Euthanasia & Granny-Panties – A Winning “Pair”?

yeah wishful thinking that my ass is this small anyway

Remember how in previous posts I have mused about how interesting it is that the brain works in such mysterious ways sometimes?  I may have deleted the main post that I am referencing, but the gist of it was that I just find it flat out fascinating that right in the midst of tough/shitty/horrible/emotionally draining/difficult situations the brain (well, MY brain at least) will focus on the most mundane of details.  The example from the previous post was that while I was in the lawyer’s office signing divorce papers, all I could think about was how cheap the lamps were, how annoying it was that one of the lightbulbs was out, how the rug was wrinkled up, how ugly the receptionist’s shirt was, etc., etc…  I literally thought about ANYTHING but the situation at hand. 

Well, I did it again.  Not got divorced, or mentally slammed the lawyer’s office, or anything like that, but just two days ago I again found myself in a tough situation and upon reflection after the fact, I wondered, “why the hell was I thinking about THAT?!” 

Allow me to explain.  I went to work on Friday knowing that we were going to be short-staffed.  Somehow the schedule got screwy and one of the vet techs that usually works on Friday mornings was scheduled to be off.  We had a full day of appointments, plus a fairly involved surgery, so I knew already that we were  going to be backed up.  Well then the other vet tech (the one who was scheduled to work) called in sick.  So SURPRISE!  Guess who gets to be impromptu vet tech for the day?!  That’s right – ME!  It actually was okay and (other than being completely and blindly thrown in to a “trial by fire” situation and worrying that I would really screw something up) I was really pretty glad that it happened, because I love being more hands on with the animals, and I definitely want to get the experience. 

So the day was clipping along and things were actually going pretty smoothly.  I learned the proper way to restrain everything from a 120 lb. (and quite ornery) Husky named Orion, to a hissing pile of teeth and claws named “Big Al”.  (Sidenote:  The scariest moment of the day was opening the lid of the cat carrier and knowing that I had to reach my hand into the dark abyss from whence the most ungodly and ferocious sounds were emanating.  I’m not sure, but I think that at that particular moment I would have rather reached into my garbage disposal.  Truly terrifying.)  I also learned how to draw blood from the jugular (no, Big Al didn’t teach me – thank GOD), how to insert an IV catheter, and how to get a fecal sample (yes, it’s as gross as you think).  All in all, a very productive and educational day.  Five o’clock rolled around and I was mentally planning dinner and walking around with a well earned sense of self-accomplishment.  Only one tiny hour until I could go home, put my feet up, have a nice glass (or bottle) of wine, and know that I would get a goooooood night’s sleep!  Then I heard it.  BING-BONG.  Noooooooo – who could this  be?!  We don’t usually have walk-ins after 5:00 p.m.!!!  WTF?!  A few seconds later the receptionist comes back to tell me that Mr. & Mrs. Carson are in exam room four with Boots (a thirteen year old lab mix) and, “They think it’s time.”  UMMMMM excuse me WHAT?  “Time” for WHAT?  Surely not.  So I pull up their chart on the computer in the back.  Alllllll of the dinner dreams, self-accomplishment, and sugarplums that were dancing in my head evaporated in a millisecond.  Boots had been diagnosed with cancer two years ago and truth be told, it probably should have been “time” long ago.  Well fuck me.  I hang my head and pick up Boots’ chart knowing that the only thing left to do is head to exam four to face the Mr. & Mrs. 

