Tag Archives: Veterinary life

Turn Right onto Albert Road

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So here I am in Wolverhampton, or rather, in a leafy suburb of the city. I’ve completed my first week at Cavan Vets in Bushbury and, on the whole, am feeling very content. I’m also sorely in need of a rest, having driven down last Sunday, then worked from nine in the morning until seven at night for the last five days.

I rejected another locum offer last week because of similarly long hours, though that one was also complicated by the fact that I was going to have to find (and fund) my own accommodation and the dates they offered were all over the place. I could only work part weeks in Glasgow because Lara very kindly let me stay in her flat. The practice where I’m currently locumming offered to pay for an apartment and, in the event, kindly found somewhere for me, which made the whole thing very straightforward.

It’s not like the PDSA. This is a private practice, where clients are paying for my time. I confess I felt a bit nervous at that the first couple of days. Imposter syndrome, if you like. But it’s amazing how things have slid back into place, some of them from more than twenty five years ago, which was the last time I worked in private general practice in the UK. And I love the animals, even the ones that are grumpy with me. Who can blame them? Vet clinics can be scary places, with needles and being poked and prodded, of falling asleep and waking up with a wound and a cone, of areas where your owner can’t come with you.

But the nurses and receptionists are lovely. Their love of animals shines through. The practice is full of waifs and strays, from Paddy the Labrador, who was taken on by the boss, to the black cat without a tail, who has a whole room to stretch out in while he waits to find a new owner. And for the two weeks we are here, Triar gets to be a practice dog as well. Monday morning, I left him in the apartment, but when I got to work, I was told he could come too. If he got on with Paddy, all well and good. If not, they’d find him a kennel. By Wednesday, he was dragging me in the door when he arrived. He and Paddy get on fine and he is spoiled rotten by almost everyone. For me, it’s just lovely to see him so well loved and looked after.

As for me, I’ve also been well looked after. The apartment is lovely and everyone has been very patient with all my questions and a few, odd areas of ignorance. When I qualified as a vet, the only flea treatment on offer that worked was Nuvan Top. You could spray a flea ridden animal and watch the fleas drop off. A few years later, the spot-ons arrived: the ones you put on the back of the neck, which killed fleas in the environment too. Now the treatments are all-singing-all-dancing, kill worms and fleas, ticks and mites. Some are still spot on, some are tablets, but there are a lot of choices and usually they are combined with worming treatments that you can’t use at the same time, due to crossover of the active ingredients. I’m still trying to get my head around all that. Still, I seems to have been keeping up so far with the appointments and am handling more complicated cases than I was at the PDSA.

It’s rather strange that I’m already half way through. The nurses will just get me trained up and then I’ll be off again. The practice is so lovely though, that I wonder what would have happened if I’d landed here years ago. Despite the long hours, I’m enjoying it immensely. For the first time, it crossed my mind that perhaps being a locum might be better than going back to APHA. That said, I’ve worked in quite a few practices over the years and the two I’ve been working in in recent weeks have been warm and welcoming places. I know not all are so harmonious.

I feel a bit sad that I’m not likely to have time to explore Wolverhampton as I did Paisley, but my body is telling me I need to rest. I’ll see how I feel tomorrow, but I suspect a quiet day in will be in order, though I shall probably go to church and maybe try to find somewhere nice to walk Triar. I don’t have many photos. The one at the top of the page is Halfway House, at the intersection between Albert Street and Tettenhall Road, near where I am staying. It’s now a dental practice and pharmacy, though it used to be a pub and, before that, a staging post, which is what, to me, it looks like. It’s after the time of Jane Austen, but still easy to imagine travellers stopping there, back when the horse was the main means of transport and it took days, rather than hours, to get anywhere.

I’ll leave you with the few pictures I’ve taken while wandering round, as well as one of Triar in his new Practice Dog role. And now, I’m going to grab a coffee, then kick back and watch Ludwig on the TV. Triar is asleep on the sofa beside me. What better way to spend a day? Thank you for reading and I hope you have a good week.

