Driving an Hour to the West

     Its Christmas time and I can be sure of this because I just finished a peppermint mocha and the cup from which I drank it was red and festive.  With the question of whether or not it is really Christmas time answered with indisputable, factual evidence, I will admit to you that I don't feel like it is Christmas time.  "We saw that coming."  I had all the adequate pre-Christmas buildup.  A horrid school schedule.  A triumphant last final.  Decorating my tree and stringing lights on the little yellow farm house.  In fact it felt like Christmas then but that feeling has slowly diminished.  Does that happen to everyone?

     This was the first year that I questioned coming home early for Christmas.  "Gasp!"  Yes its true.  What the heck?  Am I growing up?  "Its doubtful."  All I know is that the moment came for me to drive down to my parent's and I looked around and didn't want to leave.  My house was so cozy, my tree so jolly with my pets sleeping underneath its lights and I so comfortable with the way things were that I didn't want a thing to change.  Not for the hugs, not for the movie nights, not for my old room, the evening walks or even the hills.  I was completely conflicted.  I felt like a horrible daughter as I contemplated calling my dad and telling him I had changed my mind.  I just couldn't do it.  "What an egomaniac!"  I know.  As if the sum of my father's happiness is found in my presence or the sound of my car pulling into the driveway.

     Apart from the pull of my cozy farm house there is the push of knowing that coming home just isn't the same anymore.  I can spend hours with my parents and feel like we never connected.  My mom is an eternal Martha, always doing.  My dad reminds me of how tired and distraught Elija was in the wilderness being fed by the ravens but he never seems to become rested and restored like Elija was.  I can't connect with mom because she's a moving target and dad is just too tired to connect.

     Everyone changes things about the way they live when they move out of their parent's house.  Its very natural.  I find that those things I have changed grate on me when I'm home.  I'm lulled back into old patterns and it makes me feel ashamed of myself.  Its too late to try and change my parents and it isn't right for me to resent them for being just what they've always been.  I love them.

     The final component of wanting to stay at the farm is summarized in the word 'expectation.'  I hate expectations.  It isn't as if I don't have them myself because I certainly do.  Who doesn't?  But I hate other people's expectations of me.  "What a prima donna!"  Still, it is true.  As soon as I feel someone's expectations I get cold and I put that person at arms length.  I'm curious what kind of coping mechanism that is.  I really want to tell them all how much I love them.  I want to hug them all the time, meet all their expectations and be warm and loving, but instead I become a frigid bitch.  I would love for someone to explain this to me.

     At the end of the day I'm glad to be home.  I'm glad that I love my family and that I GET to spend Christmas with them in the house I grew up in.  I know I'm blessed and I know that I get to go back to my little yellow farm house and that someday I won't get to come home anymore.  Its a hard balance living with the mortality of my parents, whom I cannot imagine a world without, and the reality that I have to live my life too.  I guess the inner conflict of coming home for the Christmas Holiday goes a little deeper than the decision to drive a little over an hour to the West.

The Week in Review

     SAT.&SUN.:  I likely spent a total of 12-14 hours studying at the Pitt School Rd. Starbucks.  What I like about studying somewhere like Starbucks is that it allows you to fool yourself into thinking you aren't the saddest person on the face of the earth.  Why is this?  1. You aren't holed up in your house and are therefore usually forced to wear socially appropriate attire (i.e. you have to get out of your pajamas).  2. The people around you are at least going through the motions of normal life.  This allows you to somehow feel that you too are a part of normal life.  The harsh reality is felt most acutely when they actually leave the shop, and you remain.  3. You offer yourself something to look forward to in the form of both helpfully caffeinated and delicious beverages.  So there I sat, spending the majority of the weekend in denial, while studying both for surgery and the surgery and anesthesia final.

