I Work in a Vet Clinic

So if y’all have ever wondered what guinea pig dental disease looks like

Owners be trippin’.

So some cute things have been at work lately…

Keep your animals on prevention.

On another note, her stool sample was weird. Like, she had all sorts of bacteria, motile rods, cysts, possible coccidia, and other things I can’t describe.

So this Guinea Pig comes in... Picture this: Precious, 6 month old GP comes in for lethargy, inappetance, and some respiratory distress. Ok, that's weird. Not unheard of, but still eyebrow-raising. So these X-rays happen. You may notice some real issues right off the bat, like, where are his lungs in the VD shot? Why is his heart so massive? Why is there so much fluid in his thoracic cavity? And my favorite, why are all his organs dorsal??? Turns out it's heart failure. In a 6 month old guinea pig. Prognosis is bad. Really bad. He was put down, ultimately, since there was pretty much nothing we could do.

Starting to fear rodents a little. The box turtle the other day, now this guy?

I was, however, yelled at for getting bit. I mean, ok. This is fine.

Earsy’s gonna be fine, he was discharged the morning after with half an ear and a flowery bandage smushing his face. Success tasted great! And I’m sure his pain meds did, too.

I still don’t know why he died, or what he originally came in for. It was so busy that day his body came to us that I never got to stick around for the necropsy. This image shows him full of worms and I don’t know how that managed to happen. It’s…horrifying. I’m not even sure how this could have been diagnosed without intensive diagnostics.

(This is Vettechnicallynotyet reposting this to the correct blog, but it’s Piratehedgehogs’ post)

So that box turtle that got his foot eaten off... The doctor performed surgery today. Took off the dangling toe and sutured it. Boxy the Boxerson (not its name) was put under sedation for the procedure, and was still a little lethargic when I left.

So this turtle comes in missing a foot... There's no punchline. Apparently this guy was out chilling (burmating) and the owner found him missing his foot. He had a toe dangling by some flesh, but no bone. We think he got munched by a rat, but guys. Guys. Come on. Watch your little guys closely, even while they burmate. This could have been avoided. I heard something unfortunate today, kinda bitter about it, like green tea bitter: "you can't call a reptile coming in an emergency because it's never an emergency. They live slow, they die slow." I can't even believe that was a thing that was said at what is supposed to be a place of compassion. We bandaged the foot up with tegaderm and vet wrap, but he needs surgery or something. And probably antibiotics. Before me and a fellow tech bandaged the foot, I was trying to give this kiddo reassuring head pats. He leaned into my thumb and didn't tuck his head! We had a moment together!! And then it was ruined when the foot was being messed with. Box T kept giving me the side eye and nearly caught my finger when I wasn't paying attention. And then he hissed several times at me. Moment ruined. For the rest of the time he was giving me some dubious side-eye. (The person who said that 'reptiles can't be an emergency' was later but in the face by a dog.)

So we had a genet come in today... So, never seen one at a clinic before--no one had. These weasel cats are viveridae, which I don't even know what that is; I don't know enough to properly explain what they are, except say they're illegal to have in many places (except here, apparently). It's like if a weasel and a savannah cat had an incredibly small, face-biting, near feral baby. I mean they're pretty, but they don't make good pets--unless you like your animals with a deep seated hatred of your very being. Google it to learn more. Bad picture, but I didn't want to bother the thing since it was doing its best to die a slow agonizing death. I had a later shift, so I got to see the genet like so. I still don't know why it showed up, other than lethargy. But an ultrasound gave us a reason (or 4) of why it was doing poorly. Heart: compacted Gall bladder: contained sludge Kidneys: calcification and scar tissue (blood work showed bad BUN) Intestines: the worst of them all, with masses all over, some showing possible perforation into the intestines. We all swore we saw material leaking out into the body cavity, but couldn't be sure. The masses were likely lymphoma. So this critter had a lot of problems, was 12 years old, euthanasia, right? Nope. Chemo. The owner loves the little guy so much he won't give up on it. Oh well. Hope it all goes well.

