Tell Me Where It Hurts
A Day of Humor, Healing and Hope in My Life as an Animal Surgeon
12:47 A.M. WAKE-UP CALLThis might seem strange, coming from an Englishman, but sometimes emergency surgery in the middle of the night can play out like a synopsis of a perfect season for the Boston Red Sox. The beginning may be predictably crappy, slow, and discombobulated until a rhythm develops and momentum builds leaving you stricken with that familiar glimmer of hope. When it comes to the final stretch, everyone accepts that there may be failure, there may be disappointment, but the struggle is always gritty and memorable, and occasionally, if you are really lucky, something magical will happen.
My beginning came half an hour earlier with a phone call reeling me in from a cozy dreamless void.
"Hello," I said, two disjointed syllables caught in a sticky web at the back of my throat.
"This is Dr. Keene, one of the new surgical residents. We haven't met but I've got a dog, a ten-year-old spayed female German shepherd; she's bloated and . . . like . . . well . . . I need you to come in for the surgery ...
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