“Mrs Smitherington, I’m sorry, but I think you must be confused about what happened. I definitely recommended that Josephine have a heartworm test, and I recorded that recommendation on Josephine’s card at the time. And, I’m sorry, but you told me that you didn’t want to have the test done.”
“Do you know what my husband would do if he heard you accuse me of lying like that? Look here, my girl, I don’t like your attitude. My dog is dead because of you, and I intend to report you to the Veterinary Board. Believe me, you haven’t heard the last of this. You know, I really think you people don’t care about animals at all.”
With that, the woman marched out of the clinic.
Sally was stunned. She couldn’t believe how the woman had lied – so very blatantly – just to soothe her own conscience, and that the woman would then tell the same lie to the Veterinary Board. Could she really do that? At least everything would probably be okay, since Sally had gone to the trouble to write down on the card, three months ago, when she had first seen Mrs Smitherington, that she had been offered the test and declined it. It was absurd to blame Sally for the dog’s death. Would the Veterinary Board listen to such an outrageous claim? Surely not, thought Sally, but the stories she had heard about what had happened to some of her older colleagues still frightened her.
What really got Sally down was not so much the threat of being brought before the Board, but the accusation, yet again, that she did not care about animals. That really hurt Sally. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried to provide the best possible standard of service for clients and their animals, there were always plenty of people ready to tell her that she didn’t really give a damn. Some of those people were ready to try to hurt her career, or even destroy it, for no good reason at all. Sally felt very alone.
Sally hid her hurt behind anger when she returned to the office and spoke to Heather about it. “Bloody woman! She’s lying, Heather. She is actually lying. Stupid woman. I just can’t believe it.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sally. She’s just a nutter.”
“Yeah, I know.” But, secretly, Sally did worry. She couldn’t help worrying, and she couldn’t take any more of this kind of pressure. Just one more bad thing, she felt, would snap her in two.
Chapter 13
Michael had never imagined people could be so vindictive to someone like Sally, someone who was obviously a good person and, for that matter, a capable veterinary surgeon. He came across another diary entry concerning the same case, the same Mrs Smitherington.
Monday, 8 January, 1996
Dear Diary,
Today I got a formal letter from the Veterinary Board, telling me that I am under investigation. I feel betrayed by my own profession. It feels like no one cares, like everyone is against me. I feel so alone ...
The young nurse, Michelle, had said it cheerfully. “Hey, Sally. There’s a letter here for you. You want me to open it?”
Sally was scrubbing up for surgery. “Who is it from?”
“Ah, it says: The Veterinary Board.”
“Sure. Open it up. It’s probably just the newsletter.”
Michelle ripped open the envelope.
Sally could see it was a typed letter. “Well, what does it say?”
“It says: Dear Dr Johanssen, This is to inform you that the Board has received written complaint from Mrs Gale Smitherington concerning your alleged failure, in September of last year, to recommend heartworm testing for her English Setter, Josephine, which dog has recently died of heartworm disease.”
Sally felt a wave of nausea. She stopped scrubbing her hands and stood motionless by the steel trough, letting the water run. “What?”
“It says: Given that the Board has also received two further verbal complaints against you in the last seven months, the first from Mrs Anna Polanski, alleging that you forced her to have her sixteen-year-old Siamese cat, Chang, put down against her expressed wishes, and the second from a solicitor acting on behalf of Ms Amanda Richardson, alleging that her German Shepherd, Cleo, died while under anaesthetic for a desexing operation, the Board views the current matter most seriously. Although in the latter two cases, the owners elected not to lodge written complaints, the written complaint of Mrs Smitherington must now be investigated in full, and particularly her allegation that you accused her of lying when she recently came to discuss the matter with you personally. The Board views these charges as highly serious ...”
Sally broke in. “Oh, for God’s sake. I don’t believe it.”
“That’s what it says,” Michelle replied apologetically.
“I just don’t believe it! Mrs Smitherington’s lying. She’s lying to the Board! Doesn’t she realise what that can do to a person’s career?”
Michelle didn’t know what to say. She shrugged her shoulders.
“And Mrs Polanski did give me permission to put her cat to sleep. I explained very carefully that I wasn’t going to put her cat down against her wishes, that it was up to her to decide. She’s lying, too.” Sally was angry, but she was gravely worried. The thought of being brought before the Board terrified her. She was a vet, a young vet, not a lawyer. She had little or no money for legal fees, and she didn’t have the vaguest idea how to defend herself, other than telling the truth and hoping the Board might believe her. But with two people lying, both since they could not cope with their own grief and needed to blame the vet, it was their word against hers.
Michelle spoke up. “I heard about the German Shepherd dying. Heather told me all about it. It was a heart attack. It wasn’t your fault.”
Sally started scrubbing her hands again. She still had to get on with the day’s surgery. “I know, Michelle. I know. But I feel sick.”
“You want me to make you a cup of tea?”
“Thanks, Michelle. But I’d better do this dog spay, first.”
“Okay, Sally.”