     

     MON:  Surgery day.  It is possible that in light of performing surgery the universe bestows on one a measure of confidence that they should not normally have.  That is how it came to be that it wasn't until I was scrubbing in for my surgery, my cat anesthetized by Dr. Surgeon-Anesthetist Jones, my assistant Dr. Surgeon-Anesthetist Smalls scrubbing in beside me, that the question finally came to me, "What the hell am I doing?"  I turned to Smalls, "Am I about to do surgery?" "Yes you are," she said with way too much confidence in me.  Apparently the universe gives other people confidence for you too.  

     I entered the OR and all that I could think was, "Act like you've seen other surgeons act."  So I asked Jones how the patient was.  The patient was stable.  I asked Smalls for my scalpel and I opened my patient's abdomen.  Luckily, that's what I was supposed to do.  I had a brief moment of panic when I struggled to exteriorize the bladder.  After that, Smalls and I followed the steps and before I knew it, I was putting in my last skin suture.  What a rush.

     

     TUES:  Surgery and Anesthesia final.  Not as bad as I was expecting considering it covered 6 labs and 20 lectures.  That night, exhausted as I was I went out to Sushi with some friends.  Several people in the class were celebrating birthdays and it was a great opportunity to have some fun, some good food and catch up with my friend Marianne.  Sushi was followed by a trip to the best frozen yogurt I've ever had, Yolo Berry.

    WED.&THUR.:  Two days of 8am to 5pm class.  Both of which ended with Neurology lab.  Neuro isn't my favorite subject to begin with and Thursday's neuro lab was an evil disguise for what was actually 3 hours of lecture.  

     FRI.:  Friday was a light class day.  So I took Poppy for a run in the late morning around our orchard and then came back to school for my afternoon Ophthalmology lab.  The lab was held in the OR suite and we were welcomed by the site of each table proudly displaying a dog's head.  Only the head.  We performed a total of 6 procedures.   The most involved was a lateral enucleation.  In this procedure, you remove the entire eyeball.  Yah, it was a little creepy but also sort of fun.

     SAT.:  I spent the day with other students and some awesome doctors in Glen Ellen performing equine dentistry on horses at a Thoroughbred rescue farm.  I am still incredibly sore from wielding the mighty power floats that we use to take down the points on the horse's teeth.  It is a lot harder than it looks to do dentistry, but I feel like I started to get the hang of it towards the end.  

     SUN.:  Saw a painful return to my pilates workout video.  My goal this time however is quite different than in times past.  Previously, I was seeking to look good.  Well, mission accomplished.  Ha ha, just kidding.  Seriously though, I need to have a strong core for the kind of veterinary work I'm going to do in my life.  So I'm getting ready.  I also went to see the new Harry Potter movie with my roomy.  It was awesome.  The best one yet.

So in Summary: Starbucks, first surgery, surgery&anesthesia final, sushi, friends, frozen yogurt, lecture, neurology, running, removing eyeballs, equine dentistry, movie, pilates and soreness (i.e. an average week as a UCD vet student).

The Results of My First Cat Spay

SURGEONS

     Surgeons.  So much mystery.  So much wonder.  What makes them who they are?  What is the secret to this unshakable confidence?  Their bad-ass reputation and star-like quality makes them a focal point of the medical world.

     A slight breeze rustles the fallen leaves on the ground.  With a woosh, they swirl upward in preparation for the oncoming greatness.  U2's opening to Zoostation begins as, in slow motion, the green-scrub-clad legs step toward you.  Their pace is steady.  You are caught up like the leaves in this moment and all the world seems to shift into slow motion.  You trace upward as the music, the motion, the leaves rage onward and there, feet away from you . . . . is the surgeon.

     Today friends, today, I get a taste of the inside world of this Being of mythological proportions.  Today, I am THE SURGEON.  Are you curious?  Well, Its true.  I woke up feeling different.  In preparation for anesthesia, I was flustered, as you may recall.  I felt there was so much that could go wrong.  It didn't.  Anesthesia was great.  I got to micro-manage everything.  Subtle changes in gas administration, monitoring things at five minute intervals, my obsessive compulsive disorder was in full swing and on fire.  Today, I feel like I'm going to do my thing.  Could things go wrong?  Sure.  But I don't think it will.  The mysterious confidence has taken me over. . . . and I LIKE IT.

