by E. J. Noyes
“Yes, I know that. My horse is colicking. I need you to come out right now.”
“Okay, sure. And who am I speaking to? Can you give me some information about the horse and colic?”
“Margaret. He’s been colicking on and off all day.”
He’s been colicking all day and you only decided to call a vet in the small hours. People… I pushed the bedcovers off. “Sure, and where is the horse?”
“Lying in his stall.”
No problem, Margaret. I’ll just work my ass off for the most basic information so I can come and help you. “I mean, where are you located? What is the address? A suburb? Street?” Any damned thing that might help me?
“I’m in Alva.”
I pulled the bedcovers back on. “Unfortunately that’s outside of our coverage area.” Waaay outside our after-hours coverage and barely inside our regular hours service zone. “Have you tried calling Dr. Sam Kenwick in Clewiston?”
“Not answering his phone.”
It seemed Sam’s frustrating client intuition was better than mine. “Okay, you could also try Muce Veterinary Services and LaBelle Vets who both service your district and offer after-hours.”
“They’re both busy with other emergencies.”
“Right. Sure. If you’d like to bring the horse into our equine hospital in Wellington then I can treat it there.”
“No, I can’t do that. Can’t you just come and collect it and take it back to your hospital?”
Sure thing, Margaret. And why don’t I just pay your bill for you too? “No, I’m afraid I can’t. As I said, we don’t service your area and we also don’t provide transportation services.” Call it emotional fatigue or whatever but I almost broke one of the rules and offered her advice over the phone. Given I didn’t know this woman, or her horse, or the reason behind this colic, I thankfully caught myself and snapped my mouth shut.
“Well you’re not very helpful, are you?” Silence.
I didn’t need to look at the screen to know she’d ended the call.
I covered my face with my pillow and yelled into it. It would have been nice to say that people speaking to me like that was an anomaly, but it wasn’t. After settling my pillow back under my head, I fought to push aside the annoyance from someone treating me like I was an idiot. Despite my best attempt, frustration hummed through me and I knew there was no way I was going to fall back to sleep without switching my brain over to non-work.
My personal phone would be somewhere under the covers where it always migrated after I’d inevitably fall asleep reading on it, and after a minute of blind fumbling I found it down near my knee. Nothing newsworthy so I switched to social media. Caitlyn had posted a new video two days ago titled The Artiste at Work.
I didn’t think, I just clicked. Within minutes I was laughing. The whole thing was hilarious, from the Dewey-interrupted intro to his adorable painting efforts and Caitlyn’s valiant attempts to keep paint off herself, all wrapped up in a fast-forwarded, funny soundtracked package. By the time I was done, the frustration left over from the phone call had all but dissipated.
I clicked a like reaction and after a moment of debate, added a comment. How much for one of these masterpieces?
Within ten minutes Caitlyn had responded. For everyone else, $200. For you, $300. She’d added a tongue poking emoji.
Laughing, I liked her comment then started the video again. A text interrupted my viewing and I stared at the name at the top of my screen until the notification disappeared. Caitlyn Lloyd. I swiped to check the message. Why aren’t you asleep?
On-call client related insomnia.
Damn. After a few seconds another message landed. Try to get some sleep?
I ignored the excitement of texting with her to quickly type out Will do.
The interaction was so simple but her apparent concern left me feeling kinda floaty, almost dreamy. Only sorta-awake and full of comfortable, smooshy Caitlyn vibes, I made a decision. Not only was I going to keep up my polite and professional demeanor, even if she didn’t respond in kind, but I was going to go a step further. I was going to accept that as a teenager I hadn’t behaved in a way to foster friendship with her, or in a way that actually conveyed my feelings, and I’d own up to it, apologize to Caitlyn and hope for the best. Clean slate and all that.
The café next to work was a godsend for coffee and as was usual for mornings after nights on call, breakfast too. After the lovely Margaret’s phone call, I’d had another call just after three thirty a.m. to a difficult foaling and had had to utilize my spare set of clothes and the shower at work. I took my breakfast into the office I shared with Eric, pulled the door mostly closed and called Teresa.