Sally walked through to the operating room and dried her hands on a sterile towel. As she put on her surgical gloves, picked up a scalpel blade, and made a careful, two-inch incision on the belly of the anaesthetised Cocker Spaniel, she told herself that it would be all right, that it would all work out for the best.
But somehow, she couldn’t believe that it would.
Sally dreaded having to discuss the matter with Kellerman, for she knew he would be far from supportive. As far as Kellerman was concerned, the client was always right, and if it came down to it, he would simply get rid of one expendable, employed vet and replace her with another. Sally would have to sink or swim on her own, without any help from Kellerman or from anyone else. She felt very, very alone.
It was getting harder and harder to convince herself that this really was her dream come true, that the five long years of appallingly hard study had been worth it, that this was the happy life she had always imagined being a vet would be. She didn’t feel happy at all. She felt like she was just desperately trying to get through the days, through the stress, through the feeling of having to cope with everything completely alone and without support. She had even nearly been raped. She had lost count of the number of times clients had told her she really didn’t give a damn about animals but was just in it for the money. She thought of her rusty car and wondered if any of those people realised that half of them made more money than she did.
But being a vet was the one thing which was going to save Sally’s broken life and put it together again, or so she had always thought. Being a vet was her childhood dream, the brave future that was going to pull her out of the dark misery of her early days, out of the loveless home she grew up in, the one thing that was going to repair the bruises and fractures in the her soul from Karl Johanssen’s ruthless beatings and take her to a better life. Yet Sally still felt like she was being beaten. The anaesthetic death, the clients that told her she didn’t care, Kellerman’s indifference to her welfare, the clients that were lying to try to sink her career, and, finally, the sickening, frightening letter from the Vet Board, each of these things was jus
t another blow, another indictment saying that Sally was just not good enough, that she deserved to suffer. To Sally, it was as if Karl Johanssen was reaching out of his grave and cursing her, as if she would never escape his cruelty as long as she lived. It was getting harder and harder for Sally to believe she was living a dream come true, to believe that it was all worth it.
Sally Johanssen was losing her faith in life. She was beginning to wonder if anything was worth all this. There seemed no end to her loneliness, and no support to which she could turn. Yes, she could talk to Ruth, but she was ashamed, deeply ashamed, at the thought that she might have to admit to Ruth that she was a quitter, after all, that she didn’t have what it took to be a successful vet, that she was just a failure. She couldn’t bear the thought of admitting all that to Ruth. The more she thought about it, the sadder Sally became. Her dreams were all broken.
But Sally would not give up. She would not leave. She would not fail to face up to what she saw as her responsibilities to do the best that she could. She would fight to save her dream. She would fight to make it come true. These were the thoughts that went through her mind, as she operated on the Cocker Spaniel. Somehow, she would make it all work.
When Kellerman dropped into the practice later that afternoon, he called Sally into the office and closed the door. It looked like he wanted to discuss something serious.
Sally decided she had better speak first. “Thomas, I had a letter from the Vet Board today. You’d better have a look at it.”
Kellerman took the letter and read it through, without a word. Finally, he looked up. “Well, we all get these letters,” he said cheerlessly. “Just be sure to let me know how it turns out.”
This was hardly a vote of support, Sally thought. Kellerman clearly wanted to distance himself from the matter. “Right. Sure.”
“Sally, I need to talk to you about a few things. First of all, your client-average. I’ve been going over the books and things could be better. You must make sure that you get the average bill up to a decent amount. The accountant has been giving me hell.”
“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of surgery, and that puts our average up, but there’s not much I can do with a simple consultation. It’s just a consultation fee, plus drugs. That might be forty or fifty dollars in a simple case, maybe less. If it’s something complicated it can be a lot more, but it depends on the case. I’m certainly not going to overcharge people.”
Kellerman looked offended. “I’m not suggesting that you overcharge, Sally. But you must make sure you look for extras. Are you making sure that everyone buys worm tablets? What about shampoos? Flea control products? You have to sell, Sally. Sell! Book them in to have a teeth clean done under anaesthetic. It’s not that hard, really. You must be sure that you’re not underservicing. People want the full treatment, you know. I want you to get the average bill up to at least one hundred dollars. No excuses.”
Sally hated Kellerman’s slick doubletalk. He was almost asking her to overservice the clients, and yet he did it by accusing her of not taking proper care of them. Kellerman wasn’t really talking about service at all. He was just talking about dollars. “Well, Thomas, most of our profit comes from surgery, not from selling worm tablets. And I’ve been very busy with surgery. The figures are good.”
Kellerman was condescending. “Just remember, Sally, academic vets are a dime a dozen. What matters in business is the bottom line. And, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“No more charity work. Heather tells me that you treated a couple of stray dogs, one that had been in a dog fight, and one that had been hit by a car. Is that true?”
“Well, yes. I did. And then we rehomed the dogs. And the new owners are clients of ours, now. Those dogs would have been put to sleep otherwise.”
“Hmmm.” Kellerman was unimpressed. “This isn’t a charity. It’s a business. And I want no more charity work done at this practice. If an injured dog doesn’t have an owner, you may give it a painkiller and keep it in hospital for a couple of days. If no owner turns up, then send the dog to the pound. If it’s badly in pain, euthanase it. But I’ll have no charity surgery being done on clinic time. Is that clear?”
