Vet School Stories

Racetrack Reveries

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / Leave a comment

Along the way to Vet School I shopped several practices, looking for that perfect fit. As a child I had kept cats, dogs, hamsters, fish and a pony and saved my babysitting money towards an opossum. My mother was in charge of the bank book and somehow I never quite reached the amount necessary to buy that ‘possum! I worked at a variety of veterinary practices before and during my years at the UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine. Each practice offered something interesting, each unique. I considered equine practice for awhile.

There was the Racetrack practice. I hailed from Arizona, where we had a Grade B track – no threat to the Kentucky Derby but an endless parade of beautiful and athletic Thoroughbred horses. Later I fell in with the Endurance Group with their Arabian and Morgan horses that could cover endless miles in a day. These were not the Arabians found in the Show Ring. Lean and wiry, they were the equine equivalent to today’s human marathoner. We students volunteered to man the check points, looking for lameness, taking each horses’ pulse, respiration and temperature to judge that they were fit to continue.

And then there was Dr. M. A mountain of a man, standing over 6’4” and weighing in well over 250 pounds, he was a fine Equine practitioner with whom I rode over 3 summer months. I was skinny and insubstantial next to him. I looked very young. I WAS very young. My job as his assistant was to handle the horse. We raised a lot of eyebrows that summer.

We had a routine. Every morning I’d wait in his Large Animal truck, which was outfitted with running water and a refrigerator, ropes, medicines, tubes and twitches, all the trappings of equine practice. Every day his wife sent him off with a protein shake she’d prepared for him. It was a healthy potion, meant to both fortify him and make him lose weight. We would drive around the corner and he’d pull over long enough to open his door and dump the drink out onto a certain mesquite bush. We’d then drive straight to a diner that served substantial portions of ham steak with eggs. He’d chase that with a milkshake to go. Mesquite bushes are tough, but that one didn’t survive those protein shakes.

He took good care of some very fine Arabian horses and I learned a lot. Equine restraint was something I was good at, hampered only occasionally by my lack of weight. Once I’d grabbed onto an ear I didn’t let go. Occasionally I think Dr. M got a charge out of watching client’s faces as he sent me to “bring ‘em up”. These horses were all well trained, but even a well-trained horse protested against needles and examinations on occasion.

The end of summer was coming and soon I would be returning to Vet School. We stopped off at a small stable that had a young colt who had lost weight. The client wanted it dewormed. Back then we didn’t have the oral deworming pastes used today, which clients can administer themselves. We performed “tube worming”. You literally take a length of plastic hose and run it up the horse’s nose, watching it travel down the left side of the esophagus by tracing its route along their neck. Misplaced into the trachea, you could kill a horse by pumping the medication into their lungs instead of their stomach. On this day I had a good grip on the halter and was using my hand as a “twitch” on the ear. The colt started to act up and his owner stepped in, unasked, to assist. She succeeded in pushing me into his rearing head, breaking my nose and spreading a wild spray of blood across all of us. Back in the truck, Dr. M was full of admiration. “You got him! You never let go!” he enthused. I finished my summer with two spectacular black eyes before heading back to Davis for corrective surgery.

Many years have since passed. I traded horses for companion animals and exotics. My nose is still a little crooked. I‘ve never forgotten the lessons learned with Dr. M : Hang on! And avoid protein shakes. Some lessons you just accept at face value.

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Adam’s Rib

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / Leave a comment

So our school held a softball banquet for the team. Parents were asked to provide potluck. We brought ribs. Which somehow reminded a physician friend of her med-school days and the particular anatomy class when one of her classmates suddenly realized that both male and female human beings had the same number of rib bones. Every time. He counted. He was so distraught that he had to leave the classroom. How to account for Adam’s rib?

That story put me in fine mood to remember another story which I read in a sort of can-you-believe–this column written by veterinarians for other veterinarians.