Why Women Hate The Gas Station

     I'm not a car savvy woman.  I figure I have gone above and beyond the expectations of most men in the realms of sports, schooling and general coolness and feel no great need to push the envelope by changing my own oil.  Please.
     When I was a little girl, I loved going to the gas station.  My mom would pull the blue wagon up to the pump, roll down the window and turn off the engine.  Magically, within moments there would be a friendly looking man in a blue shirt with his name on it.  They were always names like, "Ron" or "Joe." I would invariably develop a crush, for I cannot remember a time when I did not feel attracted to men.
     My mom would ask them to "fill it up" and they would start the gas pumping and then hop to and check the oil, coolant and washer fluid.  They would top things up, always being sure to show my mom the oil dip-stick to prove that she really did need that next quart of oil.  Then they would wash the window and bring out a credit slip.  I loved watching them fill it out and then swipe that giant block across it.  They always told us to have a nice day, and we did!
     Compare that to today.  I pull up to the pump.  There is no kind gentleman there to greet me.  I feel awkward but at least I know how to pump my gas.  So I have a microscopic amount of confidence.  As I slide my card into the slot at the pump I hear a voice. "How you doin today mam?" Dear God, no.
First of all, "mam?"  Are they serious.  They are like a year younger than me.  I'm instantly annoyed.  Why are they talking to me?
     "Hey." I say trying to be both cool and at the same time make it clear that if they continue this conversation they are taking their own life into their hands.
     "Have you heard about our product? Its a whiz-bang water-less window cleaner."
     My palms start to sweat.  Why?  I'm here to pump gas.  All I know is, pump the gas.  Fill the tank and get the hell out as fast as possible.  Why is this guy talking to me?  I hate this place.  This is a guy place and I am keenly aware that I am allowed limited temporary use of it.  What if he asks me a car question?  They all know I have no idea what I'm talking about.  They're going to make fun of me.
     "I'm not interested," I say with the cold look of death.
     "Ohhhh, UCDavis!"  How charming.  He's seen my bumper sticker.  "You alumni?"
      THAT'S IT! What do I look old?  I've used up all my car confidence on pumping the gas.  Now my pride is wounded.
     "No.  I'm not A-L-U-M-N-I."
     "Okay, take it easy now."
     I'm actually going to kill this kid.  I suddenly realize I haven't even started pumping the gas!  My card is not working at the pump.  I have to GO INSIDE.  The terror.  Now I have to walk past a table of these water-less window cleaner guys.  Guys.  There are suddenly men everywhere.  Literally, I'm the only woman in a packed gas station full of construction workers and painters and businessmen.
     What did I do?
     I marched into the store brandishing attitude in place of actual courage.  I'm pretty sure I scared every man within a 100 foot radius.  I paid for my gas, hid in my car while it pumped and left in a metaphorical cloud of dust.
     That is why women hate the gas station.

Big Day Big Day Big Day

   Today is the day.  I don't have a lot to say.  I've already been scratched, not maliciously, just out of fear.  I'm nervous and unsure.  I am worried that the second I get there, all the things I know to do will go flying out of my head.  I will express my feelings to you by sharing an email I just sent to Dr. Surgeon OVH master of the day, Smalls.
   "Despite my calm demeanor and obvious cool customer persona, I'm sort of tweaking right now.  I am facing the gauntlet and considering heading to the fire-lit pub, full pint and warm sheepskin throw, rather than running through a passageway of large screaming, hairy men with clubs and stones, in the rain, stripped of my security and probably, lets face it clothes.  Yes, I'm nervous.  I seek comfort and ease.  My natural state is to run away from this obstacle, like so many challenging experiences, and just leave it for another day.  But I can't do that.  I am being marched forward amid this channel of screaming barbarians and I just have to run as fast as I can and take the blows as they come, hoping for the glory that will find me on the other side."