So Much for Likely Lasts

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I really should not make predictions, or indeed assume anything about what the future holds. My previous post started with a partial lament, that I might have done my last surgery, but the failure in my thinking was with the idea that the civil service might be in any kind of hurry to get me reinstated. I spoke to Dean (ex and hopefully future line manager at APHA) on Wednesday. The papers that were completed and sent off the week before, rather than being something final, were indeed only the preface to a possible eight week check of my suitability – a DBS check, if you like. Dean’s own line manager had indicated they hoped to have me back on board by the beginning of September, but it seems Dean’s “management of my expectations” (he suggested mid-October) is looking more likely.

I have suggested to them that I could locum for APHA in Dumfries in the meantime. After all, bluetongue and BSE are keeping them all busy, but I haven’t heard anything back about that, so rather reluctantly, I engaged with trying to find something else to do. After all, the mortgage isn’t going to pay itself. I was really hoping for another PDSA stint, and it was looking likely midweek. There was talk of possible positions in both Leeds and Bradford, either of which would have suited, due to the proximity to mum and dad and various relatives. I also talked to the senior vet in Margate. I quite fancied a trip to the seaside, though it would have introduced a major complication to my plan to attend Kyle and Candice’s ceilidh in Scotland in the last weekend in September. Margate to Scotland for a weekend would be quite a stretch.

Anyway, yesterday morning, while out on a Wildlife Farm Walk, I was called by one of the agents I’m in touch with. She offered me a two week stint in a private practice in Wolverhampton. She’d spoken to them about me and she, and they, seemed to think I would be a good fit. So in an unexpected turnaround, tomorrow I am off to the Midlands. One thing about my life at the moment – it’s never boring!

I have made the most of my week at home. It’s been a week of sunshine with torrential rain showers. Blackbird lane has been invaded by swallows, which swoop and twirl overhead, catching the autumn insects, while butterflies flit around the flowers and blackberries ripen in the hedgerows.

I found yesterday’s wildlife walk on Facebook. It was actually an educational walk on Torr Organic Dairy Farm. It was arranged by Scottish Agricultural College and was about organic farming and diversification, so I signed up, not knowing what to expect, but hoping for a pleasant walk. In the event, it was even better than I’d hoped for. There were a number of organic farmers there and I learned a lot from discussion about treatment of animals and preserving welfare in the absence of antibiotic use. APHA and DEFRA also have interests in sustainability and one health, as it pertains to the environment, so it turned into a truly useful day. On top of that, there were cute calves. There are few animals that I find more appealing than dairy calves, bedded on lots of clean straw, with their gentleness and inquisitive faces. Who could possibly resist?

Anyway, I think that’s enough for today. Next week, I should be writing this from an AirBnB in Wolverhampton. Another new place to explore.

I’ll leave you with a couple of photographs from yesterday’s farm walk. In the meantime, thanks for reading and I hope you have a good week.

All Good Things…

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I have Gregg’s bakery to thank, this week, for sending me off on an adventure. I was working Monday, Tuesday and Friday. The job, with its intense neutering programme, and the commute, which includes a mile-long walk each way, is tiring enough, so I was looking forward to a quiet day off. Every morning, as I leave for work, I pass the Gregg’s bakery and I have been hankering after a latte and a warm croissant, so as I returned from taking Triar for his Wednesday morning walk, I decided this was the day.

I was stopped at the door by a sign that said, “No dogs except assistance dogs.” Don’t get me wrong, I accept the right of any food outlet or shop to exclude animals, but it put paid to my breakfast plan. Rather than take Triar back up to the flat, I decided to go and see whether the Square Café Bistro next to the Gilmour Street railway station did croissants instead. The word bistro always conjures up something slightly upmarket and perhaps a bit French, though Wikipedia tells me that a bistro, “in its original Parisian form, is a small restaurant serving moderately priced, simple meals in a modest setting.”

One of the things I am loving about Paisley is that it’s still a very real place. There’s no gentrification, despite the beautiful buildings. Every day, as I walk Triar, I meet different locals. Last night there were teenage girls on the park bench, swearing about effing boys. One evening there was a young woman who kept her hoodie up because “I’m banned from this area,” and often there are alkies sitting there, but they all take the time to tell me that Triar is a lovely dog. So the Square Café Bistro fits in perfectly as it is a fairly classic, Scottish greasy spoon, which does indeed sell, “moderately priced, simple meals in a modest setting.”