Given an equine veterinarian’s workload, I’d expected to just leave a message and wait for her to call me in a few days at some odd time, which in normal-people land was bizarre but in vet land was perfectly normal. But she answered with her usual chirpy, “Addie! To what do I owe this pleasure?” In the background was a rumbly truck engine and a hip-hop song which gave away the fact she was driving between consults. “Talking to you twice in two weeks? I am truly hashtag blessed.”
“Missed the sound of your voice.” I spun my chair around so I could prop my feet on the trash can. My lower back grumbled at me for slouching. I ignored it. Relieving the ache in my leg was more important than a grousing spine.
“Truth be told, I’m surprised to hear from you again so soon. Thought you’d be up to your eyeballs with work and that sweet Olympics gig of yours.”
“Oh, I am, don’t you worry. This may be the last few minutes of free time I have until the end of August so thought I’d make the most of it. As for my Olympics gig, that’s why I’m calling. I took your advice and called Caitlyn to let her know I’d spoken to you.”
Teresa’s response was slow and careful, as if praising an idiot. “That’s great, Addie. I’m so proud of you. But I was actually talking about you two discussing things unrelated to equines.”
“Like what? Everything between us is related to equines.”
“And how are you enjoying that relationship?”
“Just fine because that’s my job, remember? USDF veterinarian? Horses? And there is no relationship.”
“Right. Sounds to me like you wish there was.”
“No comment.” I had plenty of comments, but none I wanted to verbalize.
“I hope reality falls out of a tree and hits you in the head so you get a clue.” The engine sound cut off. “Now, as much as I love hearing about your failed attempts at socialization, I have a hot date with a hoof abscess.”
“Yummy. Nothing like pus to brighten your day. And nope, that was it.”
“All right then. And for the second time, talk to Caitlyn about something not horses. Try asking her a question like, I don’t know…what do you like to do when you’re not riding?”
“Thanks for the tip, Ms. Social Interaction Monitor.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
Talking to Caitlyn about something other than horses wasn’t necessary. As long as we could have a civil conversation, I’d call that a win. I didn’t need to know what her favorite food was and what kind of underwear she preferred. On second thought… That was an idea to think about later.
I’d barely finished my breakfast when Seth barged in, pulled out Eric’s chair and thumped down. Never a fan of preamble, it still stung when he came right out with a blunt, “I’ve had a client complaint. About you,” he added, as if there was any doubt.
My heart fell out of the sole of my boots. Unfortunately, complaints weren’t rare and also fortunately, they were spread around among all of us. But it never felt nice. I tried not to look too panicked. “Who is it?”
“Heidi Fletcher.”
“Oh. The broken forelimb two days ago?” What her complaint could be was beyond me.
“That’s the one. She’s alleging you euthanized her horse.”
“There’s no allegation about it. I did euthanize it. Th
ere was no other option because it’d shattered its cannon bone, which I could tell without X-ray because it was dangling in the air, blowing in the breeze and hangin’ on by skin and tendon only type stuff.”
“I know.”
“I also told her that this injury was not really recoverable, and unless the horse was a highly valuable breeding prospect and the owner had a large budget and the time and facilities to rehabilitate, the humane option was euthanasia.”
“Right!” A meaty forefinger was thrust in my direction. “She’s taken offense to the fact you used the term ‘highly valuable’ and the insinuation that her horse was not.”
“It’s not. I know what she paid for it and I could count the digits in that sum on one hand if you cut two of my fingers off.” I sighed. “Highly valuable in monetary terms and highly valuable in emotional terms are two completely different things. She barely manages to pay her vet bills, Seth, and those are just the routine things. Even if I’d thought it was treatable, which it absolutely would not have been, she would never have agreed to it because it would’ve cost too damned much.”
“Sure, I know, but I have to follow these things up.”