Anesthesia

  Tomorrow is the BIG DAY.  I will be the "official" anesthetist on Dr. Small's (and our teams) first ovaro-hysterectomy (OVH).  Our patient will be a kitten from a local shelter.  First and best, I have complete confidence in Dr. Smalls (my fellow student and teammate).  Secondly, I am terrified of anesthesia. 
   Now here's the deal, anesthesia is scary to begin with.  You take an animal into a state of unconsciousness that inhibits not only their ability to move (obviously a goal) but to some degree their ability to do some basic things like thermoregulate, dictate appropriate ventilation or send blood around their bodies.  Hmmmm...that could be a problem.  You have approximately 4 tools to tell you if the animal is trying to die.  These are heart rate, respiratory rate, blood pressure and temperature.  There are some other tools we use like mucous membranes, reflexes and eye positioning as well.
   To top things off, my anesthesia will be conducted on a CAT.  Right.  So what's the saying?  "Its hard to kill a dog under general anesthesia and its hard to keep a cat alive."  Awesome.  Lets start by going through anesthesia.
   You start out with some drugs.  These are good drugs.  Things like opioids and tranquilizers.  The goals of these drugs is to chill the animal out and give them a nice buzz to make them more refractory to pain and get some actually analgesia on board.  These drugs will help me get an IV catheter into a tiny kitty vein.
   Once I've got that catheter in and my patient is purring away, its my job to take a really scary syringe full of something called an "induction agent" and get ready to induce (knock out) my patient.  In this situation I'll be using Ketamine and Diazepam (Valium).  So I'm going to inject this medication (in a very specific manner) and knock my cat out.  This is the scariest part of the whole show.  This is when cats stop breathing.  The only way for me to get the cat breathing is to get the endotracheal (ET) tube in the cat and start ventilating for it.  The clock is ticking.  As you may recall from driving through tunnels or swimming, you can only go without breathing for so long.  It may also be that when my cat is supposed to be knocked out and I'm about to put the ET tube in that it decides to wake up again.  Then I have to give it more of the induction agent and try again.
   Apparently cats like to close off the larynx (airway) when you try to intubate them, which makes things a little more difficult.  Still, once I've got that tube in and I hook the cat up to the gas anesthetic everything is peachy right?  Wrong.  In order to monitor our patients we use a doppler (blood pressure), esophageal stethoscope (allows me to hear the heart and breath at the same time) and an esophageal thermometer.  Using these 4 readings, I will attempt to keep this cat not only unconscious throughout surgery, but healthy, safe and ALIVE.
   Reports from yesterdays group of students are that almost (if not every) cat woke up during the surgery and they all became hypotensive (low blood pressure) and hypothermic (low temperature).  In other words, they were bouncing back and forth between two scary extremes.  This should make for a relaxing afternoon.
   So how do I feel?  You know, not bad actually.  I'm going to know what I can know and then what?  What possible expectations could they have of me?  I can simply do my best, know the information and use the minimal experience that I have.  There are going to be professional anesthesiologists roaming constantly helping us and they are some of the coolest customers you will ever meet.  Plus, it isn't as if everyone yesterday had a smooth and chill time and I'm going to be the one goof up.  No this is hard stuff.  Its tricky and specific and it takes time to learn it.
   Tomorrow afternoon the learning will make the jump to light-speed.

