All Dogs Go to Kevin: Everything Three Dogs Taught Me (That I Didn't Learn in Veterinary School) by Jessica Vogelsang

Author:Jessica Vogelsang [Vogelsang, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs, Pets / General, Pets / Essays & Narratives, General, Essays & Narratives, Personal Memoirs, Pets, Biography & Autobiography
ISBN: 9781455554928
Google: 6qgpBQAAQBAJ
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2015-07-14T21:03:24+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Over the next few months, it became evident to even my most oblivious clients and colleagues that I was pregnant. The nausea toned down, fortunately, but my expanding midsection, no longer confined by the buttons on my lab coat, gave me away. Used to bellying up to the exam room table to get close to my patient, I found myself trying to work awkwardly from a distance, folding over the belly that was now standing between myself and my charge. I suspect I resembled the robot from Lost in Space as I flailed with an otoscope in the general direction of the animal’s ear.

It wasn’t so hard in the exam rooms, as I had both technicians and the owners to help me improvise ways to manage. In the beginning I could gracelessly squat down and wedge my stomach under the table. Sitting on the ground was sometimes helpful, especially with large dogs. Getting up, not always so easy, but I managed with a helping hand and a few solid “oh, that’s my back” grunts. I felt less like a fecund earth goddess and more like a prize steer, herded and roped and prodded into position in the chute.

Surgery was the biggest challenge. Our office, ever vigilant in OSHA compliance, furnished me with a gas mask suitable for chemical warfare to wear during surgery so my fetus wouldn’t develop a third arm under the influence of errant sevoflurane fumes. The mask was stifling, exacerbating the light-headedness I already felt when I stood for long periods.

“Do I have to wear the mask at work?” I asked my silver-haired obstetrician, who scoffed before launching into another story beginning with “In my day…” Neither anesthesia fumes, which were well contained by the technology we used, nor other pregnant lady concerns like cat litter and toxoplasmosis, concerned him.

I knew on an intellectual level that toxoplasma was unlikely to be a problem for me, and I had no intention of getting rid of Apollo. Regardless, I was a paranoid first timer and asked the OB to order a toxoplasma titer anyway, just to see if I had been exposed.

“I’m sure you’ve been exposed already,” he told me airily. “Stop reading the Internet. Change the litter. Eat some Brie. Have an occasional glass of wine in the third trimester.” I relayed all of this dutifully to Brian, all except the cat litter part, which I let him change the entire ten months and a few months after. Can’t be too careful.

“What are you doing?” asked Dr. Joff the first time he saw me doing a spay in a normal surgical mask. “Where’s your fumigator mask?”

“My OB said I didn’t need to wear it,” I said, tying a knot.

“Well, our policies say you do,” he asserted.

“I can’t breathe in it!” I pleaded. “Try it on. You’ll see.”

He wouldn’t budge. Rules were rules, he said. “You don’t really want a two-headed kid anyway, right? Heh heh.”

The number of minutes in which I could complete a surgery, which had

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