‘Two or three.’ I thought I could feel three. As I cut through into the cat’s womb, I mop up the fluid that comes flooding out and make a grab for the first kitten. I hand it to Will, who hands it to Shannon. It’s a dark, wet, seemingly lifeless mass, like a toy that’s been left out in the rain.
‘Go ahead.’ I remove a second kitten and hand it to Will. ‘Clear the mouth and nostrils and give it a rub.’ I check the rest of the womb. There are no more kittens. If there was a third, it’s been re-absorbed and disappeared without trace. ‘How are we doing?’
‘Mum’s fine. This one isn’t breathing.’ Shannon raises the kitten to her eye level and peers at its chest. ‘Oh? Cool. It is.’
The kitten gasps, mews and twitches. It doesn’t look very strong, but I heave a sigh of relief. It is alive.
‘It’s a little boy,’ Shannon coos, before putting it very gently into the cage, with a drape over the top to keep it snug while we’re bringing Cassie round.
‘This one’s alive,’ says Will, ‘but it has a hernia. Look.’
I can only glance briefly away from my task of closing up the womb and the body wall, but it is enough. Where the kitten’s umbilical cord should have been, there is a tear, and I can see the kitten’s insides.
‘Will, you’ll have to mask it down on the other machine and see if you can close it up.’ Is it worth it? I decide we have to try. It would be a shame to give up now.
‘Shannon, can you grab Will a spay kit? Thanks. I’m almost done here.’
While Will is operating to repair the kitten’s hernia, very slowly but surely, Shannon watches over Cassie who’s coming round, and I keep a close eye on the kitten’s anaesthetic. Shannon asks me to help her revise for her exams that are coming up in a couple of days’ time.
‘Maz, what’s the difference between smooth, skeletal and heart muscle?’ she says.
‘Now you’re asking.’ It’s been a long time since I studied muscles, apart from Alex’s … ‘Skeletal muscle is voluntary and looks stripy under the microscope.’
‘So does heart muscle, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, but heart muscle is involuntary. It beats spontaneously, the rate and strength of the beat controlled by the nervous system.’ I don’t like splitting everything into chunks. It’s all part of the whole, like the team at Otter House.
‘MNEC,’ sighs Shannon. ‘Mum Never Eats Cake.’
I’d be surprised, I muse, considering Bridget’s physique, although I suspect she won’t be eating as much as she used to now she’s been diagnosed with diabetes.
‘Muscle, Nervous, Epithelial and Connective. I spent three hours trying to make sense of my notes and only got as far as muscle. I’m never going to get through it all.’ Shannon shakes her head mournfully. She looks tired, her eyes shadowed.
‘You aren’t overdoing the revision, are you? Remember, you have a full-time job as well. It isn’t like you’re at school and have all the time in the world.’ I wonder if she’s out partying too. She used to be a party animal.
‘I’ll be fine as soon as I’ve got the exams over and done with.’
‘Do you remember your first Caesar?’ I say, smiling.
‘How could I ever forget? That’s how I ended up with Seven.’
Soon, Cassie and her kittens are awake and back in their carrier, and we are standing around the prep bench.
‘How are my babies?’ slurs Edie.
‘And Cassie too, love,’ Clive adds. He’s holding on to George who is tipping forwards trying to poke his fingers into the carrier.
‘Cat,’ he says.
‘No, George,’ I say.
‘Cat!’ he exclaims.
‘You’re right, it is a cat. I mean, no, don’t put your fingers in there. Cats can bite. Ouch!’
‘Bad cat,’ says George happily.
He’s wrong. They’re lovely cats. Cassie is more relaxed now, making noises in her throat as her kittens burrow underneath her.
‘She’s going to be a great mum,’ I say.
‘Thank you for looking after her,’ says Clive. ‘We’re very grateful.’
‘What colour are they?’ Edie asks. ‘It was difficult to see.’
‘There’s a black and white boy, and a cream girl,’ says Shannon.
‘That’s a strange combination,’ Clive observes.
‘Who’s the dad?’ I say. ‘I reckon Cassie entertained two visiting tomcats.’