K2 Visits UC Davis

  I was walking out of an equine reproduction lab last week, tired and a little grossed out.  We were practicing fetal manipulation and reaching your arm through a metal ring, into a large canvas/plastic sac to palpate a dead calf, is not the most joyous of experiences, no matter how practical it may be.  So I was worn out and as I crossed the street from the Gourley lab, to the large animal VMTH parking lot the Holy Spirit told me to check my phone.  I'm not the kind of person who gets a lot of phone calls in a day, so I was surprised and a bit alarmed when I saw that I had 5+ missed calls and several text messages.  This is why after a while, you stop wondering why and just do what the Holy Spirit tells you.
   I looked at the first text message and it read something like, "K2 attacked, at UC Davis."  I stopped short and instantly called my good friend Karen.  K2 and Karen entered my life about 5 years ago, when I answered an advertisement for a horse that was up for lease.  She was a big, green broke, grey Holsteiner mare, and I fell in love with her the second I saw her.  I trained her for many years and developed an awesome friendship with her mom, Karen.  I finally got a hold of Karen and discovered that they suspected K2 had been attacked by a mountain lion.  I walked over to ultrasound and looked through the window and there was that big, long-backed grey mare (now mostly white) standing in the stocks.  So I put down my bags and walked in.
   Another good friend was there with her, Siri, her trainer.  After a big hug she filled me in on what was going on.  The ultrasound looked clean, but with a lot of gas present in the cranial aspect of the hock, it was hard to tell if structures there had been affected.  The decision was made to wrap the leg, eliminate the gas, and recheck her with ultrasound in a few days.  My girl was sleeping over. 
   As soon as I knew K2 was there, any plans for the evening changed.  Whatever was going to happen, I was going to be there for it.  So we, Siri, K2's fourth year student and I, walked her over to the treatment room where the surgeon on her case wrapped her leg.
   I volunteered to hold K2 so the fourth year could help with the bandaging and any medications she might need.  I took the rope and I put my hand on her nose and as I began quietly talking to her, she looked at me and she knew me.  Her eye stayed on mine and I felt her recognition, some stress left her body, she sighed and licked her lips and we talked.  I know it sounds crazy, but we did.  If you've never experienced that connection with an animal, I urge you to find it.  There is nothing in the world like it.  You can't force it or even ask for it.  They just have to give it to you.  Its their decision and that is why it is so powerful. 
   K2 stayed at the hospital for a few more days.  The results of the follow up ultrasound were that while all her synovial structures were unaffected, she had torn a good portion of her cranial tibial muscle.  Its difficult to say what caused the tear.  It could have been the attack itself or the 5 foot jump out of her pen that she made to escape.  But the result is that she will be rehabilitating for the better portion of a year.  I was happy to see K2 go home.  She hates being in the hospital and tried to colic twice while she was there.  She will be better off recovering at home where she is happy and there are no llamas or alpacas nearby, but I will miss her and her pink nose.
   On the up side to this entire event, I met a new surgeon in the hospital. . . .

Rank

     You arrive at the ranch early.  The sun's light is just beginning to outline the tops of the foothills and the periwinkle hews of dawn are spending their last moments in the barnyard.  As you cross the yard to the saddle house an excited rooster preemptively announces the hour and chickens scurry and flutter out of the way of your sleepy boots scuffing the dirt.    Reaching the small but well made building that serves as a tack room you hear a faint stirring and a door creak on its hinge as one of the hands leaves the bunkhouse.  You glance over as he lights a cigarette and you see him recognize your truck.  He considers for a moment and then follows your path to the tack room and nods when he sees you before heading into the main house for his breakfast.
     Entering the saddle house you look at the tools of your trade.  Saddles, bitted bridles, hackamores, ropes, spurs, girths, chaps, tie downs, reins and in short leather, hang in an organized chaos from hooks and nails and saddle racks around the room.  It smells like leather, saddle soap and dirt and horse and it smells like home.  Different saddles have different functions.  There are some beautiful saddles in this room, saddles you could ride in for days.  Today you walk to one of the back corners and grab a dusty and scuffed up saddle with a deep seat and a high pommel.  There are guards on the front of the stirrups so your feet don't get caught.  There's no need for fancy silver conchos or straps for tying rope or bedrolls because this is a busting saddle.
     Dragging the saddle behind you, you step back into the yard where the sun is now working quickly to warm the ground.  Hands are moving about the yard and several brush past you to grab saddles.  Its a short distance to the tall fenced round pen and you sling your saddle across one of the knobby poles before walking to the corral.  
    There's excited movement as you approach and a particularly nervous buckskin moves into a group of horses, trying to put more space between yourself and him.  Ears flick towards you, nostrils flare and one brave little bay turns her head towards you and blows.  
Pushing your hat back on your head you're joined by the foreman.  He pulls out a cigarette and you watch the herd as he strikes his match.  At the snap and flash several horses jump, others look and a few can't be bothered.  
The foreman appears to be studying his boots as he slowly asks, "See that flaxen sorrel with the blaze?"
"Pretty," I said.
"He's rank. Tried to run one of the boys down yesterday."
"How you want him handled?"
"Leave him to then end. Get him separated from the others for a few days. Wear him down before you try to break him or you'll never get it done."


