The Gift of Pets: Stories Only a Vet Could Tell (12 page)

She came in with a look of concern on her face. Why was the boss bringing her into the office and closing the door? I motioned for her to take a seat, then fixed her with as enthusiastic a look as I could muster.

“Lisa, I think you have done a tremendous job since you joined our staff.” She said nothing, her face a pillar of questions. “Are you enjoying your job?”

“Yes.” Her response was tentative and guarded.

“Good. I’ve noticed that you are always willing to learn a new task and that you especially enjoy working directly with the medical aspects of the work.”

“Uh-huh.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Do you see yourself continuing to be happy in your job?” I asked.

“I like my job a lot, if that’s what you mean. I wouldn’t want to lose it.” Her face registered near panic.

“No, no, no,” I said. “I don’t want that, either. But I do see a larger role in the practice for you. Would you like that?”

“You mean a promotion?” She leaned forward in her chair.

“Well, yes. Absolutely a promotion,” I replied. “Here’s the thing. What would really help me a great deal would be to have a licensed veterinary technician whom I could lean on to do a lot of the technical things for the patients. A licensed technician could take X-rays, place catheters, give IV injections, induce and monitor anesthesia, do blood work, and manage patient care. Having someone who could do that would free up a lot of my time.”

“Yeah, but I’m not licensed.”

“Not now, but you could be.”

“But doesn’t that take a couple of years in college?”

“It is a two-year degree at a community college.”

“But, Doc, I didn’t even graduate from high school. I’m not a good student.”

“You didn’t graduate from high school because Melanie came along, not because you weren’t a good student. And no, you didn’t graduate, but you did get your GED, right?”

“Yeah, I did. But that was only because my mom pressed me on it.” Anxiety edged Lisa’s face, but it was an anxiety highlighted by a dawning of hope and eagerness. I pressed on.

“Lisa, it doesn’t matter why you did it. The fact is, you did it. That means that you are qualified to apply to the veterinary-technician program. I’ve seen you work with the animals, and I’ve seen them respond to you. I think you could do it.”

“They would never give my application a second look. I’d never get in.”

“There certainly is that chance. But you never know till you try,” I replied. “Besides, I happen to know the doctor in charge of the program quite well. I’ll put in a good word for you. My guess is, they’ll jump at you. You have experience at two veterinary hospitals. You have a level of maturity that most of their students don’t have. And you have the full support of a veterinary hospital staff for your clinical work and the promise of a job coming out of school.”

Lisa was quiet for a while. I watched her eyes wander around the room as she vacantly processed the million reasons why such a dream could never happen to her. On her face was such a mixture of excitement and fear that I wasn’t sure whether she would jump up and hug me or run crying from the room. I let her mind grapple with the idea for a minute or two before proceeding.

“Lisa, you have so much more potential than being a kennel attendant forever. You’re doing a great job at it and we’re glad to have you here. But I see so much more you could do. I know it would be tough. You’d have to travel the forty-five minutes to and from school each day. You would have to juggle your time to be a mom and a student. You’d have to figure out the finances of your schooling. You’d have to study your brains out. But I don’t think any of those obstacles are insurmountable. I think you could do it. We can help you do it. And I could really use your skills in that role. I’d like you to pursue it. I want you to give it serious consideration.”

“I don’t know, Doc,” she answered without conviction. “It sounds cool, but I’m just not sure. I will think about it, though. I’ll get back to you in two or three weeks.”

“You don’t have two or three weeks. I’ve spoken with Dr. Potter at the school. The applications for this fall’s class are due in one week. Think about it overnight and we’ll talk tomorrow.” I handed her a sheaf of papers with information about the career and the program. She left my office, shaking her head in bewilderment, unable to process the possibility that she might be in college that fall.