It's still exotic medicine (so my stories will still be zany) but let me weave you a tale of woe and absolute horseshit of why I had to leave my other place of work. Boy howdy did they not like me after my transplant. Granted, not sure they liked me to begin with, but boy was everything done to keep me from coming back after I had a life-saving operation done. Backing up, since I was 12, my kidneys were failing. It didn't help that I was overweight, but that's another story. Anyway, at about July 2016, it was decided that I would finally stop dragging my feet and be cut open so a strangers organ could be assimilated into my being. It was to be done in September, my birth month, as a birthday gift to myself. Well, my managers wanted to make sure I was coming back and I assured them I would and that it would take 6-8 weeks to recover and everyone wished me good luck, etc. Flash forward 4 weeks after sx, an I get a phone call of my manager's slightly aggravated voice screeching "you haven't contacted us, are you even coming back what are your plans??" Me, currently in excruciating pain due to complications from sx, "I am? I'm still recovering? I don't understand, I'm in recovery and will need longer, and possibly a second surgery." Her, "well, you didn't communicate and we didn't know if you were coming back so we had to hire 3 more techs due to the sudden. Business flow." Yeah. That happened. After the second surgery, and when I was finally well enough to go back to work I visited the clinic looking for my job, which I was still promised. How rude of me to show up unannouced and with a comprimised immune system. The nerve. So my managers had done some "research" and came to the conclusion that I could not perform my duties unless I was in a biohazard suit. "We're just worried about you. You can't really do your job like that. And you could get Lepto and Aspergilosis, and rabies and chlyamidia and..." Me, "yeah, that's why I wear ppe: a mask and gloves. And only with some patients, blood, stool, and urine." (Which we should all wear mask/gloves for that, to be fair) Them, "yeah but you can't be in front of clients like that, it would put them at unease. And your manager A already works in the inpatient ward, so you wouldn't be able to be there. Are you sure this is the job for you?" Me, a quiet rage festering within, "yes I want to work here. I want to work with animals and I know the risks, and I can sign whatever waiver I need to to work with animals." Them, really wanting me to leave now, "well, we unfortunately don't have much work right now because of all the hires and the sudden drop in business, but we could have you take inventory and stock and clean!" Me, veins pooping from my face, a feral scream and agony attempting to escape, "that would make me a janitor. I wouldn't even be able to work with animals." Them, "well you could always reach in the the kennels and pet them when you're cleaning! So there's that, right?" I uh, want to say that at that point they were struck by lightening and vaporized off the face of the earth, but that would be kinda a dick move, but I left, after promising to get a (rather large) list of things signed off on by the doctors who did my transplant. Which I did within the week. And then suddenly, no one would contact me! Shocker! I started looking for other jobs at this point, believing that was it, they let me go, but even at this point, I still wanted to keep my job. Finally I got a hold of them and was given thanksgiving week to work. And then after that, nothing. I got an interview with another place and then my manager texted me angrily "so you work at X now, right????" "I thought I worked with you guys still?" Her,"you never contacted me." Me "why didn't you? You're my manager who makes my schedule? I figured you'd contact me with it?" Her, "well I thought you worked at X so I started hiring more people." Me, "ok, uh, what." The next day I put in my two weeks and accepted the job at other place. So much bullshit. I just want to help animals. The clinic I work at now has its own problems but I kind of sounds like they like me enough to throw me into surgery, something old place said was "too dangerous" for me and "you're leaving for school soon anyway so what's the point in training you?" So yeah. I'm not bitter. Look forward to more shenanigans.

It's your friendly overworked night assistant here! I'm back with a story chock full of blood, teeth, and dogs. So I'm walking into work thinking 'gee golly willikers I sure hope it's not balls to the wall insanity tonight.' As I'm stepping into the front I see a multitude of people chilling in the lobby with bloodied or lethargic pets. Damn. Anyway, I crack open a redbull and prepare for the onslaught. First up, an ABD (attacked by dog). Okay, so our patient friend was attacked by her housemate over a toy and then was used as a chew toy by her (much larger) housemate. Aw shit them wounds tho. Those will need drain tubes placed, which means sedation. Oh well, I placed patient #1 in a nicely padded cage so she could bleed all over the good blankets. The tech took it from there. Second up, an ABD. Damn, dogs are feeling frisky tonight. This feline patient was attacked by the owner's boyfriend's dog. Luckily this cat was totally amazing, and let us clean his wound without a sedative. Only one laceration to the left side of his face, not deep enough to be a puncture wound. I "litter"ally cleaned his wound and watched the doc staple his face back together. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Third up, another....ABD. Possibly the worst ABD I have ever seen. One 66 pound lab mix up against the owners three other dogs. He was brought back acting shocky, with a low low temp of 97.1, and covered from head to toe in deep lacerations and punctures. I mean you could see muscle and bone, covered in dozens of punctures, and pouring blood. This poor dog was going to need so much repair work, and then possibly a blood transfusion. I did what I could and piled on warm blankets and injected good drugs. He was feeling nothing after about 10 seconds, thank the opiate gods. We ended up euthanizing him, which was incredibly sad. Poor guy. Holy shit, is that another ABD???? Yes, yes it was. What kind of horrible curse was put upon this hospital? 6 pound chihuahua attacked by a 20 pound terrier mix. Chihuahua lost that fight, four punctures to the neck and right side of abdomen. Very sedation, much drain tube. So three out of four isn't bad as far as treatments go.

