Vets of the Heart

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Are you trying to make me feel guilty?’

  ‘It would be good to have you back.’ He turns to Seven. His ears are flicking, which means the sedation is wearing off. Eventually, he comes round enough for me to settle him in a kennel, where he sits propped up on his front legs with a towel over his shoulders. He recognises me, pricking his ears and following the sound of my voice when I speak his name, but his eyes are glazed.

  ‘He looks like he’s been out on the piss,’ Ross says, amused.

  ‘Do you think he’s going to be okay?’ I ask, seeking reassurance that he can’t give me.

  ‘I’ll start to relax when we’re safely through the next twenty-four hours. Why don’t you go home?’

  ‘No, he’s my dog. Why don’t you go and get some sleep? You have to work tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll stay here on the sofa and you can give me a shout if you need me.’ He runs his hands through his hair and yawns.

  ‘Ross,’ I say as he turns to walk away.

  ‘Yes?’ He looks back.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  I sit, cuddled up with Seven in his cage with a blanket wrapped around me. As I wait, I hear the click of a cat-flap followed by a cat meowing, and Tripod comes stalking into Kennels with Tilly trotting along behind him, stopping to attack his tail. Tripod ignores her the first time, but on the second occasion he turns, hisses and bats her across the face with his paw.

  ‘That’s right. You tell her,’ I say softly, a lump forming in my throat at the sight of the two of them: the old man who’s doing so well on his medication and diet, and my baby who isn’t a kitten any more. It’s remarkable, and I’m praying as the cats come over to investigate that a miracle will happen for Seven too. I give them each a stroke and they wander away again, prowling and chasing after imaginary mice. I lean back against the side of Seven’s cage and close my eyes, and I remember very little until the aroma of spice and coffee wakes me.

  ‘Hey, sleepy.’ Someone gently shakes my shoulder. ‘Mind yourself. Don’t bump your head.’

  ‘Ross?’ My mouth is dry and my body aches.

  ‘You really should be in bed.’

  ‘In your bed?’ The stress and lack of sleep must have made me mishear him. I gaze at him, a little shocked at being abruptly woken up, and my bottom aching from the hard floor. I feel a rush of blood to my face and my scars start to itch.

  ‘You need some rest.’ He helps me to my feet, his eyes filled with concern as I yawn and stumble into him. ‘I should have made an appearance earlier.’

  Suddenly, it all comes flooding back; Seven and the tennis balls, his frightening collapse . . .

  ‘He could have died while I was asleep and I wouldn’t have noticed.’

  ‘You would have – vet nurses have a sixth sense when it comes to an animal in trouble,’ Ross says. ‘Come and have some breakfast; there’s an egg roll and cinnamon swirls.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I feed Seven first?’ I ask anxiously.

  ‘We’ll decide when you’ve had something to eat. You’re no good to him if you’re dead on your feet.’ He lays out a feast on some paper towel, and we’re eating breakfast when Izzy and Maz turn up. Izzy’s about to say something when Ross nods towards the cages. ‘We’ve had a rough night.’

  Maz gives me a brief hug before she walks across to open the cage door, at which Seven struggles to his feet. ‘What’s happened to one of my favourite dogs? You’ve done a tracheostomy?’ She turns to Ross as Seven sniffs at her knees and wags his tail, and I breathe a sigh of relief because he looks as if he’s going to make it after all.

  ‘It’s a temporary measure, I hope. He choked on a tennis ball and went into cardiac arrest. We got him back and we’re crossing everything that he hasn’t suffered any lasting damage to his brain.’

  ‘What brain?’ Maz says lightly.

  ‘Hey, don’t be rude,’ I say. ‘He’s one of the cleverest dogs I know.’

  ‘He is,’ she agrees. ‘It’s odd though, isn’t it, how quick he is to recognise when your mum’s having a hypo, yet he can’t play safely with a tennis ball.’

  He looks a mess with his neck clipped of hair and his fur knotted with dried blood. He coughs, bringing up a clot from his throat.