‘Really?’ says Edie.
‘That’s what cats do. They put themselves about a bit.’
‘There, I thought you were such a nice girl, Cassie.’ Edie smiles.
Once Clive and Edie have headed for home, Shannon cleans up with Will helping, or getting in the way, and I write up the case notes. Cassie is on the slim side, unusual for our patients nowadays with all the quality pet food available, and I make a comment on her record to check this out when she returns for a check-up. After that, I have a chat with Will.
‘Do you feel happy about doing the next one?’ I ask.
‘I think so. Thank you, Maz.’
‘What for?’
‘For being so bloody nice about it, and not making me feel like a complete idiot.’
‘I can tell you, I’d much prefer you to ask when you aren’t sure than blunder on regardless as our locum did.’
‘I heard about your troubles – Frances told me.’
‘Drew was hopeless. Selfish. He didn’t care about the patients at all.’ I pause. ‘Will, don’t worry. You’re doing really well.’
‘Thanks again,’ he says.
‘You’d better go and have a break.’ I check the clock on the wall. ‘We have less than six hours until it’s time to do the ward round.’
Will groans. ‘It’s much harder than I thought it would be.’
‘You’ll feel better after some sleep.’ I watch him go out through the door into the corridor, hands in his pockets and head bowed, and I wonder if he would have managed without me, if I hadn’t been available. Would I trust him with sole charge? I don’t think he’s ready for that, and I can’t help questioning if he ever will be.
I realise as I’m driving home with George now fast asleep in the back, that my work–life balance is precariously balanced, and it would not take much to tip me over the edge, one way or the other. I’m lucky. I have it all; child, fiancé, career, money. I am loved and cherished, but I have no time to myself. There is no slack and it makes me wonder how I’m going to find the opportunity to plan this wedding. It’s been a month or so since Alex and I set the date, and apart from the dress, photographer and flowers, preparations have not really advanced any further. I begin to panic. What I thought was a long time, is not very long at all.
Chapter Nine
Something New
IT’S GOING TO be one of those days. It’s eight thirty in the morning a few days later, and I’m standing in the tiny play area outside nursery with Flick, the nursery manager who’s dressed in a white blouse, black trousers and an apron covered with brightly coloured butterflies. She’s about the same age as me, in her early thirties, petite, blonde and determined. For once, it isn’t George who is saying no to nursery. It is nursery saying no to George.
I should have anticipated this problem. I remember how Frances had to look after her granddaughter at the practice when she had a rash that turned out to be flea bites from the pet cat. These aren’t flea bites.
‘I have to be at work –’ I check my watch to prove a point – ‘now.’
‘You’ll have to find someone else to look after him today. You must understand, as someone with a medical qualification, that we can’t have him here unless you can prove he isn’t infectious to the other children.’
‘I can’t do that. I have to go to work. I’m fully booked all day.’
Flick draws herself up to her full five feet, and a little more, tall.
‘Take some time off. It would be irresponsible of me to accept him.’
I show her the rash on George’s ar
m. It isn’t much, and I’m desperately hoping she’ll make an exception.
‘They not fleas,’ George pipes up cheerfully, and I wish he was a little behind rather than ahead with his talking. ‘Not fleas, Mummy.’ I can see the other mums recoiling in horror as if they think I’ve coached him in what to say.
‘All right,’ I say, backing down. Outside, at the nursery gates, I call Alex on my mobile. He’s unobtainable. I might have guessed. Who else can I try?
‘Who would like to have a spotty boy all day, George?’ I say with a sigh. He smiles up at me from the buggy. ‘I can’t ask Emma because she’s working too. It’s Will’s day off and I can’t see him being all that keen on babysitting. There’s Lynsey – she’s offered before, but if that rash is infectious, she won’t thank me if any of her brood go down with it. There’s only one thing for it, George. You’ll have to come to work with me.’
When I reach Otter House, I have a word with Frances.