But the next morning, she was the picture of resolve. She had considered my suggestion seriously and had discussed it with Steve, her kids, and her mother. All of them had been enthusiastic about the possibility, offering to help out with the housework, the yard work, and the studying. Her mother had graciously offered to help with the tuition as much as possible. One by one, the barriers she thought were so towering had evaporated. She came in to my office first thing and settled confidently into the chair, her chin up and determination inhabiting her features.

“I’ve decided to give it a shot,” she said. “But I’m going to need your help on a few things.”

“Anything I can do.”

“I might need your help getting my application together.”

“I already had Dr. Potter fax me the forms. You can fill them out today and we’ll go over them together.”

“I need a letter of recommendation from you.”

“I’ll write you a doozy of a recommendation. They won’t dare pass you up after they read my letter.” Lisa laughed.

“Okay. Also, I think I’m going to need to continue to work part-time during school.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“And I might need some coaching and tutoring. I haven’t been in school in a long time.”

“I’ll be glad to help with any of that you might need. But I bet you won’t need as much as you think.”

“Well, I’m going to go for it, but I’m just going on the record now to say that I think my chances are slim.”

“On the contrary, my friend. I think your chances are great! Only your confidence is slim.”

It took Lisa most of the week to complete the application process. With little help from me, she wrote a compelling essay on why she would be a good technician, pulling from her experience working with sick pets. She outlined the type and extent of her exposure to the profession during the time she had spent as an employee, detailing the cases she had seen, the surgeries she had observed, and the work she had done. Her time with us far exceeded the fifteen or twenty hours of observation required of applicants, placing her in the upper echelon of candidates. I contributed a stellar endorsement of her professionalism and skills in my letter of recommendation. I was confident that she would be given strong consideration.

The two months between when the applications were due and when the candidates were accepted was inordinately long for Lisa. I maintained that her acceptance was a foregone conclusion. But Lisa spent the time in anxious, lip-biting anguish. I did note that just the process of outlining her accomplishments for the admissions committee endowed Lisa with a new flush of confidence and optimism. There was a fresh level of interest in each case, a renewed commitment to the needs and comfort of each patient, and an invigorated approach to interacting with the clients and her coworkers. Goals do that for a person.

I must admit here to a bit of foreknowledge. Dr. Potter contacted me about some other business, and during our conversation he let slip the fact that the admissions committee had selected Lisa to be in the upcoming class of veterinary technicians. I knew the outcome two weeks before Lisa did. But I kept quiet. I did not want to spoil for her the joy of opening that letter of acceptance. Nor did I want her to think that I had interceded on her behalf and convinced the committee, against their better judgment, to give her a chance. I had not. She had been accepted on her own merits, without any input from me. It was her triumph and I did not want to diminish it in any way. But that was a difficult secret to keep as I watched Lisa’s nails get bitten shorter and shorter.

When the letter did arrive, Lisa’s sense of success and achievement was beyond my expectation. To see the jubilation of accomplishment on her face as she laid the envelope on my desk was a thing of beauty. With glistening eyes, she listed the things she needed to do before the fall semester started. It would be work, but I could tell that a fire of pride and accomplishment had been kindled in her heart. She turned to me before she left the office.

“Doc, I would never have thought this was possible. I can’t thank you enough for encouraging me to give this a try. I won’t let you down.”

“I have no doubt of that, Lisa. You’re going to do great.”

*   *   *

And she did. She was not a straight A student, but her grades were respectable, and though she tended not to test well, she clearly knew the material. I saw her training reflected in her job performance. Her part-time work took on a much more serious and clinical approach, a change that benefited the patients and set a good tone for the rest of the staff. As she learned more about specific techniques, she brought that knowledge to bear on each animal she worked with. Her classes provided her the opportunity to understand the significance of the tests and techniques she had helped me with for years.

As her medical-knowledge base increased, so did her confidence and sense of self. She became more and more assertive in dealing with clinical situations and directing the efforts of the staff. Her interactions with the clients reflected this change, too. In no time, she grew well beyond my limited expectations.