His detachment made it clear he wasn’t really listening to my side of things, and my runaway annoyance jumped the tracks and took off. “It was a twenty-year-old horse in poor condition. And given she admitted that she only checks in on her horses every few days, and the maggoty condition of the open wound which tells me clearly that the horse had been hobbling around that fucking paddock with a fucking broken leg for at least two days, maybe I should report her to the SPCA for cruelty and neglect.” It’d been all I could do when I’d arrived and examined the leg to not let loose with my temper and a bout of tears.
“You’ll do no such thing. What you will do is call Mrs. Fletcher and smooth this over so she gives up on her frivolous idea of lodging a complaint with the AVMA.”
I had to close my gaping mouth before he started making stupid comments about fish out of water. “There are zero grounds for an official complaint, she’s just trying to shift blame. They’d laugh her out of the room. Are you going to back me up on this? I’ll send you my case notes and you can see for yourself, including the pictures. Even a vet student in their first week would reach the same conclusion. Hell, a non-vet would have.”
“Call the client first. Smooth things over with her. Then we’ll talk.” He stood. “And make sure she knows the bill is due.”
“You have a debt collection person, Seth, and it’s not me,” I ground out through clamped molars. It was as if he was trying to make my life as hellish as possible. Oh hi, Mrs. Fletcher, can we talk about your neglect and me putting your horse to sleep and by the way my boss wants you to know you owe him money.
“Just do it.”
As he ambled out of my office it took everything I had not to throw something at the back of his head. An email notification on my personal phone pinged and I picked it up. Fuck you, Seth, I’m checking my personal emails at work.
Wren Robertson
Desperate snack food favor
————————————————————————
Hey Addie!
Sorry to hijack your email address but Caitlyn stuck your business card to the fridge and she knows anything left out in the house is fair game. All fine here but I have a HUGE favor to ask and standard disclaimer that OF COURSE you can decline (but I’ll be super sad).
When you come back to the Netherlands can you please bring some Reese’s Cups, Hershey’s, Cinnamon Bears, Starburst, Tootsie Rolls…anything! My fiancée is terrified of the process of shipping stuff internationally and we’ve totally run out over here. We’re sad, deprived bunnies, relegated to eating nothing but Haribo things. Obviously I’ll reimburse you for the sugar and your time.
Eternally hopeful and forever in your debt.
Wren
Laughing, I wrote back.
Done. No need to pay, consider it my contribution to the US Olympic dream. I will arrive laden with sweet and chocolatey goods.
Addie
It took barely five minutes for her to reply to my reply.
Marry me. Thank you! You’ve saved my sanity. For real, who wants high quality European stuff when you’ve grown up on American sugar?
Caitlyn loves Blow Pops. Just in case you were curious.
See you soon!
Wren :)
Caitlyn loves Blow Pops. Huh. Who woulda thought? Seemed some things hadn’t changed at all. They’d sold them at the Pony Club concession stand and she’d buy one every lunchtime, and then I’d see her with the stick hanging out the side of her mouth as she was leaving. I pulled up the packing list on my phone and alongside sugar-free peppermint Life Savers (for Dewey) I added everything Wren had asked for with Caitlyn’s Blow Pops at the top of the list.
I spent most of my day out on calls and had rushed lunch and some paperwork in between emergencies. Five p.m. had come and gone. As had six p.m. I finally finished all my consult case history and billing for the day a little before seven and decided it was time to get the heck out of Dodge. The quietness of the surgery was deceiving and I snuck around like a cat burglar, hoping nobody would grab me to call someone, check or treat something. I was almost successful. When I was halfway to my car, Diana ran an intercept from my right side. “Addie! Sorry, do you have a minute?”
I cringed, and bit my tongue on saying, “Not really, no, not at all.” A shower, glass of wine, movie, and bed were calling my name. And I really needed to clean my fish tank. But I knew none of the nurses would ask for a hand when they knew I was long past done for the day unless it was desperate. “Sure. What’s up?”
