by Gillian Hick
I tried not to think what was happening underneath the cast, which at least hadn’t fallen off yet but was probably concealing a massive wound slough or the beginnings of a gangrenous leg.
When Jed didn’t turn up for our rendezvous the following week, or the week after that, I assumed the worst. I berated myself for my poor judgement in prolonging the pain for both the helpless rabbit and the heartbroken child.
I didn’t know how to react when I saw the battered Honda the week after, though. Either the rabbit was still alive, or Jed had come looking for trouble.
Miraculously, the rabbit looked well as she poked her dainty head out of the top of the box, obviously becoming accustomed to her regular motorbike rides. The tissue above and below the cast seemed fine and there was no obvious smell, but the cast had slipped a little bit.
‘Right,’ I said decisively. ‘Let’s take it off.’
I knew the van wouldn’t arrive for at least another fifteen minutes and removing a cast is a notoriously tedious job. Ignoring my better sense, I opened the passenger door of the car and indicated to Jed, ‘Right so. Hop in!’
Once inside, despite the unusually sweltering weather, we had to close all the windows in case Lucky, who wasn’t quite so manageable in Jed’s hands, escaped. The sweat poured down my face and onto the cast as I alternately cut and sawed at the now-grimy material. Soon the front seat was covered in a fine sprinkling of white powder which could have made our meeting look even more suspicious had anyone cared to notice.
With one side cut open, I could wait no longer. I carefully manipulated the length of the limb and there it was – an admittedly large, but nonetheless supporting callus, indicating that the fracure had healed.
‘It’s looking good,’ I said, trying to restrain my enthusiasm as I glanced up at Jed and tried not to laugh at the rapturous smile that lit up his face. ‘Still, wait until we get the whole lot of it off,’ I cautioned as I carefully peeled the other side off, terrified of re-breaking what would still be a very fragile repair. I gently probed my finger in underneath the other side and was dismayed when I saw the trickle of discharge. I cursed myself for my hopeful prognosis when the tip of my finger ran into a piece of bone, clearly palpable, sticking out though the skin, creating an open wound.
‘No! I’m sorry, Jed. It’s not as good as I thought. Look you can see the open wound here,’ and I pulled off the remaining bandage to reveal a tiny splinter of bone sticking out. But as I examined it, the fragment popped right out, leaving the remaining repair looking almost passable. Clearly, a small fragment had been separated from its blood supply and the healthy tissue had literally spat it out from the otherwise healthy repair.
A quick swab revealed that the remaining tissue was fine and the tiny wound would close over in a matter of days.
‘Well, is she knackered or wha’?’ asked Jed, anxiously studying my face.
‘No. It’s okay. I actually think it’s going to be okay,’ I replied incredulously, carefully manipulating the limb through an admittedly somewhat limited range of motion.
‘It’s fine. Not a bother on her,’ I confirmed, looking with delight at my ecstatic client. ‘With a little bit of light exercise the leg will loosen out. You can tell your little girl that Lucky is going to be as good as new.’
There was no time left as already a curious queue had gathered and appeared to be engrossed at the sight of myself and Jed squashed in my little Opel Corsa, behind steamed-up windows. My face was flushed with heat, and sweat poured off me as I hastily grabbed my clinic coat to pull on over my sweat-soaked T-shirt. My little lady from the first night was standing close by, scandalised at the vision.
‘A young wan, like yerself!’ she retorted, clearly none too pleased.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ I told her sweetly. ‘You see, I just had to take the cast off his daughter’s rabbit. The leg was broken but now it’s as good as new,’ I informed them all, delighted to share the good news.
‘Jed’s daughter!’ she said, her already shrill voice rising a few octaves. ‘Sure, that waster lives around the corner from me. Lived dere all ’is life, more’s de pity. He don’t have no bleedin’ daughter,’ she told me, enjoying the look of shock on my face. ‘Or if he does, it’s not one ’e’s admittin’ to, anyway,’ she stated.
CHAPTER THREE
THREE LITTLE GIRLS AND THEIR DOG
You couldn’t but admire the sleek, glossy-coated Golden Retriever that majestically swept into the consulting room. She paused as she came through the doorway and glanced back to check that the three little girls, accompanied by their frazzled-looking mother, were coming with her. Her shaggy face broke into a wide grin as she plonked herself down on the floor beside me and offered an enormous feathered paw.
‘My name’s Kate and her name’s Gemma and she’s mine,’ explained the youngest of the three. She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old.
‘Is not,’ retorted the next one up, about fifteen centimetres taller. ‘She’s mine.’
‘She’s all of ours, isn’t that right, Mammy?’ demanded the eldest, obviously the peacemaker in the family.
‘That’s right, Sarah. Now, girls, keep quiet or you’ll have to wait outside.’