    Driving to school this morning I would describe my mood as rank.  I'm pretty much ready to run you down if you enter the corral.  A rank horse isn't just a scared horse or a flighty horse, its a horse that is mean.  Its unbroken, untrained and fractious. 
     The good news is that, during my first two lectures, while half paying attention and writing this blog. I began feeling less rank.  I'm now less inclined to think, "Shut the hell up!" when a professor is lecturing on and on and on passed the fifty minute lecture period (Which happens nearly every lecture).  Or likewise, run someone off the road because they're obviously in my way. 
     I attribute some of this to some great pictures of horses during orthopedics class.  Just writing this blog has helped me calm down, finally being allowed to use the creative part of my brain for a few minutes.  Most of all though, its the people I sit with every single day.  The Smalls', Jones', Chells' that make me laugh because they are willing to be so goofy just to get me to smile. 
     This morning I will leave you with a quote and important information from the very entertaining Dr. D in neurology.  "The Manx cat is an abomination."  We laughed at first but apparently Manx cats, who are born without tails, have what is called sacro-caudal dsygnesis.  This means that they are born with a range of malformations in the spinal column.  Many will die in utero and those who are viable will not be sold by breeders until they are 4 or 5 months old and the full manifestation of their disease is realized.  So don't buy one because we shouldn't breed animals like this.  Its not responsible.

An Unscheduled Lesson

Poppy and I set out tonight just before sunset.  We took our normal route running along the dirt road next to the alfalfa fields, headed towards our orchard.  Did you know that Poppy and I have an orchard?  We do.  We run around it 3 or 4 times a week.  As we set out tonight it was hot.  Still really hot considering that the sun had almost left the sky.  Everything was starting to turn the amazing shades of pinks and purples that you always get in the farmland.  Along the levee there were scads of dragonflies swooping down and barely touching the surface of the water.  Poppy, who has been quite pent up the last few days, was straining for a chance to chase them.  So I let her off the leash.  

You never know what's going to happen when you let Poppy off the leash.  I know my dog likes water, but she had never been in the levees, so I was curious what she would do.  My wondering was cut short by the excited splash that came a split second after I un-clipped the leash.  Another question answered.


It seems to me that I spend a vast majority of my time asking questions.  I think that is why teaching can be such a relief, for once you're answering questions instead of asking them.  In fact, maybe that is what I appreciate so much about interactive learning and the Socratic method.  When you answer someone's question, you feel empowered.  When your question is answered you feel informed.  The two are very different.


We are reaching a really fascinating part of vet school.  So much of what we are beginning to learn has a very sharp learning curve and can't really be taught.  For example, in the last few weeks we have begun the laboratory portion of equine reproduction.  One of the most important aspects of equine reproduction is rectal palpation.  


Now many people don't understand how important this is.  It is sort of a gross concept, sticking one's entire arm inside the rectum of a horse.  However, it is one of the most important diagnostic tools an equine veterinarian has and not merely for reproduction.  If a vet is called out on emergency because a horse generally isn't doing well, it is one of the first things that vet will likely do.  From that position, you can gain a lot of information including, the position of kidney, spleen, bowel, cecum,  and reproductive organs.  You can get a good read on how dehydrated the animal is or if there's an impaction in their colon or cramping.  Furthermore, it is very dangerous because it isn't that difficult to rupture the rectum.  If you do that, the horse is dead.