I wish he hadn't. So I'm doing my tech thing, you know, getting pooped on, nearly impaling myself on sharps--that sort of thing, when the gals at the front announce the next appointment for my doctor. (At this point I'm paired with this doctor, we'll call him Dr M, as his go-to assistant) Well alright, cool. I like doing things. Before I go get appointments I like to check on the computer to make sure there aren't any dance alerts like "client does not wish to be seperately from pet" or "pet is a WILL BITE" or "client like to sniff glue in the room." I just want to be prepared. But on this particular account I se a very long message that one of the receptionists put in regarding her phone conversation when she booked the appointment. Essentially the client was very rude and complained the entire time about being misquoted and the receptionist told him several times we wouldn't. He then complained that she must be new since she seemed incompetent at her job and hung up. I mean, I understood his frustrations about being misquoted, but the rest was just him being a giant dick. So I go to get the room. All it is, by the way, is a grooming for his bird. If memory serves, it was a beak and nail trim. And this bird was a Hahn's Macaw, so it was pretty small. (Big macaws can easily take off a finger or part of your face. It's the thrill that keeps me going tho.) the guy is fairly pleasent as he sits in the room, his macaw on his shoulder, and I get a weight and show him the estimate like I do before groomings take place. Real quick: the way I handle bird grooming rooms is this: put people in room, show and get estimate approved, bring in Doctor, do grooming, done. But when I make estimates, I put everything on there: grooming office call (doctors time), beak trim, nail trim, wing trim. I'm not being sneezy when I put all these charges on there, I just want everyone to know what we offer. I also did it for this guy. I shouldn't have. I am regret incarnate. He stares at the estimates, rips it out of my hands for a closer look, then slams it back onto the exam table and huffs angrily. "See, this is why I stopped coming to this place. I'm still being misquoted!" My head is reeling. I don't handle angry people very well, especially if I'm the douchebag that did it. I try to explain why there's an extra charge, but he keeps interrupting me and finally sits back down with another huff. "Well fine then. Let's just get it over with." I leave the room so fast I was surprised that the sound barrier wasn't broken. I go get Dr M, who as usual, was buried in work that he caused for himself. We got back in the room and are able to take care of the groomings with no issue. The gruff dude is silently watching us with his judge-y eyes. Then all of a sudden, he burst out with a "Now will you tell me something? Will you tell me why it's so hard for your workers to quote me a correct price?" The doctor stares at him, like wtf are you talking about. "Yeah, I was quoted this much over the phone by a girl who didn't know how to do her job, and this young lady here told me this price." He then proceeded to bitch at us that that was the reason why he stopped coming to us. I quietly pass the estimate to the doctor as he explains miscommunications and whatnot. "I don't give a damn abut miscommunications!" The dude rattles off. I feel flames erupt from my doctor and a take a step back as nonchalantly as I can. "I'm going to ask you to watch your language in front of my technician." The dude reels back, disgusted. "I'm sure she's heard the word 'damn' before in her life." "That's not the point, and I'm going to ask you to calm down--" "Don't change the subject. That's not what I'm talking about dammit-" They argued and their voices got louder and louder until Dr M threw the chart and estimate down. "Alright sir, I think we're done here." Dr M then left the room, leaving the door completely open, with me flabbergasted and short-circuiting as the client was sputtering curses and other assorted angry statements. I grabbed the chart and followed after him, not wanting to be sitting in more awkward than necessary. Now, I've never seen Dr M get that pissy with a client before, especially storming out of a room, but the fact that he stood up for me was awesome. Anyway. Angry bird guy really hasn't shown up since, and holy assballs am I ever glad for that.