Reader, there were no croissants, but I decided to stay and have a square sausage in a roll, or a “roll and sausage” as it would more generally be described locally. I ordered a latte as well. Better still, the man behind the counter asked whether I’d like, “a wee sausage for the doggie as well?” Of course, I said yes. What arrived was a very decent, hearty breakfast with a good enough latte and a wee biscuit. I don’t think Triar could believe his luck though, when his breakfast arrived too.

When I went to pay I found, to my amazement, that my roll and latte were only £5.35. Triar’s sausage was on the house. I asked if I could add a tip on the card, as I had no cash, but the café owner turned it down. “We love our doggies here,” he said.

I was so cheered by this whole encounter, that I decided not to go back to the flat, but instead went to the station, next door, instead. The trains I take to get home to Paisley go to one of three different places; Gourock, Ayr and Wemyss Bay. I decided, without any particular reason, on Wemyss Bay. I assumed there might be a nice beach for Triar and I was aware that the railway station was worth a visit, which seemed enough.

I did rather question my decision while I was waiting for the train. I had no coat or bag, only the summer clothes I had been wearing to take Triar to the park, but the two flights of stairs up to the flat were enough to stop me going back. Triar was perfectly laid back as the trains came and went and when the time came to board, he jumped on willingly and we were committed.

The station at Wemyss bay was indeed rather beautiful with its Edwardian curving, steel and glass design. I wish I had taken a better photo, but here is the one I took.

I was also intrigued to see that there was a wooden, covered walkway down to a ferry terminal as well. CalMac ferries could take me to Rothesay on the Isle of Bute. I could just imagine the Edwardian people in their beautiful clothes, taking the trains then walking right down to the ferry without even having to go outside. It was built nine years before Titanic sailed and fits well with that imagery.

Anyway, I decided we would go and explore Wemyss Bay before deciding whether to travel further, but when I got outside, there was very little of Wemyss Bay to be found. Perhaps, in turning right, we went the wrong way, but after a brisk walk along the shore line, I saw a boat coming in, so I decided to go and find out what was on offer.

To my amazement, a ticket for me and Triar to go to Rothesay was only £8.70. Soon, we were enjoying the view as we left the mainland for the Isle of Bute. I think my parents went on holiday to Rothesay once, when young, and were not impressed. To be fair, it is a very quiet place, where tourism is probably the main business. For me, it was nice to be somewhere where, for much of the time, there was no car noise. It’s quite unusual in any town these days.

There were lovely views across the Firth of Clyde and a sleepy, Scottish town centre. I noticed a couple of hotels or guest houses for sale, including this one, which is a fascinating building, but I imagine getting someone out to fix the rather rusty cast iron crown on its turret might be quite costly.

I took a photo of the lamp posts, which were ornate and had the Rothesay coat of arms, as well as being marked with a date in Roman numerals. I was somewhat amused when I worked out that the date was only 1995. I had fondly assumed they were much older!

As you can see, it was a grey and cloudy day, but beautiful nonetheless with the heavy skies over the island scenery.

We arrived home tired, but happy and on Thursday, I did manage to rest, which was just as well as Friday’s neutering list consisted of two bitch spays (a German Shepherd and a Shih Tsu), two dog castrations, two cat castrations and three cat spays. Luckily, one of the cat spays didn’t arrive, but I didn’t get finished until ten to five, having worked more or less flat out all day. The nursing staff (and everyone, in fact) continue to make me feel welcome and useful and my surgical technique continues to improve. As far as I know, everything went safely home, despite the busy day.

Yesterday evening, I was genuinely exhausted, but Triar begged me for an evening walk and I’m very glad he did. It was a lovely sunny evening and I soon forgot my aching feet as I decided to explore in the direction of the river and the mill buildings I could see in the distance.

The White Cart river with the Town Hall towers and the Abbey in the background
On the right is the Watermill Hotel.