So while we were all excited about rectalling horses, we understood the consequences of making a mistake.  But when you're inside a horse, no one but you can figure out what you're feeling.  They can help you by suggesting what you might be feeling but ultimately, you have to figure out what an ovary feels like, a kidney, gas distension, a uterus in estrus versus diestrus.  Let me tell you, at the beginning it all just feels like mush.  Then suddenly you feel something and you picture a uterus in your mind and you realize that through the wall of the rectum, there you are, holding the bifurcation.  Its totally a rush.


These labs have been exciting because I'm having to make decisions.  I have to decide that what I just felt was an ovary.  Then I have to lock that feeling away and search for it on the next horse.  Its a different type of learning and its great.


During our last lab we brought in a mare that seemed fine.  The day was hot, reaching over one hundred and rectalling horses is warm to begin with.  We did a TPR (temperature, pulse and respiration) and gave her the normal amount of sedation.  We placed her in the stocks and began palpation.  I remember watching her and thinking she didn't look very sedated.  I wondered if we would have to "top her up."  I had been the first one inside and had noticed that to the right, there seemed to be a large beach ball like structure obstructing my palpation.  My classmate Cody agreed after his palpation.  It wasn't until we were preparing her for vaginal cytology that I noticed she was really trying to sit down on the back gate.  Then I realized how sweaty she was.


Now lots of mares sit on the back gate.  Lots of mares get antsy in the stocks.  But suddenly, this mare was trying to sit all the way down.  We got the attention of one of the instructors and pulled her out of the stocks.  It became immediately apparent that she was colicking.  Thoughts began streaming through my mind.  "What if we perforated her?"  "What if I just killed this horse?"  A field service vet was at the CEH (Center for Equine Health) so we began working her up.


Banamine (Non-steroidal Anti-inflammatory) and more sedation was given.  We brought her into another pair of stocks and a fourth year student passed the naso-gastric tube.  There was a lot of gas in her stomach.  At the same time, the veterinarian began her rectal palpation.


To make a long story short, it looked like a gas colic.  The cecum, situated on the right side on rectal palpation, was distended.  Cody and I were lucky that we had felt it earlier.  Its another feeling for the files.  Something to recognize in the future.  The mare is doing just fine.  Who knows if it was just the heat, dehydration or what.  Unfortunately, we often don't know why a horse colics.


Its just one of those lessons that vet school throws your way unexpectedly.  I thought about that tonight as Poppy and I ran around our orchard.  In my opinion, its the unscheduled lessons that stick with you and remind you why you bother with all the scheduled lessons to begin with.

Have I Not Commanded You?

Its late. . . again.  So I'm sorry if this comes across muddled but its now or never.

I had a conversation with my brother a week or so before school started.  During the conversation a particular verse came up.  After my brother spoke the verse, I could NOT get it off my mind, or out of my heart.  I kept chewing on it but for some reason, I didn't feel like I was supposed to go read the verse, not yet.

So I continued with my days, growing ever more anxious for the start of school but all the while pondering this verse over and over in my head and heart.  The evening of my last blog entry, everything had come to a head.  I was completely overwhelmed.  The next morning was Labor Day morning and my "last day of freedom."  I woke up in my parent's house, already nostalgic for its sounds, for my hills, for the comfort I feel there and God told me to go look up the verse.

I read through the whole passage and God began to speak to me.  The verse my brother had quoted was Joshua 1:9, "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage."  It's amazing.  I thought about that verse for almost a week, but when I opened God's word and began to read it, God spoke to my heart.  

I felt God's overwhelming affirmation.  "Yes," He said to me, "vet school is really really hard." I began to cry as he validated my fear and touched the bruised places in my heart.  "I haven't called you to something easy but to something very difficult because I KNOW YOU.  I know the strain you can withstand.  You aren't a wimp because you are struggling with this road.  You are strong and THAT is WHY I called you to this hard road and I am asking you to take the full weight of it."  Then He spoke the verse to me again, "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage."  Its not a suggestion.  


