It's a Vet's Life: (22 page)

‘Yes, I’ll have the blood test results by then, and I’ll have another look at Cassie to see if she needs to come
in
to go on a drip for a while.’ I’ve taken blood today to test for the rogue gene. If she doesn’t eat or drink overnight, she’s going to need fluids.

As Clive and Edie leave with Cassie, Frances ushers Allie inside. Accompanied by the smell of floral perfume mixed with body odour, she’s wearing a cheap trouser suit with a yellow blouse, and carrying a shoebox filled with hamster bedding. There is no lid, an ominous sign that Harry, formerly known as Harriet, who had a narrow escape from the practice’s waste compressor over a year ago, really is not well this time. He must be at least three years old now, a good age for a golden hamster. Mind you, he’s been well pampered.

‘I know he’s on his way out, Maz, but I wanted to be absolutely sure …’ Allie puts the shoebox on the table and crushes a tissue to her nose. ‘He’s suffering terribly.’ I thought she might be here expecting me to find a cure, but she’s resigned to Harry’s fate. ‘Is there any way you can put him out of his misery?’

‘Let’s take a look at him,’ I say, almost in tears myself. I don’t normally cry for hamsters, but I’ll probably have to make an exception for Harry. He’s been quite a character. Very tentatively, I lift the bedding to reveal the hamster beneath. He’s comatose, but I can’t help imagining that there’s a hint of malice remaining in his expression. His beady black eyes are open and unresponsive, and his mouth wide, gasping for breath.

‘He’s been drinking more recently.’ Allie makes an attempt at black humour, continuing, ‘Mind you, so have I, a bottle of wine a night to help me through what I know is coming.’

‘He’s in a bad way,’ I agree. ‘I think it would be kindest to help him along.’

‘Into the next world, hamster heaven,’ Allie sighs.

‘Yes.’ I toy with the idea of asking her to sign a consent form, but decide I’ve known Allie long enough for there to be no confusion.

‘I’ll take him through and let him have some anaesthetic.’

‘You aren’t going to hurt him, are you, only he’s sooooo small.’

‘We have a small plastic box, he can go in just as he is, in his bed, so there’s no need to disturb him. He’ll breathe in the gas that sends him to sleep so he isn’t aware of the final injection.’ I’m not sure he’s going to need much. He’s pretty well gone already.

‘Can I see him after to say goodbye?’

‘Of course.’

Harry is dead. With a sense of finality and secure in the knowledge that he’ll never try to bite me again, I do what I never dared do in life, run my finger along his back, touching the tiny bones of his spine through the orange-brown fluff. I bring him back to Allie, wrapped in paper towel. He does look peaceful, although I can’t get his eyes to close. Allie strokes him, tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘Thank you, Maz,’ she says eventually. ‘I’m so grateful for how you’ve looked after Harry these past couple of years. I know people don’t understand – it seems as if you are the only person who does – well, he’s more than a hamster to me … he’s my best …’ she utters a strangled wail, ‘… friend. I could tell him everything, and know he’d never tell anyone else. Not because he couldn’t talk, but because he was so loyal, he just wouldn’t have.’

I offer Allie tea and a biscuit before she goes on her way, but she declines. ‘What do I owe you for today?’ she asks.

‘Oh, nothing today.’ I always find it difficult to charge for a dead small furry, or small fury as they’re often called around here, especially as far as Harry is concerned. It seems wrong to break a habit of a lifetime, of Harry’s lifetime anyway. ‘Are you going to take him home?’

‘Oh. Oh? I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to think about it.’ Allie pauses. ‘Is it possible to have him cremated and take his ashes home?’

‘Possible, but expensive.’

‘I don’t mind how much it costs.’

Allie might believe that now, but I’d hate her to rush into a decision she might regret because she’s in shock. She has a family, and I can’t think she earns all that much.

‘Why don’t I hold on to Harry here while you have that cup of tea. You can sit in the staffroom to give you time to collect your thoughts.’

‘I must look a wreck,’ she says.

I gaze at her. ‘You’re in no fit state to drive. Take some time out.’

‘Are you sure, Maz?’

‘It isn’t anything to be embarrassed about. It’s really upsetting losing a pet.’ I think of Ginge – I’m afraid I’ll have to make a decision for him very soon.