  ‘Don’t panic.’ Ross looks at me. ‘Let’s have some suction.’

  ‘Poor Seven,’ Maz says, as Izzy and I hold on to him while Ross makes sure the tube is clear. ‘I heard the bike go out last night.’

  ‘I made it from Talyford to Otter House in record time.’

  ‘So what happens with him now?’ Maz goes on.

  ‘I thought I’d leave the tube for another twelve to twenty-four hours. He ought to be under constant observation too, but I’m not sure how we’ll organise that.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I say, and I stay with Seven all day, stroking him, talking to him, suctioning his tube, fiddling with his drip and keeping him comfortable. Every so often, somebody comes in to check we’re okay, bringing me tea or the offer of a quick rest break.

  I sit leaning against the adjacent cage door, listening to the sounds of the practice, the familiar hiss of the autoclave, the clatter of an instrument tray being washed up in the sink, the hot smell of steamed drapes, the aroma of cat food and the occasional questioning woof from the terrier two doors down who’s waiting for X-rays, and I find myself yearning to get back into the consulting room and theatre. Could I do it when it came down to it though, I wonder? Am I ready to re-enter the fray? When Izzy comes through with a rangy German shepherd dog with big teeth for a chest X-ray, I realise that I’m not sure.

  Two days later, when I return to the practice after a break to shower and catch up with some sleep, Ross meets me in the corridor and gives me the go-ahead to take Seven home.

  ‘I’ve removed the tube – his throat’s fine,’ he says.

  ‘That’s great,’ I respond.

  ‘I have to say I was bricking it the other night. I’ve never done a tracheostomy in my life,’ he goes on, holding the door into Kennels open for me.

  ‘But you said . . .’ My mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish as I walk on through, turning to stare at him as I do so. ‘You said you’d done loads.’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘You seemed so calm.’

  ‘It was all an act. I’m good, aren’t I?’

  ‘You are. I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘I can always think of something.’ He is smiling and his eyes are on my face; I feel myself blushing because he says it in a light-hearted, suggestive manner with a glint in his eye. ‘I want you back at work.’

  Seven whines from his cage when he sees me, and barks to go out.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Ross says, ‘I’ve taken him out and given him some of that liquid convalescent diet. He’s a miracle dog.’

  ‘You’re wasted as a vet. You should be a nurse,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘Any problems, give me a call on the mobile.’

  ‘Are you sure it isn’t too soon?’ I say doubtfully. ‘I mean, less than forty-eight hours ago, he was on his way out. What if he has another arrest?’

  ‘You sound like a paranoid, over-attached owner,’ Ross teases. ‘You know the score. Unless you have a crystal ball like Mrs Wall, you can’t predict what might happen in the future, but I can tell you with the benefit of experience that I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t be okay now – as long as he plays ball, so to speak, and doesn’t pick up any more foreign bodies. He’ll be happier at home and make a quicker recovery.’ He pauses. ‘Maz hasn’t been in touch with you?’

  I check my mobile for texts and missed calls. There’s nothing from my boss.

  ‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow at ten o’clock for Seven’s checkup. I’m off home now and Maz is on call, but I’ll leave my phone on in case you want me. I’ll answer as long as I’m not on the bike.’

  Thanking him again, I wish him goodnight. I think of him going back to t
he house in Talyford, and my throat tightens with regret because, if things had worked out differently, I would have been going home with him.

  I put Seven on a harness and lead, and take him back to Petals, where he’s overjoyed to see Mum and Godfrey. Much as he loves everyone, though, he isn’t keen to return to Otter House, and the next morning he walks into reception with his head down and his tail between his legs. I chat to Celine while we’re waiting.

  ‘Seven’s a VIP, a Very Important Patient,’ Ross says, calling me through to the consulting room. ‘You could have brought him straight through the back. How is he doing? Has he eaten anything?’

  ‘He’s had some chicken and rice.’

  Ross lifts him onto the table and examines him. Seven is not impressed when he sticks a thermometer under his tail.