‘Would you like to bring your sisters to see a rabbit?’ I asked, addressing Sarah.
An excited babble broke out as I called Melissa from the office to take them out the back where a large and friendly rabbit resided. I felt this was the easiest way to keep them quiet.
‘Thanks a million!’ said Teresa, their mother. ‘They have me driven mad all morning.’
‘Don’t worry. That rabbit is worth his weight in gold for this sort of job. He’ll keep them occupied for as long as we need. What’s wrong with Gemma?’
‘It’s probably nothing, but when we got up this morning, there was some vomit on the floor. She didn’t eat her breakfast and she’s normally such a glutton. ‘
‘Right, let’s have a look at her,’ I replied, hauling the gentle giant up onto the consulting table.
Gemma responded with a steady thump of her tail as I examined her. Everything seemed to be in perfect order, apart from a slight tenderness in her abdomen.
‘Any chance she could have got at the dustbin or eaten any of the kids’ toys?’ I inquired as I continued to palpate the abdomen, trying to pinpoint any specific area of tenderness.
‘Well, she’s like a dustbin herself. She’d eat anything, but I don’t think I left any bins out. We’re very careful with her. She has chewed a few of the girls’ toys before, but that was when she was a puppy.’
‘When did she last pass any droppings or would you have noticed?’
Teresa thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. She usually goes down in the bushes at the end of the garden, so I wouldn’t really know.’
‘Not to worry. She’s probably just eaten something that didn’t agree with her. Her temperature is normal and she seems very bright. I’ll give her an injection to stop her vomiting and a muscle relaxant. Don’t give her anything to eat for the rest of the day but let her drink as much of this as she wants,’ I added, handing her a couple of sachets of electrolyte mix.
As though on cue, the three girls trooped back in.
‘His name’s Roger an’ his ears are ’normous,’ announced Kate.
The middle child tugged gently at her mother’s hand. ‘Please, Mammy, could we have him? He’s really cute and I think he likes me.’
‘Now, Mary,’ began Teresa, looking at me in horror.
‘No, girls. I’m afraid Roger has to stay here. But you can come and visit him whenever you want,’ I added, seeing a few tears threatening to brim over.
Teresa shot me a grateful look.
‘Did Gemma eat any of your toys recently?’ I began, rapidly changing the subject.
‘Yeah, she did. She ate my Barbie’s arm and she chewed the ear off my Furby,’ replied Kate, indignantly, hands on hips.
‘Yes, love, but
that was over a year ago,’ reminded Teresa gently.
‘I know that,’ she replied scornfully, ‘but still, I haven’t forgotten, have I, Gemma?’ She shook an admonitory finger at the big dog who didn’t even have the good grace to look remotely guilty.
‘I’m going to give her an injection now to make her better and then you can take her home with you, but I don’t want any of you playing with her today and if you do, make sure you wash your hands afterwards.’
‘It’s purely a precaution,’ I reassured Teresa, ‘but you can’t be too careful with kids just in case there is any infection there.’
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ came a quiet wail from the corner.
‘Now, Mary, don’t worry. I know you hate injections.’
‘Would a sweet help?’ I offered, holding out a jar that proved to be just as invaluable as Roger.
The jar disappeared out my hands as quick as lightning.
Sarah came up to Gemma as I drew up the medication from a vial into the syringe. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll hold your paw for you.’
Gemma braced herself in rigid martyrdom as I gently injected the clear liquid under the skin. ‘I think there’s a bit of the old soldier going on here,’ I said. ‘You’ve that much fat under there you couldn’t possibly have felt a thing.’
Gemma grinned apologetically as I patted her head. Once I had finished with her, she hopped eagerly down off the table with the agility of an animal that looked far from ill.
‘Now, take her home and look after her,’ I said, handing the lead to Sarah.
They trooped out the door, dutifully chorusing their ‘thank yous’.
‘Let me know how she is tomorrow.’
‘I will of course. And thank you so much.’
I didn’t think any further about Gemma and her lively comrades until the phone rang in the surgery the next morning.
‘A Teresa Kenny on the phone for you,’ said Melissa.
‘Teresa, how are you?’ I asked, picking up the phone in the consulting room. ‘And more to the point, how’s Gemma?’
‘Oh I’m fine thanks – well, nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t sort out. I’m not so sure about Gemma, though.’
I was surprised. I had expected that her recovery would have been trouble free.
‘I didn’t give her any food at all yesterday, although she kept following me every time I went into the kitchen. She wasn’t sick either. But then I gave her a little bit of chicken and rice, like you said.’
‘And did she eat that?’ I asked.
‘Oh she did. She wolfed it down. She must have been starving, but about an hour later she got sick again.’
‘And did you notice if she passed any droppings or not?’
