Oy Vey....

Today started just like any other day - woke up, got outta bed, dragged a comb across my head (doodadoodadoodadoodadooda)...found my way downstairs and had a cup, and looking up, I noticed I was late (hahahahaha). Found my coat and grabbed my hat, made the bus in seconds flat. Made my way upstairs and had a smoke, and somebody spoke and I went into a dream.....AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHLALALAAAAAAAAAALALALAAAAAAAA

Oh wait, sorry, that's a Beatles Song. If you are not familiar with the Beatles, you probably figured something was off when you read the bit about the comb.

So anyway, today started normal enough. Until we stepped foot into work.

I walk in the door and am greeted by one of the receptionists telling me that a vomitting dog I saw yesterday was back and basically so weak it couldn't walk. An 85 lb labrador. Great.

Once I carried him into the office and wiped the sweat from my brow, it became obvious that something was amiss (or, as Janja Weed would say, SUM TING WONG). I xrayed him and it looked like a corn cob was in his colon. Usually stuff in the colon is not a problem, it often passes. So we put him on some fluids, gave him some barium in his mouth, gave him an enema, and some medicine and waited to see how it went.

After morning appointments, I went to the gym and lifted weights til my muscles refused to work, then drove back to work.

At this point, the dog hadn't improved. He hadn't vomitted but oddly didn't pass the corn cob. So we re-xrayed him and it became apparent that the cob wasn't in the colon at all, and the dog was truly obstructed. Shit.

I told the owner the news, and told her that the dog needed an exploratory surgery immediately to remove this corn cob or the dog could die. She gave me the go-ahead, and seeing as my boss was away on holiday, I took it upon myself to do my first intestinal surgery. YAY!!!!!

Everything was going just peachy when I heard a commotion outside the surgery door - I heard Angela (and a few of our techs) yelling at some asshole dog that they were trying to do a skin scrape on (to check for parasites). The next thing I hear, Angela yells "I cut myself!" and starts crying. Meanwhile I am sterile holding some open intestines and a ratty smelly corncob. Fuck.

Talk about bad timing.

Val (one of our techs) had to drive her to the ER while I finished my surgery. I offered to stitch her up myself, seeing as I was in a surgical mood. She wouldn't let me even LOOK at her finger. Oh well. Probably best, seeing as I hadn't eaten lunch and was starting to go hypoglycemic and shaky.

I finished my surgery, scarfed a Power Bar, called the owner to let them know their dog was waking up, and drove over to the ER. By the time I got there, she was being stitched up - they expressed her thru so there was very little waiting time. I guess they didn't want to have to clean puddles of blood from the waiting room floor.

At this time, the events of the day started catching up to me and I was starting to get very very tired. That and the fact that I had ingested probably 600 calories the whole day which were probably burnt off by 11am probably had something to do with it.

Bottom line: Angela is fine, we didn't have to wait long in the ER. Dog is waking up fine and hopefully should make a full recovery. We ate out at Duke Falcon's and had a yummy brownie for dessert.

So, the day didn't turn out all that bad after all.

Time for "The Real World!" And then sleep....