When I opened the door the first thing that I saw was a tear in Mr. Carson’s eye.  Well, if a grown man crying over his beloved pet doesn’t just rip your heart out, then you should jerk the wheel into a bridge embankment, because you don’t have a soul.  Then I looked down and saw sweet little Bootsy Baby.  Even though it was easy to see that she was in agony, she had the most precious face – tear-stained little places under her eyes, her nose was running, and she was panting like crazy, but still when she looked up at me she wagged her little tail.  Must.  Not.  Cry.  So I had to stand there and talk to the Mr. & Mrs. about what was going on, how Boots had been doing, what their thoughts were – all just prolonging the inevitable it seemed, but “getting the patient’s history” is part of the job, so I had to do it.  After a few minutes, I went to get the doctor.  She talked to them for a few minutes and then came out and informed me that they had made the decision to put Boots to sleep and that they wanted to stay with her until the end.  I then had to go back in there, knowing that in ten minutes the sweet panting face by my feet would be gone, and get payment from these poor people.  “Hi, I know you’ve essentially just made the decision to kill a member of your family, but umm HAND OVER THE CASH, cry baby!”  I’m sure that whatever I said was much more tactful and kind than that, but that’s sure how it felt.  So once all that was done, the doctor told me the correct way to carry out the procedure (with as much dignity as possible, of course), she drew up the big pink shot, and we headed back into the room. 

Apparently the shot works pretty quickly, but takes a long time to inject because it is so thick.  So, my job was to basically half bend/half lay over Boots, hold her head in one arm (basically a bear hug) and hold her left paw forward and steady for the shot.  Then, once the shot takes effect I was to lay her over on her side and let her go.  Mind you, I am almost crying just as the doctor is explaining all of this to me – I am positively about to have a panic attack at the idea that I might bust into the waterworks in front of the owners.  I mean, they have NO IDEA that I’ve never done this before.  Nor would they give a rat’s ass if I somehow messed it up!  Talk about pressure.  So the way it worked out once we got in the room was that Boots was facing away from the owners, which meant that my back was to them as well.  I got into position – half bent over, with Boots in a bear-hug – and saw the needle go in.  From that moment on, this is what went on in my mind:

“Oh my God this is bad.  Unbelievable.  I mean this is really bad.  WHY didn’t I do laundry before today?!  How friggin’ stupid was that?!  I mean REALLY I just haaaaaaad to wear these underware?!  On THIS day?!  Here I am with my ass pretty much in these people’s faces and I know they can see my granny panties sticking out of the top of my pants.  I just know it.  They are probably thinking, ‘Wheeeeew-wie!  Sexy there GRANDMA – what are you?  27 or 72?!  HA – and what the hell are those?  White cotton briefs?!  LOOK OUT – Hot Momma comin’ through!  Haaa ha ha ha.  What a dork’.  But wait – wait just a second!  Their dog is dying right here in front of them.  They don’t give a shit about my undies!…..  Do they?  Well hell, maybe they do.  Maybe they are both looking and maybe they are thinking, ‘why the hell is such a young girl wearing underware like that?’ and then maybe later they’ll think, ‘how weird that our dog was being put to sleep and all we could think about was how ugly that girl’s underware were!”  If that is the case then these granny-panties have served their purpose!  Hey if they DID think that later, that would be just like that time I was in the lawyer’s office and MY mind started to wander to all those crazy things.  HA!  The human brain is so weird.  I’ll have to blog about this….” 

“She’s gone.”  The words from the doctor’s mouth broke me out of my strange rambling inappropriate undies train of thought, and I layed Boots over on her side.  Once again, I had successfully avoided crying because my mind did it’s own bizarre thing.  Don’t get me wrong – I definitely knew what was going on.  I could feel Bootsy getting heavier and sleepier in my arms.  I could see when the doctor put the stethescope to her chest.  I could feel when she stopped breathing.  And it was sad.  It was SO sad.  I really just think that by some genius design, the body knows when you are about to get emotional overload and just goes into a rambling trance sort of mode.  Well again, MY mind does that anyway.  I do think that it catches up with you and you have to let it out at some point though.  So far I’ve been okay with this one though.  There’s the self-accomplishment and sugarplums dancing in my head again!  Guess I’m tougher than I realized!  Maybe this one won’t catch up with me after all! 

Well, wait.  Wait just one sec.  On second thought, I wonder if sobbing hysterically in the middle of the Publix deli that night really was because they were out of Boar’s Head turkey?…