  ‘That’s all good,’ Ross says eventually, looking up at me through his curly overgrown fringe. ‘His heart sounds fine and his temperature’s normal.’

  ‘Do you want to see him again?’

  ‘Same time tomorrow. By the way, Maz wants a word. She’s in the office – Izzy will have Seven for a few minutes.’ He whisks the dog back down to the floor.

  ‘Thank you for keeping an eye on him,’ I say as I take him through to the corridor.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Ross says. ‘It gives me an excuse to keep an eye on you as well. I hope that doesn’t sound creepy,’ he adds quickly. ‘What I mean is that it’s always great to see you. You’re looking lovely as always.’

  I’m not sure how to respond.

  ‘That’s a compliment by the way,’ he explains.

  I find myself thanking him for a second time even though, deep inside, I can’t believe that he means it. He’s just trying to be nice, I think, which is sweet of him. I close the door behind me and drop Seven into Kennels, where Izzy treats him with a biscuit and holds on to him while I go and find Maz.

  ‘Hi, Shannon. Thanks for coming to see me.’ She shows me into the office and closes the door behind us. ‘Have a seat. Would you like a coffee?’

  ‘I’m all right, thank you.’ I sit down on the chair in front of the desk. She sits behind it and smiles.

  ‘How is Seven?’

  ‘He’s doing well, but Ross wants to see him again tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news.’ Maz rests her elbows on the desk. ‘I thought you’d like to know that Kit’s doing well with Celine. Apparently, he’s getting bolder by the day. You’ve done a brilliant job with both of the kittens.’

  I wonder if she’s soft-soaping me, trying to flatter me into returning to work.

  ‘Although I’m not sure about Tilly’s future as practice cat,’ she goes on. ‘She sank her claws into my leg the other day – I’d chased her out of reception because she was winding up our canine patients, lying in wait under the shelves to ambush them.’

  ‘She’ll be in for a shock if she tries that with Nero.’

  ‘She’s so bold I don’t think she’d care.’ Maz changes the subject. ‘I wanted to speak to you the other morning, but I thought it better that we didn’t have this conversation while you were sleep deprived. I know we’ve mentioned this before, but you have to get on and sue me and Emma so you can get the compensation that you’re entitled to for your injuries and loss of earnings. It’s only fair. This – ’ she glances from my eyes to my scars and back – ‘accident happened in the practice. You can put the money in the bank and save it for a holiday or put it towards a deposit on a home of your own. You aren’t being disloyal or greedy, or hurting the practice, or alienating me and Emma. It’s your right. We pay our premiums every year – this is what insurance is for.’ She pauses. ‘Think about it and, as soon as you decide to go ahead, let me know and I’ll set the ball rolling.’ She stops short and smiles wryly. ‘That isn’t the best way of putting it, considering what Seven’s just gone through.’ She reaches out and touches my arm. ‘Ross said you did all the right things.’

  ‘It was him, not me.’

  ‘It sounded like a team effort.’

  ‘You know what he’s like.’

  ‘I do. He’s thoughtful, kind and a little mad. I’d appreciate it if you were gentle with him. He still feels terribly guilty for what happened. It’s taken Alex and Leo many beers and late nights to persuade him to stay at Otter House.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know.’

  ‘He was all for resigning . . .’ Maz hesitates. ‘You can tell me to mind my own business, but I felt there was more behind it than what happened with Bart. Perhaps living together wasn’t a good move as it turned out.’

  I don’t make any attempt to deny it.

  ‘It’s over now, whatever it was.’ I’ve learned my lesson.

  ‘So are you in the right frame of mind to make a return to work, do you think – only we really miss you?’

  I take a few moments to decide. Bringing Seven into the consulting room with Ross this morning has made me feel that I really should give it a go. If I don’t confront my fears now, it’s likely that I never will, and I’ll have to think about finding another job because I’m running out of money. I’ve discovered some alternative careers on daytime TV: doctor, chatshow host, antique dealer, heir hunter and cook, none of which appeal.

  ‘I am, if you’re sure you want me,’ I say slowly.

