’s side) took annual vacations – Pawley’s Island, SC. I absolutely love this place. We are no longer able to use that house after my grandmother died since we no longer “had a tie to the family” as my grandmother was adopted, but my most beloved memories of this place are my absolute favorite. It’s a small island off the coast of South Carolina with only privately owned beach houses that are rented out to the public. Most of the houses are large enough to accommodate a few families and are directly on the beach and come with your own private area on the beach. The beach was never crowded and there was plenty of room to run, play, fish, and crab. The ocean had fantastic waves for swimming, body surfing (where you dive just as the wave is breaking and have the wave carry you all the way to shore), and riding the waves on a raft. On this particular occasion, I was probably in the 8-9 year-old range, I had gotten onto one of the rafts and was going to ride some waves. I got out to just where the waves were crashing – ideal for catching one – but then just floated.

**Brother and cousin fishing at Pawleys**

I don’t remember why, but I just lost track of time or was thinking the deep thoughts that you think as an 8 yo, but, after awhile, I looked up and saw that my family, on the beach was REALLY far away. I could barely make out who anybody was. I had drifted out to sea! Luckily, at that point in my life, I hadn’t developed the fear I now have of sharks and was pretty calm about it, but I did notice my dad and another guy notice how far out I was and jump up and start waving at me. There wasn’t much I could do at that point. I tried to paddle and kick, but the ocean is much stronger than a child. My dad and the guy started running for the ocean, jumped in and started swimming for me. They finally got to where I was and started to pull me back in. The guy who was with my dad tried to dive down to see how deep we were, but could not swim deep enough to find the ocean floor. Needless to say, I was “grounded” for awhile after that.

**Some of my favorite times at Pawleys – storms rolling in. Cousin seen in the back ground**

The last story is my favorite. It’s not my mom’s favorite and I totally understand why, but it is the best story to bring up suddenly to people who haven’t heard it and watch their reactions. So, it was November 1st of my second grade year in school. I had spent the night over at a friend’s house for a slumber party and per standard procedure, we had stayed up all night in fear of being the first one to fall asleep and all the shame that would surely ensue. Needless to say, I was not well rested for the day ahead of me. My mom was as work and I was home, playing outside with the dogs. Growing up, our dogs (one black lab named Addie and one miniature schnauzer named Bo) were outside only dogs and roamed free. They had an old, large comforter that we had thrown to them to sleep on in the colder months in the garage, but they often dragged it out into the yard and on the driveway. That day, I had decided that I was going to surprise my mother when she got home by jumping out from under the blanket as she drove up the driveway. I imagined just how happy she would be to see me.

I curled up in that old, dirty, likely flea-ridden blanket that had so often embellished the driveway in the warm sun light on a mild fall day in Southern Georgia and waited. And then, I fell asleep. The next thing I remember is it being very dark and feeling a ton of pressure on my body. Then, there was light, but I couldn’t breathe. I threw the blanket off of me and saw that my mom had arrived home and had, in fact run over my body with the car. She got out of the car and didn’t even see me there. I tried to say something, but couldn’t catch my breath. I ran to the side of the house to try and regroup. Still unable to breathe, I heard my mother say “I see you, Emily!” before she went inside. She had no idea what had just transpired. She and my dad had likely driven over that stupid dog blanket numerous times without one of their children being wrapped up in it. Still unable to breathe and in a pure panic mode, I was doubled over on the grass when my good and faithful lab, Addie came over to… assert her dominance. She jumped on my back and started humping me.

I finally drew a breath, crawled out from under my dog and ran inside the house. My breath came more easily now and had turned into violent sobbing. My body hurt. I ran to find my mother in her room, changing. She looked at me and her face went as pale as mine likely was. “What happened!?!” she asked. Between ragged sobs, I managed to tell her “You ran over me!!!” then, I turned around to show her my back – numerous cuts and scrapes ran along the length of my back. My mother was shocked, she was tired, I’m sure she had just gotten home from an overnight shift as a nurse in NICU and now she had just run over her youngest child with a car.

I had to go to the hospital after that. I was so tired from not sleeping, I was falling asleep in the car. My mother thought I was dying. As a mother myself, now, I cannot even fathom how she was able to drive to the hospital in that state. She kept prodding me and yelling “Don’t leave me, Emily!!” When we got to the hospital she had to tell the staff that she had run over me. No one questioned her, likely due to the look of panic on her face. They rushed me back and started diagnostics. In the end, I ended up with just a broken rib and a lung contusion. The tires of the car had straddled me, but the small car was low enough to have caught my body and rolled it before leaving it. I stayed in the hospital one night and was discharged the next day.

Some of you may be wondering where my water logged father was in that last story. I was crying, having just told my mother that she had run over me, my mother was trying to put things together in her head and slow the panic in her soul when my father appeared, soaking wet, as he had jumped from the shower when he heard the news, completely naked. One day, I will recover.

Happy birthday, dad!