‘Even a hamster.’ A flicker of humour crosses Allie’s face. ‘It’s all right. I know you lot think I’m mad.’

There’s nothing I can say to that, so I show Allie to the staffroom, calling for Shannon to make tea if she’s free, and apologising for the untidy state, chasing Tripod off the sofa. It’s odd, but the more staff we have, the less work we seem to get done.

I return to the consulting room to see my next patient, Saba, who is walking again, albeit moving
like
a drunken ballerina. It’s a miracle to me. She’s going to need swimming sessions at the hydrotherapy pool for some months yet, but I’m pleased with her progress. It could have been so much worse. When I’ve sent her and Aurora on their way, I head back to the staffroom where I find Allie still chatting with Shannon.

‘Next time, I’ll have something I can’t get so fond of, like a spider or stick insect.’ Allie cracks a small smile through the tears.

‘Have a chat with Will, our new vet, if you need advice on choosing an exotic,’ Shannon says. ‘He keeps snakes, geckos and tree frogs. They aren’t very cuddly though.’

‘Thanks for the tea, Shannon,’ Allie says. ‘The talk has really helped. Maz, I’m going to plant a rose in the garden to remember Harry by.’

I wonder if we should send Shannon on a bereavement counselling course. She seems to be good at it.

A few days later and Cassie’s result comes through. It’s positive. Clive brings her back because he’s worried about her. I admit her, take blood, hand it over to Izzy and set up a drip. Cassie purrs the whole time. It isn’t a healthy, happy purr, but the desperate purr of a sick cat.

‘It isn’t fair, is it,’ I say, stroking her head.

‘What about the kittens? They still have those, or …’ Izzy hesitates.

‘There’s a fifty-fifty chance the kittens will have it too.’ I pause. ‘Where do you want her?’

‘I thought she might be happier in Isolation under the stairs. It’s quiet there. Do you want me to feed her later?’

‘You can try her with a little convalescent diet if she doesn’t throw up again beforehand.’

‘Will do.’

We settle Cassie in, and later I call Clive to update him on her condition and give him the latest blood results.

‘Her kidneys aren’t working so well.’

‘She’s worse then? Oh, I knew she was worse. I didn’t need the blood test to tell me that.’

‘I know. It gives us a guide though. It means we can compare any future deterioration …’ My voice trails off. What’s the point? I’m not so different from Will. I did the blood test because I wanted to be seen to be doing something, but couldn’t think of what else to do.

‘She’s feeling rough, isn’t she?’

‘She’s feeling sick because of the toxins building up in her body.’

‘Cheryl didn’t say anything when we bought her, Maz,’ Clive begins. ‘It isn’t the money, it’s the principle of the thing. Breeding sick cats and selling them to people like us. It isn’t right.’ He pauses. ‘She would have known about this condition, wouldn’t she?’

‘I’m sure she’s heard of it. She might not have thought about the possibility of it affecting her cats though. There are lots of responsible breeders who are already eliminating it from their breed-lines.’

‘I wish we’d done more research, but we thought, she’s local, and we hadn’t heard of anyone who’d had a problem with her cats. The cattery was nice, clean and tidy, and she had the kittens in the house. We should have spoken to you first, shouldn’t we, but Edie saw the ad, and we went to have a look and then we couldn’t resist … So, what are her chances of coming home?’ Clive asks eventually.

‘I don’t know. If she doesn’t pick up on the drip, we’ll have to think about how long it’s fair to prolong her life. If she was a human, she’d be having regular dialysis and be on a waiting list for a transplant. Listen, Clive, I’ll call you if there’s any change in her condition tonight. If not, call tomorrow after we’ve done the ward round at about nine.’

The next morning, I join Will in Kennels to check on the inpatients.

‘This is the renal failure cat?’ Will checks Cassie’s ID, as he carries her through from Isolation.

‘No.’ Izzy glares at him. ‘She isn’t. And don’t say, righty-oh, it’s a good job I checked then, because I don’t mean it like that. She is called Cassie, and she’s a patient with renal failure, not a disease as such.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Will stares, his forehead like a ruckled drape. ‘It’s what we did at vet school.’