  ‘If you prefer not to work with Ross when you come back, I’ll understand. You can be with me or Emma.’

  ‘No, it’s all right.’

  ‘Thank you, but you can always change your mind.’

  ‘What if I can’t do it, though?’ I ask, unable to disguise the rising panic in my voice. ‘I’m not sure how I’ll react when a big dog comes in for an injection. I’m still having nightmares.’

  ‘When I came back from maternity leave, I remember wondering if my confidence would return.’ Maz strokes her chin. ‘I know it isn’t the same, but being away from work for a while does things to your head. You have to think about everything that used to be second nature.

  ‘How about making a staged return, perhaps mornings only for a week or so, and no large dogs to begin with? We want you back, Shannon. We all do. You can start tomorrow if you like.’

  I decide to go for it, knowing that, if I delay, there’s more chance that I’ll change my mind.

  ‘Tomorrow it is then,’ I say, and Maz jumps up with a cry and leans across the desk at full stretch to give me a hug.

  ‘That’s wonderful. Oh, I can’t wait to tell everyone.’

  I’m touched that she’s so pleased at the prospect of my imminent return, and I leave the office with a spring in my step, running into Ross, who is hanging around in the corridor as if he’s been waiting for me.

  ‘How did it go?’ he asks.

  ‘I’ve agreed to come back – Maz called it a staged return.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fantastic.’ He steps towards me as if to embrace me, then appears to change his mind. ‘I’m so pleased’. His smile makes my heart somersault. I can’t find the words to explain how much I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Stop it,’ I say, half laughing. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

  ‘When do you start?’

  ‘Tomorrow. This afternoon, I’m going to ask Godfrey if he can recommend a solicitor to help me make a claim against the practice insurance for my loss of earnings. I feel bad about that, but Maz has convinced me that it’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘And she’s right,’ he agrees. ‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, unless . . .’ He hesitates. ‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Bye.’ I wonder as I fetch Seven what he was going to say. Perhaps he was planning to ask me out for a drink and thought better of it. I’m glad he didn’t because I would have had to let him down. I touch the scar, feeling the gristle under my fingertips. I’m not one hundred per cent sure that I’m ready to come back to the practice where I’m among friends, let alone go out socially to a pub where there are bound to be people, acquaintances and strangers, who’ll stare and ask questions and
make me freak out. As I scuttle along the street back to Petals with the dog, I feel hot and panicky.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Second Chances

  Seven sleeps on my duvet, panting hot air in my face, because I don’t have the heart to make him lie in his bed on the floor, and the next day I leave him with Mum while I go to work. For him life is all about cheese, biscuits, cuddles and walks, I’m not sure in which order, and there are times like today when I wish I was a dog.

  Getting changed into scrubs at Otter House, I feel like it’s my very first day all over again and, when I report to Izzy, I am decidedly nervous. I haven’t been away for very long in the scheme of things, but I worry about being out of practice, that I’ll have to think about how to use the autoclave and which instruments go into which kit for the different ops. Maz is right. I’ve lost confidence – not just in my looks, but in every area of my life – and I can’t see how I’ll ever get it back.

  ‘It’s good to see you back in uniform,’ Izzy says with a welcoming smile. ‘We thought you could help me out in Kennels to start with, and when morning surgery starts, you can join Maz in the consulting room.’ She raises her hand as I start to thank her. ‘Don’t thank me. She’s the one who’s organised it.’ She sighs. ‘It isn’t your fault, but being one nurse down has been a right pain in the—’

  ‘Hellooo!’ interrupts a child’s voice as the doors from the corridor open behind us.

  ‘Hi, George,’ Izzy says, turning to face him. He’s wearing a white polo shirt and grey shorts, and carrying a red book bag. ‘What are you doing here? Mummy hasn’t booked you to do the ops?’

  He chuckles. ‘It’s an insect day – Mummy forgot.’

  ‘Does that mean I’m babysitting?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ Maz joins us, her cheeks scarlet with exertion and some embarrassment, I suspect, at forgetting that there’s no school today. I’m pretty sure she’s done the same thing in the past.