“But we weren’t doing anything else. Those stray dogs came in on quiet days. It didn’t cost us anything much, and the staff weren’t busy, anyway. The new owners even paid a small fee for the dogs.”
Kellerman held up his hand. “That’s enough of that, Sally. No charity work. This isn’t the RSPCA. I know you mean well, but we simply can’t afford that kind of thing. You’re new to practice, and you don’t understand the economic realities yet. Trust me. It’s a mistake.”
Sally knew it was pointless arguing, but she was annoyed. “All right, Thomas. No more charity work. Is there anything else?”
“Yes.” Kellerman was angered by Sally’s impertinent tone. “You haven’t been doing too badly so far, but let me tell you that I’ll be watching your client-average very closely. Remember, one hundred dollars and not a penny less. And not one charity case, you understand. Not one. You know, I pride myself on treating my employees well, Sally, but with this letter of complaint against you from the Veterinary Board, I can’t say that your job is secure. On the other hand, if you can get that average up, then there might be a raise in it for you, next month. I was thinking it was about time we put your salary up. You’ve been here nearly a year, after all. There’s a big raise in it for you, to twenty-five thousand, if you can meet that goal, Sally. So, let’s see what you can do, all right?”
“All right, Thomas.” Sally was equally unimpressed.
“Good,” said Kellerman. “Well, I’ve got to take the wife to lunch. I’ll let you get back to work. I see you still have quite a bit of surgery to do. Just think about what I said, okay?”
After Kellerman had left, Sally thought about it and concluded that she didn’t agree with one word of what Kellerman had to say. But jobs were hard to come by, and some of her classmates were still unemployed, so she would simply have to put up with him.
It was one more nail in the coffin of her childhood dream. Sally wondered what had happened to that dream, the dream that used to keep her going when her parents fought, when she would be lying, crying and bruised, in her bedroom after Karl Johanssen had finished beating her. It was the dream of a better life that she held onto when everything seemed hopeless. Sally finished work at seven-thirty that night and went into her little flat, bitterly disappointed with her life.
She was asleep by ten.
It was eleven when the after-hours phone rang. A cat had been run over by a car, said a man’s voice. Sally switched on her bedside lamp, wrote down the details, then called the man back to confirm his identity and telephone number. Fifteen minutes later, Sally waited inside the locked security screen of the front door of the clinic, as a car pulled up in the parking lot. A large, fat man got out, cradling a cat in his arms, and walked over. Sally peered through the security screen. The man looked genuine. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a jolt of terror as she unlocked the security door and let the man come in. The fear of being attacked would never leave her, after the horrible incident before Christmas. This man, however, was friendly and he was apologetic for getting her out of bed.
Sally treated the cat, sent the man home, and settled the cat down in a hospital cage overnight. The animal would be okay. She was relieved that the after-hours call had gone smoothly and without incident, but she still shivered with fear when she once again lay in bed, trying to get back to sleep. She thought to herself that she just couldn’t do after-hours calls any more, just couldn’t face them any longer, and yet she simply had to do them. There was no alternative. They were a compulsory part of the job. Sally couldn’t sleep at all. She tossed and turned in bed. At three in the morning, she switched on the lamp and wrote in her journal:
I did an after-hours call tonight and now I can’t sleep. I was so afraid of being attacked. I just couldn’t bear to have to unlock the security scre
en. It’s getting worse – I don’t know what to do.
Kellerman doesn’t give a damn. He’s threatening to fire me over the Veterinary Board complaint. But what else am I going to do? I can’t face Ruth, if I lose this job, I just couldn’t face telling her. I should be stronger than this. I should be able to open the door without trembling, I should be able to face the clients that hate me, I should be able to stand up to Kellerman, but all I want is just to do my job. I just want it all to go away. But every time I almost get through, something else horrible happens.
I feel so alone, so terribly alone. All my dreams are broken. This is nothing like what I dreamed being a vet would be. I feel more like I’m a soldier, and I don’t know when the next battle will come, or even what the war is all about, anyway. I feel shellshocked. There is nothing but stress, but still I can’t bear the thought of giving up, of being defeated. I sometimes even wonder if it might be better to be dead, if really someone like me was never meant to do more than struggle. I don’t know. I don’t know any more.
Please let me get through it, somehow.
I wish I could sleep, but I’m too afraid the phone will ring.
Michael put the diary down. He switched off his own bedside lamp. Just as Sally had written in her journal entry, two years before, it was three in the morning on a hot summer night. Michael very dearly wished he could sleep. He wished he could get through his own pain, somehow. But he could not.
Chapter 14
Michael had been staying at Ruth’s house for nearly three months. Things there were much the same as they had always been. Michael and Ruth mostly kept to themselves and gave each other space, neither one wanting to interrupt the other from the quiet thoughts that occupied their days. Memories were everything, to both of them. Memories of happier times, memories of things which could never be retrieved.
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