The 17th Century Watermill hotel used to be a flour mill, which made oatmeal and pea flour. As you can see, it backs onto the river. Rooms at the back must be filled with the sound of the waterfall, day and night.

Across the river from the Watermill is the Anchor Mill building, which was built in 1886 and closed in the 1980s, then saved from dereliction and converted into apartments. This was the building that I saw that drew me to walk to this, traditionally more industrial part of Paisley.

Seeing more brick towers, I walked further and came across a gorgeous mural. I should have taken more photos (and may go back) but I particularly loved this six (or seven?) eyed cat!

And this was the final identifiable mill I found: Mile End Mill with its magnificent chimney. As well as office space, it apparently houses a thread museum, which is only open on Saturdays and Wednesdays and, as I don’t have another Wednesday off, and this might be my last weekend on Paisley, I may have to make a decision shortly on whether to walk back there this afternoon!

The last photo I took on my evening walk is at the top of the page. I’ve been hoping to get a cityscape picture and I’m pleased with that one.

I went back to the Square Café Bistro this morning. The bacon roll I chose today didn’t disappoint and neither did Triar’s sausage. This time, I had planned better and had cash for a decent tip in my pocket. And if you’ve made it this far, through this long and winding post, I will say thanks for reading and I hope you have a good week.

Unwanted and Underwhelming Events

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One of my bitch spays bled on Monday. I had operated on her in the morning and was consulting when she was checked with ultrasound and taken back into theatre. Obviously these things are terrifying for the owner, but they are awful for the vet too. Which part of what I did went wrong? Will they find work so bad that they won’t feel safe with me working here? Will the poor animal die? It’s all my fault…

The realization that she was bleeding internally was also so late in the day, that I had to go home without knowing the outcome. Thankfully, the lovely vet who did the second surgery let me know just before 9pm that the bitch had been transferred to the overnight vets, so she had obviously survived the operation and was fit to be transferred, but I still didn’t sleep well.

I guess this is a particular peril of returning to something I haven’t done for a long time, but I have received incredible support from all the PDSA staff, as well as a vet friend. It was a very large dog and a breed which, so my vet friend tells me, are very prone to bleeding. To understand more, when vets do a spay operation, it’s necessary to tie off the fairly large blood vessels that supply the ovaries at one end of the uterus as well as the ones that supply the cervix and the uterus itself, at the other end.

Tying off the ovaries can be difficult because they are tied to the body wall by ligaments that attach high up near the spine and kidneys. These ligaments mean that you cannot easily get the ovary up to where you’ve made the incision, near the navel. They can be stretched a bit, but that carries its own risks. Anyway you can probably imagine, it’s easy to tie a knot round something when it’s clear of all obstacles. It’s much harder when bits of fat and other abdominal contents are all trying to get in on the act. You can’t afford for any of them to be caught in your knot. Your knot also has to be far enough away from where you eventually sever the artery, and tied tightly enough, that it can’t slide off.

But from what I understand, the main bleeding was from the other end of the uterus, down at the cervix. My ligature was still in place. I had stitched it in. She just bled past it or round it somehow. She was also bleeding a lot from other places, such as the layer under the skin. Some times, that’s just how it is.

Fortunately (to my huge relief) she lived. I am very grateful to the vet and nurse team that recognized there was a problem and fixed it, but it has shaken my confidence. I did two spays yesterday. The first went perfectly, I tied everything off without problems and the abdomen was dry with not a trace of blood. The second, which I had expected to be easier, was actually more difficult and the operation took a lot longer. I have modified my ligature technique and have learned to tie a self-tightening Miller’s knot. Even with that, I still stitched up that second spay with trepidation, but she went home fine, at the end of the day.

With time, it will all fade, but I can still remember, with horrible clarity, back in 1992 when a bitch I was spaying because she had pyometra (infection in the womb) bled out on the table. That one was my fault. I didn’t have enough experience back then and should have made sure someone was assisting me. I did learn a lot that day and my record from then till now has been good, partly because I’ve been careful and partly down to luck. This time round, it was a combination of things, but mostly just unfortunate. I will learn and move on, but this is one of the things that makes being a vet hard.