All the pain of vet school, all the hurt places changed.  They were blows thrust upon a victim.  They were things to be guarded, cried over, hidden and reasons to feel sorry for myself.  Now they are prizes.  They are strikes received gladly, openly, knowingly and proudly.  They are what shows my obedience to my God's command.


I don't know how many times I will need to be reminded over the next two years to be strong and courageous.  God told Joshua to be strong and courageous 4 times in chapter 1.  Who knows how many more times in the night, when Joshua was full of doubt and fear God reminded him of His command.  What I do know is that skipping to the end, Joshua was strong and he was courageous.   

Up Too Late

Hey,

So, I'm definitely up too late.  That is a big part of the problem.  When you're up late, the night creates a vacuum that draws all the suppressed thoughts and feelings from the deep, where it is dark and still, to the surface.  You haven't seen them in a while.  Some of them are scary, discouraging, disturbing.  Occasionally, one is genius.  

I wish tonight I was dredging up something ingenious.  I'm not.  I'm one-hundred percent anxious.  If I don't go to sleep, it won't be tomorrow.  Stopping time is all that matters right now.  

Many, maybe most of my fellow classmates wouldn't understand the way I feel.  They are excited to get back into school, excited to show us all what they're made of, itching for their chance to grasp the scalpel.  These guys are ready to get that next quarter of straight A's and take one more step towards becoming a veterinarian.  

I face the next year and feel the weight of it crushing my spirit.  I see a mountain and the peak is hidden beyond the clouds.  I see a thousand ways to fail.  I'm afraid. 

There are a lot of people who think its weak to be afraid.  They're wrong.  Fear creates weakness when it is allowed to dictate action.  I WILL go to sleep tonight and it will be tomorrow.  That's my first step of courage.  Somehow I will end up in class on Tuesday morning.  I don't have to be okay with that tonight.

My Aunty Ava once told me, "A woman is like a tea bag, you don't know how strong she is until you put her in hot water."  The kettle is singing.

Third Year

Well here I am.  I am sitting in my room at my parents house.  Jasper, the infamous grey cat is resting coyly at the end of the bed and I can hear the dogs pacing outside my door, anxious to go on a hike in the Marin hills.  I'm drinking a morning cup of coffee, which is a new thing for me (I've always been a tea person), and I'm thinking about the upcoming year of school.  You know it sort of makes me feel like Harry Potter.  Think about it, every Harry Potter book begins with Harry looking forward to the coming year of school.  There's that excited anticipation.  The wondering, what will happen?  What will I learn?  Who will I be on the other side of this year?  

Now for Harry Potter that year always meant he might get killed, or he might lose the war between the dark forces in the world, but always it meant he was one step closer to his future and his calling.  So you see, I am sort of like Harry Potter. 

This year will be challenging in ways that the previous two years of school could not even touch.  This year, I'm expected to start thinking and acting like a doctor.  Previously, I've enjoyed doing this.  However, the main difference is that there was no expectation.  I was playing at it.  Trying it on.  Wearing clothes that were a little too big for me but somehow, passing it off.  Now, the clothes are intended to fit.  Is that why doctors puff out their chests?  

This Fall I have 28.6 units.  A friend of mine once intelligently pointed out, "but that's impossible."  Exactly.  Vet school asks the impossible of you every day.  It asks you to walk in a giant's footsteps and learn how to do a physical exam on a dog and then with your next step, anesthetize it.  


I am very anxious about this year.  I am worried that I won't be able to handle it.  I am afraid that I will fail.  So how do I step into this year with confidence?  Well, like Harry Potter, I've got awesome friends at school.  They help me through the tough classes, they support me through my doubts and discouragement.  They watch my back.  I am also blessed with some great mentors at the school.  People who can see my potential and encourage me on.  But most importantly, like Harry Potter, I have a call upon my life.  A brand, a mark, a being set apart.  


I'm sure I will have more thoughts on this year before it gets rolling.  So stay tuned for wonderful moments of excitement and sheer terror.