Judy and I went on a 14 mile hike in the Arizona desert today. By the time we returned to our truck, it was getting a little cold, and I had a case of the chills. It reminded me of one winter afternoon when I went to check a bunch of cows at a dairy farm in New York. 6 cows had twisted stomachs and needed surgery. It was 20 below zero outside and colder inside the barn.
Each surgery took 45 minutes and I had to strip to the waist to scrub up and operated that way. In between each surgery I pulled my coat on to prep the next cow and regain some body heat. Before I began the last surgery, I went out to my truck and started it up and cranked the heater and blower up to as high as they would go. When I finished and dressed again for the last time, my hands were shaking and my whole body vibrating uncontrollably. The cows were doing fine but the doctor was blue. I climbed into my truck and felt the lovely, delicious, heart and body warming heat blowing over me like the hot sun in July. It felt so good I almost shed a tear.
I think of that day whenever I get chilled and remember my old friend, my truck, with the wonderful heater. It’s amazing the simple things that bring us the greatest and most exhilarating joy. Life doesn’t have to be so complicated, but it is. I returned to the clinic to see a few small animal appointments. I took a short hot shower and then began the appointments. One of them was an 8 ounce chinchilla with a large tumor on his hind leg. I had just operated on six 1500 pound cows and wrestled all day with cows, horses, farmers, and all manner of large animals and now my patient weighed less than a cup of coffee. But the owner loved that little creature with all her heart and that was what brought us together in the exam room.
I had never operated on something so tiny. It needed to have the leg amputated, so general anesthesia was the order of the day. I devised a mask from a plastic syringe cover and made a hole in the bottom into which I could place the tube carrying oxygen blended with gas anesthetic to render the beast unconscious and without pain. We clipped and scrubbed the leg and I chose the smallest uture materials we had and went into surgery. I carefully dissected the muscles of the leg and ligated all the tiny bleeders and removed the leg. I sutured up the muscles covering the bone that was left and then sutured the skin. I shut off the anesthetic so the chinchilla was just on oxygen, and within 5 minutes, it was up and moving around. In an hour it was eating and doing well.
It was the most remarkable thing I had ever done. Such a tiny beating heart about the size of a pea, but valiant in the struggle to live. It is amazing the effect such a tiny creature can have on a human being. They can uplift, strengthen, give purpose to being, save from depression, exhilarate, and bring joy to the troubled heart. It certainly did all of those things for me. As I watched it recover and run around I felt great purpose in my chosen career as I relayed to the owner the remarkable recovery of her beloved pet and watched her shed tears of relief.
Cited from the book Fella, a collection of lifetime memories that reminds readers of the trust animals place in us to be their friends and guardians.