Vet on the Loose (19 page)

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I muttered, my newfound confidence bursting like a bubble as I began to shove the flutter valve back into the side pocket of my overalls.

‘You see, I don’t really know the area and I thought you were him, and …’ I trailed off lamely as I noticed that the man was chuckling away.

‘Always the same, you vets are!’ he laughed. ‘Always rushing!’

This time I didn’t need to switch on the heat as I sped back down the driveway.

Within half an hour, I had completed the job, this time in the correct yard, and if the real Tom Fitzpatrick found me slightly uncommunicative it was because I spent my time imagining him talking with his elderly neighbour and the laughter that would ensue between the two of them the following morning.

I
t seemed like only the other day that I had done my very first bitch spay and now here I was again: the sickly feeling of apprehension and the sweaty palms as the premedication was injected into the little terrier, handpicked for the job – small and light, not carrying any excessive amounts of fat. Should be a nice one, but still…

My instruments were carefully laid out, by now showing some signs of wear and tear, but lovingly maintained – my shining comrades throughout the previous year.

The little dog was now fast asleep. ‘It’ll be over soon now,’ I whispered reassuringly to my patient, as if to reassure myself too.

The sharp scalpel blade sliced cleanly through the prepared site. ‘Good start.’ I nodded approvingly, although feeling perhaps it could have gone a bit deeper.

As expected, not much fat but still the thin white band that was the intended site through which to open into the abdomen seemed stubbornly elusive. Time seemed to stand still before a tiny nick in the body wall became apparent and the glistening organs peeped through.

‘Now, just the tip of the scissors,’ I reminded, suddenly wondering why I was whispering. I watched carefully to ensure that the sharp points stayed well clear of the delicate organs beneath the muscle layer.

The relaxed, even breathing of the little dog calmed me as I watched, conscious of the air of enthusiasm and yet oh so aware of its tender fragility.

Soon, the first ovary had been clamped, tied off and cut with only the faintest hint of a shaking hand. I held my breath as the clamp was released, half expecting the spurt of blood from a loosened vessel – but there was none. Relief. But only for as long as it took to start on the other side. Over to the right now, always more difficult – delicately pulling at the ligament, not knowing just at what moment it would snap.

I could feel a niggling ache in my back from sheer tension as the jaws of the forceps stubbornly refused to go around the pedicle of the deeper ovary. Repeated attempts to slide the instrument down along the vessel were unsuccessful, always managing to ensnare an extra piece of tissue that just shouldn’t be there. The loops of gut stubbornly refused to stay out of the way, despite careful pushing with a sterile swab.

‘This is always the hardest bit,’ I proclaimed with an air of forced gaiety. ‘Once this bit’s done, the rest is easy.’

But no, this time the clamp was too high up, leaving a section of the tiny ovary within its jaws. By now, a feeling of desperation was in danger of creeping in. I forced myself to be calm.

Patience, I urged myself, taking a deep breath and trying to stay light-hearted.

This time, easing the forceps way down into the abdomen, closely following the vessels that were clearly visible through the fat and – there, that had to be it! Jaws securely clamped. The second forceps, always easier now. Now, cut the ovary and then a good inspection from all angles to ensure that all is well.

With clammy fingers, delicately holding the remaining stump, the clamp released and there it was, no bleeding as it slithered back down into the depths of the abdomen. By the time the uterus was tied off, the tension was beginning to clear. With only the stitch-up to go, the hard work was over and the buzz of anticipation began to build up again. The pleasure of a job well done, heightened by the anxiety felt before. The layers of muscle came together nicely with the neat simple sutures and I carefully snipped off the ends to the required length. Not much fat to realign but, for practice, a subcutaneous layer. Not so great, I thought, as a little knobble of skin that didn’t quite match up was formed at one end. No, let it go, I advised myself.

‘Excellent job,’ I declared out loud, pulling off the
blood-stained
drapes. ‘After that one going so nicely, you’ll find the rest of them easy,’ I said to my student, Orla. She smiled, looking relieved. She had completed her first bitch spay with, by the looks of her, less nerves than I, who had merely supervised.

It was hard to believe that in such a short space of time I had gone from supervisee to supervisor and I felt a sense of pride that a student of my own was now setting out on the same path that I had taken. Who knew what the future held in store for either of us?