Battle Scars

I think that people should be aware of what really goes on inside a vet clinic. So I've decided to start a blog about it.

My cat Sprite is currently sitting on the top of the couch, watching every word I type, silently judging with her tiny cat mind. Daily I wonder what she thinks when she greets me as soon as I walk in the door, covered from head to toe in the smells of every animal and bodily fluid that I came into contact with that day. Does she feel like I'm cheating on her by playing with these other pets all day? Or does she think I'm being held captive against my will while dogs, cats, and who knows what other creatures attack me, only to send me home bleeding, tired, and hungry?

I can't tell you how many countless scratches I have gotten. I call them my battle scars, because usually I get them fighting with angry cats. Most of them are on my arms, but occasionally I will find bruises, cuts, and scrapes on my legs, face, and even my back--though it's still a mystery as to how my spine got so bruised up. At any rate, being a vet tech is a physically demanding job. It's not easy holding down a 90 pound dog that is actively resisting having its nails trimmed.

There's never a dull moment in the profession, though. Something different happens every day. A cat swallows a footlong piece of someone's knitting; a beagle gets its leg caught on a barbed wire fence; a husky eats an entire pan of brownies--including the pan. Definitely makes life interesting. But there are sad times, too; times that make this job one of the hardest. A few weeks ago we had to perform surgery on a cat to remove part of its intestines. The surgery went better than we had expected, and the cat was doing pretty well afterwards. Two days later, the cat went into respiratory distress and died. We did what we could to try to save the cat's life, but unfortunately it wasn't enough. She was only a year old. Sometimes those difficult situations hit closer to home, like when we had to euthanize an orange tabby cat. My older cat is an orange tabby, so that was hard for me. I fought to hold back tears as I watched the cat take his last breath. But life has to go on. Fortunately for me, the next appointment I saw was a 10 week old chocolate lab puppy. Definitely one of my favorite parts of the job.

Even though there are a lot of difficult and often stressful situations that come with my job, I wouldn't trade it for anything else.
And now that I've made you all depressed, here's a cute picture to make you smile.