‘It’s a complete disaster,’ I say. ‘Sophia and Old Fox-Gifford have gone to London for a couple of days to visit some old friends – Alex says it’s to relive their lost youth – so I can’t ask them to have George. Flick at the nursery won’t have him because of this rash on his arm.’ I had wondered about covering it up, but they would have found out when he washed his hands before healthy snack time.
‘I’ll have him, Maz,’ says Frances. ‘Bring him around here. Oh, doesn’t he look like his daddy now.’
I push the buggy behind the desk, but George isn’t keen on not being able to see what’s going on at the other side. He stretches and leans against the straps of the harness, squealing to get out. The patient who’s waiting, an ancient basset hound, looks even more mournful than before.
‘Is it serious?’ Frances says. ‘It isn’t meningitis? I saw a programme about how you check the rash by pressing a glass against the spots.’
‘Thank you, Frances. I am a vet.’
‘And better than any doctor, so you know what I’m talking about.’
‘I’ll take him in to Kennels. George, come and see the animals.’
I know George isn’t unwell, but I check with a glass in the staffroom en route to Kennels anyway. The spots disappear with pressure from the glass which means they’re superficial not deep, as I knew anyway. It’s fine. I rub my temple. Sometimes, I think I’m going mad.
George isn’t impressed by the sight of the inpatients. There’s a sick, fluffed-up pigeon that’s due to meet its maker. It’s been in for three days, showing no sign of improvement. There’s also a black cat with a collar injury that hisses at us when we approach.
Izzy isn’t all that impressed to see George either. I explain the situation and she isn’t overly sympathetic, but then she doesn’t have any children. She has dogs.
‘I can’t look after him, Maz. I haven’t a clue when it comes to under-eighteens.’
‘Pretend he’s a puppy,’ I suggest lightly. ‘It’s cheeky, I know, but I wondered if I could ask Shannon to spend some time with him and make do without a consulting nurse today.’
‘You’re going to have to do without one anyway, I’m afraid. She’s called in sick.’
‘Are you sure? That isn’t like her. What’s wrong?’
‘A sore throat. A virus. She was pretty vague.’
‘I can’t remember her having a day off in all the time she’s been here.’
‘No, she’s had off days, from too much partying the night before, but she’s been reliable. It’s probably exam stress, but she’s finished them now, so hopefully, she’ll be back tomorrow,’ says Izzy.
My heart sinks. What am I going to do with George?
It’s no use. He’ll have to watch from his buggy in the consulting room for some of the time and sit with Frances for the rest. I hope the clients don’t mind too much. I wish either Alex or I had a normal job, something nine to five in an office where you could catch up with your work the next day if you needed to.
At lunchtime, I play ball with George in the garden outside – we use one of Miff’s tennis balls that I found in the long grass under the apple tree – and feed him on sandwiches from the Co-op. While we’re enjoying the sunshine together, I call Jennie of Jennie’s Cakes.
‘Hi. It’s Maz here. Can I talk to you about wedding cakes?’
‘Are you planning more than one wedding?’ she says, sounding amused.
‘I was thinking about cupcakes, like the ones you did for Penny.’
‘There’s a story behind those …’
‘I know. The dog – Lucky – ate the original cake the day before the wedding, and you saved the day by making cupcakes. Jennie, no one – apart from Penny, of course – would have known any different.’ I pause. ‘Oh, I’m not sure. Alex’s father has offered to pay for the cake and champagne, and I can’t help thinking that he’d prefer me to choose something more traditional.’
‘I can drop in to the practice sometime,’ Jennie says. ‘I’ll bring some cake samples and piccies.’
‘That would be great. Thank you.’ I return George to Frances’s care before the afternoon’s consulting begins. Frances survives the rest of the day, although not before George has dislodged her wig and spilled juice on the post. Emma catches me after Frances has left for home, and has a look at George’s rash. George is delighted to show her every spot on his skin, pointing at each one as if he’s drawing a dot-to-dot.
‘I reckon that he needs some antibiotics,’ Emma says, getting up from where she’s been kneeling on the floor in the staffroom. ‘Why don’t you call in on us on the way back to the Manor? Ben can write you a prescription.’