I haven’t done much this week, outside of work. Looking back through my photos, I see I took one of Triar last weekend. It’s not one of my usual shots of his shaggy, smiling face. It’s a shot of the back of his head and neck after he decided to explore a bush in my garden. I didn’t know there was Galium aparine under there, but I do now!

I guess if you’re reading this in a distant part of the world, you won’t have experienced the eclipse on Thursday. Not that it was worth noting in Paisley! It matched my memories of the one in (I think) 1999, which was another partial eclipse where I was. I’m sure seeing the real thing, where the sun is completely obscured, would be amazing, but on both occasions I’ve experienced, all that happened was that the light went a weird, dull grey colour for a while and that was that. Polar night is much more interesting, though I can see, as with the aurora, why our ancestors might have marveled or been afraid.

I’m thinking of visiting Crookston Castle today, after breakfast out, probably at Harry’s Fuel Bar. Hopefully next week at work will go smoothly, though as I said before, the staff could not have been more supportive and I am incredibly grateful for that. I will leave you with a few more photos from Paisley, taken as I wandered at different times of day. The picture at the top of the page is a lion from the 2016 exhibition, “Pride of Paisley”. I see it every time we walk to the grass in the morning.

Thank you for reading. I hope you have a good week.

Comfort

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To all those who disapprove of dogs on the bed, please avert your eyes! Triar was not only on mine this morning, but IN it, as you can see. It’s not as cold now as it was in midwinter, but he’s still much better than a hot water bottle in the depths of the night.

I am finally moving on from the horrors of the Farm of Doom. It has taken me all week to do the paperwork, but I sent the last lot in late yesterday afternoon and felt lighter for it. I will likely get it back for amendments (my new Veterinary Advisor is lovely, but the opposite of slapdash) but the hardest work is over. I have sorted out all the photos into different folders for different dates.

I think it will go to court, so I will have to prepare a statement, but I can face those images now, even if some still pain me to the point of tears. There’s always a great big Why? in my head as I contemplate these things. How did it come to that point? But I guess that’s also something I hope never to know, because I hope I would never reach the point where I could neglect a living animal without reaching out for help or ensuring someone else steps in, but surely everyone normal thinks the same?

On Wednesday, I was tired. Good sleep is still intermittent, but I went to a church meeting in the evening with the possibility of writing group afterwards. At the end of the church meeting, I decided I would drive home while it was still light. I was rewarded with a beautiful sunset as I drove back down the hill near Torthorwald and I stopped to take photos.

There was, I noticed (bottom right in the top photo) an old road sign, telling the distances to Dumfries and “Lockerby” so I took a picture of that too. It happens quite often when I stop to admire something beautiful, that I notice something else to enjoy, that I would otherwise have missed.

I was unexpectedly rewarded, last thing on Friday, with an early, negative test result (work related) which means that a large body of work I thought I was going to have to tackle next week is no longer necessary. There is still routine work booked in (another welfare follow up, but I know it won’t be harrowing) and evidence shuffling from the Farm of Doom. However, I will now (hopefully) have time to tackle a task I will enjoy much more – building towards a training module for an aspect of TB case handling.

Not sure if I’m odd, but I love writing Standard Operating Procedures or instructions that are clear to follow. It seems intuitive to me to explain things, step by step, in easy to understand language.

I had the experience in Norway of taking many courses and doing a lot of training. There are few things more frustrating than having to go back and listen to three minutes of semi-comprehensible speil attached to a PowerPoint slide, over and over to catch the last few phrases that were quickly slurred and not written on the screen. It means that training that should take twenty minutes, takes an hour. Working in a language that is not your mother tongue has many unconsidered complications.

As we have many new starting vets who have (as I did) done slaughterhouse work until their language skills improved enough to do something a bit more challenging, I think understanding that will be very useful.

Anyway, I suppose I should get up and do some painting. The new bedrooms are not going to paint themselves and work has stopped until I do them. Hopefully this weekend should see that particular job completed. I’ll leave you with a couple of shots from Blackbird Lane. Have a lovely week all.