“That colic-surgery stallion of Will’s in stall eight has hit his head on something, fuck knows what, and his forehead is gushing blood. Everyone’s out on late calls, in the middle of something delicate, or gone for the day and I can’t get near the bastard. Every time I open the door, he tries to savage me. He’s managed to get his muzzle off.” She grinned and fluttered her eyelashes at me. “You are the stallion whisperer.”
I told my shower and movie to hold on for an hour and then I’d be right with them and nodded in weary agreement at Diana’s request. “No problem. Can you grab a wound dressing kit and a staple kit and I’ll meet you at the stall? And grab him some feed as bribery because I’m going to have to use the jab stick.”
The idea of climbing into a confined space with a large and obviously unhappy stallion was low on my list of things I wanted to do, and drugs on the end of a pokey-pole would mean I could sedate him from a nice, safe distance. In an ideal world we’d have a few extra hands on deck to help, but I’d learned in my first few months working at this practice that it was far from an ideal world.
I prepared my favorite drug cocktail for this exact situation then stuffed a couple of other syringes in my pockets, just in case, and wandered down the aisle toward stall eight. When I saw the stallion lunging at Diana over the lower stall door, sending a spray of blood flying from his forehead, I backtracked to increase the dose I was going to stick into him.
Stallion whisperer or no, the huge Thoroughbred still managed to get his teeth into my shoulder and tried to go for my face before I poked him in the neck to sedate the living shit out of him. Perhaps a little too much sedation if the short time it took for him to wobble and drop to the ground was any indication. Ah well, that’s why the drug company had invented a reversal agent.
I peered over the lower stall door and snorted out a laugh. The horse looked like he’d been out for a night with the boys and fallen up a set of stairs, with legs everywhere and neck extended so his head rested at an awkward angle on the wall. Thankfully our stalls were padded, because I was pretty sure this was a valuable breeding stallion and trying to explain that I’d broken it would likely get me fired or sued. Probably both. Breeding stallion or no, my professional opinion was that he’d be a much nicer horse if someone removed a pound or so from between hi
s hind legs.
It took barely any time to palpate his skull for obvious fractures—nothing indicated—then clean and staple the massive laceration on his forehead. The only obvious thing to have caused the injury was the automatic waterer in the corner but even then it was plastic, not metal, and he would have had to contort himself to make the injury. Horses.
Once finished, I put his muzzle back on, administered the antidote for the tranquilizer and got the hell out of the stall before he came to. Diana’s groveling gratitude made me feel marginally better about my huge bruise, missing skin and certain hematoma. She rushed off with a final flurry of thanks and a facetious, “Thanks, Danger Mouse!”
I pulled the collar of my shirt away to examine the damage. Yikes. That needed ice. Which would have to wait until I got home. Home. Yes. While I’d been busy my needs had shifted to bath, book, and bourbon. I gently rubbed the lump in a futile attempt to stop it hurting so damned much and found myself thinking of Dewey who’d stood completely still while I’d been checking him out. If every one of my patients was as amenable as him, I’d be one happy veterinarian. Dewey certainly didn’t need a muzzle, but muzzling Caitlyn to stop her acerbic tongue might come in handy. I chastised myself. That was a little unfair, runaway brain. Since our initial meeting she’d been cordial, if not a little cool, and certainly not muzzle-worthy.
As I made my exit from the equine hospital, Seth popped his head out of the scanning room. “Addie, come look at these scans and tell me what you think. I’m just back from Lear’s Racing Stables. Two-year-old colt in training with suspensory branch desmitis. I’m thinking of doing biologic therapy tomorrow, then extracorporeal shockwave therapy in a few weeks.”
I watched my bath-book-bourbon grow wings and fly away.
When I finally made it home at nine p.m. after being subjected to yet another of Seth’s I know you’re off shift but I want to discuss an in-depth treatment plan and come and look at this horse and oh what do you think of this sessions I was too tired to do anything more than eat a banana before taking a closed-eyed shower and crawling under the covers to attempt sleep. I wonder what he’d have done if I’d told him I had plans and really had to get out of there. Probably laughed.
