One of the difficult things about working in a veterinary clinic is watching other people loose their pets. You can’t not help be affected by it.
People who love their pets and bring them in and find horrible diagnosis’ are always hard. You fight with them and support them in all their decisions because you’ve known them for a long time. You know their pets are loved and they are doing the best thing for them.
Other times disasters happen and emergencies walk in. Sometimes you know these people. Sometimes you don’t.
I remember one evening as we were closing up, a man came in. He had been in before but not often. His dog wasn’t old. Generally it was healthy. He had just gotten home from a trip and picked the dog up at the kennel. It wouldn’t stop seizing. He came right over.
We got him into the clinic, helping him carry this large doberman into the back. I worked the front so I waited there, cleaning and getting things ready for the morning, hoping for good news. He waited up front hoping for good news.
Our doctor came out and talked to him. Nothing we had done in the intervention had stopped the seizing. She couldn’t give more without risking the dogs life. He had been seizing for half an hour at this point and given that we couldn’t interrupt the problem, the prognosis wasn’t good. Seizures become more serious the longer they gone, with the potential to damage more and more brain cells.
She explained all of this to him and he agreed it was for the best to have his dog euthanized. He signed the papers.
Because it was an emergency, our doctor hadn’t filled out all the paperwork for billing so he and I had to wait once again. I waited, again preparing for morning and doing some light cleanup around the desk.
He waited sitting in the front office with his head down. One of the techs brought out the collar and leash his dog had on him when he was brought in. I remember the man holding it in his hands, his knuckles white. He was big man and perhaps 50 or 55. He was there alone. The pressure on the collar as he grasp that, squeezing the life out of that piece of cloth said more about the pain he was in than any tear.
Paying the bill, he did so without speaking much and didn’t meet my eyes. I had worked in the office long enough to know that to have offered sympathy would have broken through all his defenses and frustrated him. He didn’t want anyone to see his pain. His world was one where men don’t cry.
To this day I hope that he had a wife to go home to or someone he could talk to about what had happened. I really hope he didn’t go home to a lonely house, made even more lonely by the surprise loss. He had come home from a wonderful trip only to find sorrow. We never saw this man again but his hands haunt me.




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