‘I’ll get him up to the surgery tomorrow.’
‘Ah, tomorrow. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about …’ Emma hesitates before going on. ‘I have a hospital appointment for a scan late afternoon. Maz, you must have guessed!’
Emma is positively glowing. She beams with joy, and I have no doubt now.
‘You’re pregnant …’
She nods. ‘I reckon I’m about twelve weeks gone.’
‘Emma, how exciting.’ I throw my arms around her as tears of joy prick my eyes. Frances was right. ‘That’s wonderful. I’m so pleased for you and Ben. But how? How can that be?’
‘The usual way, Maz. And yes, you’re right, I didn’t have any IVF this time.’ Emma has had pregnancies resulting both naturally and through fertility treatment before. ‘It’s happened all on its own – with Ben’s input, of course.’
‘Too much information,’ I smile, stepping back.
‘Sorry,’ Emma giggles.
‘I thought you were … but I didn’t like to ask.’ I shade my eyes, looking at Emma as if her happiness is dazzling. ‘Frances was pretty certain you were. It was the doughnuts that gave it away.’
‘I hoped no one had noticed.’
‘You can’t keep anything secret here.’
‘The jam in the middle started to taste like iron filings.’
‘I can’t say I’ve ever tried them,’ I say, laughing with her.
‘How I imagine they might taste then,’ she amends.
‘You will come in to show us the photos tomorrow?’
‘Of course.’
‘Oh, Emma, I can’t wait.’
Her expression grows serious. ‘I’m trying to keep it real,’ she says. ‘I want it so much …’
I reach out and touch her hand.
‘You’re bound to worry,’ I say gently, ‘but I’m sure everything will turn out fine this time.’
‘Thanks, Maz.’ Emma sighs. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘Same here.’
I hope the results of the scan are favourable. Emma wants this baby more than anything in the world. It’s selfish of me, I know, but I wonder if Emma will be able to make the wedding, let alone be maid of honour any more. On a quick calculation, it’s just a few weeks before this baby is due.
The next morning’s ops seem to go very slowly with a cat castration
, a bitch spay and two lump removals. Will sees the appointments with Izzy, while I operate with Shannon.
‘You are feeling better today?’ I ask her, when we’re working on Sally, a golden retriever who has a lump on her flank. ‘Yeah,’ Shannon says noncommittally, as I remove the growth and surrounding skin, and send it off for histology to find out whether it’s anything to worry about. I’m probably just as concerned as Penny, Sally’s owner. Sally is one of my specials. Penny is a warm, vibrant person, an artist who moved down here to Devon after she was disabled in a car crash. Sally is both her companion and assistance dog.
I begin stitching up. When I stick the needle through Sally’s skin, Sally flinches and lifts her head, which isn’t great timing.
‘Turn her up,’ I say urgently, stopping to help Shannon soothe the dog and keep her still while she breathes in more anaesthetic.
‘I’m sorry. I let her get too light too quickly.’
‘Yes, now I’ll have to scrub up again,’ I say wryly. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have rushed back to work so soon after having that virus, or whatever it was.’
Eventually, we move Sally back to the big kennel and I watch her come round, take her tube out and check she’s warm enough.
‘Good girl, Sally,’ I tell her, and even though she’s still half asleep, she wags her tail in response to my voice. ‘Okay, Shannon,’ I call. ‘Sally’s tube’s out. Shannon?’
I get up stiffly – must be getting old – and look for her. She’s nowhere to be seen, which is not good, considering she’s supposed to be responsible for the inpatients and her break isn’t for another half an hour. I find her in the corridor on her mobile.
‘Shannon –’ I hold the door for her to come back into Kennels –‘we agreed, no mobiles except at break times.’
‘I’m sorry, Maz. I had to phone home. Mum’s not answering.’
‘I’m sure she has a good reason. She’s probably serving a customer.’
‘I have to go out for a few minutes. I need to make sure she’s all right.’
‘Shannon, you’re on ops. You can’t just leave.’
It's a Vet's Life Page 13