‘It’s disrespectful,’ Izzy continues, then, noticing me glaring at her, she softens her attitude. She wants the best for the animals. ‘I’m not saying you have to kiss them, like Maz does, but our patients respond to kindness. It’s about holistic nursing, looking at the whole patient.’ She shrugs. ‘You’re a vet though. It’s different for nurses.’

Will puts Cassie on the prep bench and we look at her together.

She looks brighter and hasn’t been sick, so I suggest we try her with some liquid food. ‘If she keeps it down, we could see how she does without the drip now she’s rehydrated.’

‘Shouldn’t we leave her on fluids for longer?’ Will asks, hinting that he would.

‘We could, but if she can’t maintain her fluid intake by herself, she isn’t going to survive at home. I’m
reluctant
to prolong everyone’s suffering – Cassie’s and her owners’. Cassie’s a stressy cat anyway – it’s better she’s in her own environment than here. In fact, if we can, I’d like to get her back to them by tonight.’ According to Clive, the kittens are taking a little solid food mixed with cat milk replacement formula, but I’d prefer them to have their mother back as soon as possible so she can continue nursing them.

‘Shouldn’t we run more bloods this morning?’ Will says.

‘How much will that cost the client, and will it tell us anything useful that means we’ll alter the management of Cassie’s case? In a perfect world, we would, but, as you know, this is far from a perfect world.’ I go on, when Will doesn’t respond. ‘Clive and Edie aren’t made of money, and Emma and I aren’t into profiteering from other people’s misfortunes.’

‘It’s their choice,’ Will argues. ‘I give them the information. They decide how far they want to go. I expect you’re going to have a go at me now for referring that spaniel – I mean, Jack – for an MRI.’

‘That’s expensive,’ I say. ‘Is it going to help the patient?’

‘Yes, because if he does have a brain tumour, he can have surgery. He’ll have a chance.’

‘This is all hypothetical, but what’s the point in putting the dog through that, only to find it’s a malignant tumour and it’s already spread?’

‘Have you always been such a pessimist?’

Will’s question makes me stop and think. I suppose I did used to expect positive outcomes for the majority of my patients. Am I becoming overly cynical, or am I feeling this way because I’m overtired and over-wrought?

‘We’ll see what happens to Jack, shall we?’ I try to think of something to cheer Will up after Izzy’s criticism and my reality check, and recall seeing him spattered with liquid barium not long ago. He managed to get more over himself than inside the patient.

‘So, how’s that Labradoodle you saw the other week, the one that ate the corn on the cob?’

‘It –’ Will turns to Izzy – ‘I mean, Toby, is doing well. He’s back to his normal self after the operation, although he’s not allowed to eat everything he comes across now. He has a muzzle to stop him scavenging when he’s out and about.’ Will smiles. ‘They call him the Dyson at home.’

That’s better, I think. Will seems happier. In this job, you have to laugh as much as you can, otherwise – I glance at poor Cassie, at the haunted expression on her face – you’d break down and cry.

‘Maz, Cheryl Thorne is in Reception,’ Frances interrupts. ‘I’ve asked her to come back after morning surgery yet she won’t budge. You know I’m not easily defeated, but she insists on seeing you now.’

‘Thanks for trying, Frances.’ I sigh out loud. ‘That’s all I need.’

‘Cheryl runs the Copper Kettle,’ Izzy explains to Will. ‘She breeds Persians, and Cassie’s one of hers.’

‘I really don’t want to have anything to do with her,’ I say, but I’m guessing that this confrontation is inevitable. Clive must have spoken to her. ‘Is there anyone else waiting?’

‘Mrs Dyer with Nero to see Izzy for a weigh-in, and Mr Brown with Pippin to see Will.’

‘All right then. Show Cheryl into the consulting room and I’ll see her first. Izzy, I’d like you in with us.’

‘What, like a witness?’ says Izzy.

‘Yes, otherwise it’s her word against mine.’

In the consulting room, Izzy stands beside me. Cheryl stands opposite, at the other side of the table. Her earrings, black cats, tremble at the sides of her neck. Her ultra-short fringe stands upright like the fur on a cat’s back. She’s quivering, ready to pounce.