Between her first year of school and her second, she was required to complete an internship in the clinical context of a veterinary hospital. She spent the summer with us, of course, honing her skills. I quickly began to rely on her growing arsenal of clinical tasks and knowledge. Tillie’s disease had provided her a special reason to nourish an interest in treating cancer patients, and this skill was put to use that summer in treating a number of patients so afflicted.

Before I knew it, Lisa’s schooling was coming to an end. She took and passed her national and state board exams, the culmination of her training and the gates through which every technician must pass to enter the profession. I received a graduation announcement in the mail one day. Graduation day for her was a cool Saturday afternoon in May. With an almost paternal sense of pride, I watched Lisa march down the aisle in her cap and gown. She had accomplished a nearly miraculous transformation since my first introduction to her—truly a caterpillar to butterfly metamorphosis. From that quiet, self-conscious, and timorous person had emerged this confident, skilled, and intense woman of achievement and resolve. Even her physical movements reflected this change, her strides confident and purposeful as she walked to the front, the tassel swinging from her mortarboard.

You don’t often have the chance to witness the rebirth of a person; to stand in awe and respect as someone sheds the chrysalis constructed from the baggage of circumstance, of poor decisions, of economic entrapment, of faded dreams or psychological inertia. Such a personal reinvention requires of one a degree of courage and discipline that is wholly other than what life’s routine becomes. It is not a fight-or-flight, heedless act of courage in the face of imminent danger, the instinctual aggression of a protective mother, brave as that might be. It insists instead upon a complete review of all possibilities, a stern accounting of oneself, a thoughtful consideration of every contingency, including failure, that such a change might bring. It involves the cognitive ejection of all hindrances to progress, be they behaviors, attitudes, relationships, or indulgences. This intimidating process is one that, in many, grinds personal development to a quaking and pitiful halt. The inevitable stretching and pulling and testing leaves one strengthened and ennobled. It is uncomfortable, to be sure, but the product is personal achievement and accomplishment that builds success upon success, etching into one’s core an immutable sureness.

This is what I saw in Lisa’s eyes that day as she shook Dr. Potter’s hand and grasped with eagerness her diploma. And though I knew her achievements were her own, I still took a bit of pride in the moment, as well. After the ceremony, as her family gathered around her in celebration, I joined them on the lawn. She turned to me with her newfound confidence and fixed me with a steady look.

“Thank you, Doc,” she said, grabbing my hands and holding my eye.

“Lisa, you did this on your own. You didn’t need any help from me.”

“You’re right: I completed it. But you sparked the interest in it. You goaded me to try. I wouldn’t have done it without you.”

“Don’t cut yourself short, Lisa. It took a lot of resolve to do it,” I responded. “Besides, it was purely selfish of me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I fully expect to have a licensed veterinary technician till death do us part!” I joked, blissfully unaware of the prescient irony.

Lisa laughed and gave me a huge hug. “Deal!”

Unwelcome Appointment

It wasn’t the quiet chuckle that died abruptly as I walked through the door that got my attention. I just assumed I’d come in too late to hear the latest inside joke between the receptionists. It wasn’t the way the conversation spontaneously went from boisterous to muted upon my entrance. I’d given careful instructions to the staff about how hushed conversations at the front desk are not professional. It wasn’t even the mirthful glances that were my first clue. It was the subtle twinkle of mischief that hid in Rachel’s eyes that day and that played furtively at the corners of her mouth. Those hints should have tipped me off. I should have known that Rachel was up to something.

But honestly, as the only man in an office full of women, there are a lot of interpersonal subtleties that elude me. I am usually the last to recognize that a tempest has blown up in the teapot of the office, even when the eye of the storm tracks directly over me. Whatever the cause of my oblivion, I completely missed the cues that day, distracted by the messages she handed me from clients who had called while I had been at lunch. It is only in retrospect that I now realize I should have known.