I like my job

I like my job. I really do.

Day 1:
I arrive half an hour late. Hey, it wasn’t my fault. John(1) and I were watching the soccer. We left the house when the extra time began. I couldn’t leave before my boss could I?
Also, I’d parked my car under some trees overnight and was quite pleased to find it hadn’t frosted over. It was -5degC in the morning when I set off at 8.30am, but a clear, crisp day. Driving at 100km down the gravel road, somebody smart decided to clean their windscreen with the squirty water and wiper function. That somebody suddenly found that whilst she could still see past the dirt on the glass before, she now could not see through the thin layer of ice that immediately formed. Pulling over, she smartly tried to pour over more water from her drink bottle to get it off (may I point out that this smart somebody managed to pass vet school)…and ended up scraping it off with a bit of tissue.
That’s also partly why I ended up late. No one cared though; I was welcomed with open arms.

Day 2:
I was late again, but that wasn’t my fault either – blame my chauffer. I noticed the linemen working outside out clinic.
Natasha(2) burst into the treatment room. ‘Guys, the power’s going to be turned off today at 9!’
We looked at the clock; it was 9.10am.
Oh no, what are we going to do? Can we do a bitch spay with no power? The dog will freeze! What about the patients already here for treatment? How will I toast my bagel for lunch? (that was the somebody smart)
Before we could do anything, there was a click. And the lights, computers, heaters – not the heaters!! – were all gone. We’re going to freeze, we’re going to freeze, we all cried, donning beanies, gloves, scarves and hoods. Like a bunch of eskimoes, Craig(3) commented. Excuse me? We are vets thankyou very much.
Lets do zuumba to keep warm, Ive got the DVD at home. How will we watch it? I’ll bring my lap top. We could move the clinic to your house for the day.
Hayley(4) ran to fill hot water bottles for the dogs. Natasha returned dancing round with a headtorch. This is for using when in the toilet.
I spent most of the day out on farms. Wasn’t exactly much warmer, but at least we were outside in the freezing sunshine. And got sweaty searching for a cow that was apparently ‘sitting down by the gate’ of a big (I mean big) paddock. The farmer wasn’t around, and neither, to our knowledge, was the cow. But there were trees, dead logs, an old car, a stream, lots of mud and many overgrown blackberry bushes. Ouch.
Do you charge a visit fee for something like that?

Day 3: I would’ve been on time, had I factored in the 10 minutes needed to back my new work vehicle down the driveway and out the gate. It’s slightly bigger than my baby corolla (and doesn’t have a tennis ball on the towbar).
Today I actually felt useful. There was power, and there were animals to attend to. At 2pm I took over a dental from poor Sarah(5) who had not had lunch and was already late to see an injured horse. I extracted no less than 6 teeth from this dog’s mouth, brushed the remaining ones, then stitched up a wound on the leg of a greyhound (who showed no intentions of waking up from his anaesthetic even at 5.30pm - thus I was not only late to work but late leaving too).

Day 4: My first day punctual. So early, in fact, that no other vets had arrived yet. It was a beautiful iceblock of a day again, and I walked across the crunchy grass to take photos of the newborn lambs in the adjacent paddock. Hayley, suspicious of this hooded figure sneaking round the building, stuck her head out the smoko room. ‘Good morning!’ I greeted. ‘I am your resident Asian tourist’.
Hayley had half the day off, and bid us goodbye at 12pm. There are some people you miss, and there are some you really miss. Picture four of us standing around the anaesthetic machine trying to work out which bits go where. And manually polishing a dog’s teeth because we couldn’t get the electric equipment going.
That night I was already in my PJs when the phone rang. It was John, enquiring about Fido (not his real name), a dog who had had surgery that morning. His owner had called, saying he was agitated and not happy. Since they lived less than 2 mins around the corner from me, I said I could go and attend to him. Thus I did my 1st after hours call, without actually being on call. Somewhat exciting, I thought, as I got back into my PJs.

Day 5: Had my 1st patient die. Well, technically Fido wasn’t my patient as I hadn’t been the one to operate on him; nevertheless I had been the last vet to see him before he passed on in the night. Though we now know it was the fault of the tumour he'd had, its not a good look for a new (or any) vet.
Sarah got called to see another horse, and was out of a drug that I knew I had in the back of my truck. The problem was I couldn’t get into the back of my truck. The frozen locks gave the keys grief. Once unlocked I find the whole window – hinges and all – frozen solid, even with water poured over. Yes, I can assure you that work vehicles are very safe places to keep drugs. Sarah managed without.
‘Just to let you know’, said Annabel(6) (who I’d inherited this beast off) later that day, 'your euthanasia equipment is in the glove box’. Cheers, I said. It wasn’t until driving home that night that I realised the glove box was where I’d stored all my muesli bars and other emergency food…

So, even without consuming her drug-contaminated emergency food, it was a very sleepy somebody that climbed into bed that night. A very sleepy somebody who fell asleep thinking
I like my job. I really do.

References:
1. Boss, whose family I stayed the 1st night with.
2. Receptionist
3. Practice manager
4. Vet nurse
5. Fellow vet
6. Fellow vet