An elderly client was bereft when her cat went missing. After several months passed, she showed up at her vet’s office grinning from ear to ear, delighted to have recovered “Tiger.” The veterinarian exhibited great delicacy and restraint, gently pointing out that this couldn’t be her long lost Tiger, because her cat had been an orange tabby and this one was a black tabby. Her Tiger was an old cat and this cat was much younger, which he could tell by looking at the cat’s teeth. The woman countered his remarks with comments of being in the sun and the dental benefits of hunting mice for a living. Triumphantly, the veterinarian pointed out that this clearly wasn’t Tiger, because Tiger had been neutered and this one was an intact tomcat! His client nodded back at him, flashing a brilliant smile as she indulgently explained what had happened. Tiger had always liked to sleep on top of the television set. (Note: This story is way before “flat screen” TV’s. I suspect it had “tubes” in it and bunny ear antennae for reception, not digital mother boards. The tops of these TVs were broad and flat and warmed up nicely after a little use. Perfect for napping cats.) There was a Christian evangelist she especially enjoyed watching. She suspected that Tiger had never really liked having that neuter surgery done, and she believed his prayers were answered as he lay on top of her TV, listening to the Word of God. So, she shrugged happily, they just regrew.

Like the client who brought their mother dog into me a couple of weeks after a C-section delivery of her puppies. Her pups were doing well and, they assured me, they had been very happy with my services and skillful surgery. But, and here they paused, glancing at each other, but, Doc, you missed a puppy. I was extremely puzzled myself. This was impossible, as after delivering the puppies I had proceeded to perform an ovariohysterectomy, or spay, so had not left any reproductive tissue behind. They plopped their dog on the table and turned her onto her side, revealing a large, engorged and rather angry breast that was inflamed with infection, called mastitis. In size and shape it did look about the size of one of her newborn puppies. They believed that this “puppy” had slipped through the belly button into her breast! Only their sincerity and kindness saved my composure, as I explained what was happening and how glad I was to be able to treat the mastitis, an infection that can quickly turn ugly and is very painful.

I care for pets belonging to people from all walks of life. They come from a variety of faiths. It is humbling to be allowed to be a partner in the caregiving for their beloved pets. I do not presume to explain the myriad mysteries found in daily life. There is an art and a science to medicine. Scientifically, I know that once neutered, a cat stays neutered. I know that wasn’t the original Tiger. But I do believe in miracles. Why not?

Christine McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Freshman

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / Leave a comment

I remember so well my beginnings at Davis. Being accepted to veterinary school was a dream come true. Large parties were held in my honor. My parents bragged. I bragged. I found an apartment in Davis, bought some new clothes, and picked up a set of dishes from the local grocery store with a large quantity of stamps I’d saved (remember those thick china plates you could save up for with stamps from your purchases?). I got a chair from the Salvation Army at an incredible price because it leaned a little to one side when you reclined in it, and I took the formica kitchen table my parents had when they were starting out. Obviously I was ready for vet school. I rented a U-Haul truck and managed to cram everything in and still close the doors. Everything except a car.

My mother, bless her heart, had the perfect solution. She presented me with a bicycle. Now Davis, as you may know, considers itself the Bicycle Capitol of the world. However, I have not been an avid fan of this form of exercise since age 10. But a bicycle it was to be. My mother didn’t understand why I had to have a French-built ten speed when there was a perfectly good used bicycle next door, rescued baskets and all from the Wicked Witch of the West just as she was riding by with Toto (Surely you recall that bicycle?). I can’t remember if I cried or not when I saw it. I was to go forth and conquer the world on THAT? To start my illustrious career on a bicycle that had a seat broad enough for my bottom and a revolting little bell that went ding-ding? My mother made room for it in the U-Haul, shut the doors and waved me off. The woman had a heart of stone.

These meek beginnings did not prevent me from throwing myself into the wonders of veterinary school. One of my first classes was Anatomy. The class spanned most of the first year and went on for hours. When a client comments “But there are so many different animals to learn” I can only give a surly nod. Spend six months minutely dissecting all the differences, then see how you feel. (In veterinary medicine, as elsewhere, everyone has their own opinion. Two years later a teaching surgeon interrupted my gabble of muscle identification during an exploratory to mutter “you can name it and cut it or you can just cut it!” So much for six months of study).

I acquired a cat and then a dog during my first year. I was given a couch. I traded in my mothers bicycle for a ten speed of obscure origin that I rode in one gear anyway, and eventually got a car. It was a good year and a good introduction to a profession that has never disappointed me.

Christine McFadden, DVM
drmc@mcmenagerie.com