‘I kept her in the house all day, so I’m positive that she hasn’t, but still, she hasn’t eaten, so I suppose that’s normal, is it?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Well, it may be, but I’d still rather she’d passed something. How is she in herself? Does she seem to be in good form?’
‘Oh, she’s in great form; still playing with the kids all day. Kate spent the morning trying to ride her up and down the hall,’ exclaimed Teresa.
‘Poor Gemma,’ I laughed. ‘It’s probably nothing serious but I think you should let me have another look at her, just in case. I know you have your hands full, but do you think you could get her down to me?’
‘Of course. That’s no problem. I’d be happier myself if you saw her. I don’t think I could face the kids if anything happened to her.’
‘You’d never be forgiven.’
‘There’s just one other thing. We’re going away camping for the weekend. We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Do you think she’ll be okay by then?’
‘I hope so, but don’t worry. We’ll sort something out if she isn’t fit to travel. We can always keep her in for the weekend if necessary.’
‘Oh could you? That would be great, thanks. The kids have been really looking forward to the trip. I’ll get down to you before lunch anyway.’
When Gemma arrived, she looked as magnificent as ever. After sending the girls off to check on Roger for me, I knelt down on the floor beside her and again palpated the abdomen; it was no better or no worse than the day before. Her temperature was still normal.
‘You’re quite sure she hasn’t passed anything since I saw her last? That would worry me a bit.’
‘No, there’s no way she could have. I brought her out into the garden on a lead a few times and she did a few wees all right, but nothing else. Why, what are you thinking of?’
‘Well, with her still vomiting, it’s possible that she may have an obstruction in her gut. I can’t feel anything very obvious, but she is a little bit tender.’
Teresa’s face paled with anxiety. ‘That would be serious, wouldn’t it?’
‘Well, to be honest, it could be,’ I said. ‘It depends on what’s causing it. Quite often big dogs like Gemma manage to pass all sorts of things without too much trouble.’
‘I really don’t think she could have got at anything. Frank, my husband, and I went through everything last night. There was nothing left lying around.’
‘Well, let’s hope for the best. I’m going to continue on with her other medication and I’ll give her an antibiotic, just in case. I also want you to give her this liquid paraffin at home. Just keep her somewhere that you can clean easily. Sometimes it can make a bit of a mess,’ I warned her.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t care. Once Gemma’s all right.’
I went to call the girls back. They had gone suspiciously quiet. All three stood in the doorway looking innocently at me. There was no sign of Roger.
‘Where is he?’ I asked.
‘Nowhere,’ they replied in unison, gazing angelically at me. I was puzzled until I noticed a slight movement in the pink Barbie bag that appeared to be weighing Kate down. Laughing at their inventiveness, I aborted the kidnap mission, returning the indignant Roger to his hutch.
‘I don’t know what she’ll get up to next,’ said Teresa, raising her eyes to heaven.
I hoped not to hear any more from them but, on the dot of nine the next morning, Teresa was waiting at the front door with Gemma.
‘I left the kids at home packing with Frank. I’m getting really worried about Gemma,’ she blurted out.
Although still standing proudly, Gemma did look a bit subdued.
‘She still hasn’t passed anything,’ she said, anticipating my next question. ‘Most of the time, she’s in good form, but yesterday evening, I thought she was very quiet in herself. Sarah won’t leave her side. She says she doesn’t want to go away without her.’
As before, there was no temperature and despite my deep probing, Gemma didn’t appear to be unduly painful; only a slight flinching of the muscle indicated any potential problem. If you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t have noticed there was anything wrong with her at all.
‘Is she still vomiting?’ I asked Teresa, when I had completed my examination.
‘There was a little bit on the floor this morning, but not as much as before.’
‘And is she drinking a lot?’
‘She’s drinking the electrolyte, all right, but I wouldn’t say any more than usual.’
‘What I’d really love to do is to take some radiographs,’ I confided in Teresa, ‘but our x-ray machine has been giving problems and has been taken away to be serviced. We won’t have it back for at least two weeks. It’s probably best if I refer you to one of the other practices. I’m sure they’d be happy to take her.’
Teresa didn’t hesitate as she shook her head. ‘Thanks, but no. I’d rather you dealt with her yourself.’
Although I was pleased with her confidence in me, I might have been more relieved if she had taken me up on the offer.
‘Do you think you’ll have to operate on her? I’m terrified she might not survive. I know the kids won’t want to go away if they hear she’s having an operation. We’ve been looking forward to this h
oliday for so long.’
I could well believe her. With her pale complexion and the bags under her eyes, she looked like she could do with a break, although I wasn’t sure if camping with the lively trio would be much of a rest.
I hesitated. ‘Let’s give her one more day. Without a radiograph, our only option is to do an exploratory laparotomy, to actually open her up and see what’s going on. But it’s a big operation to put her through and she’s not really sick enough to justify that at this stage.’
Teresa looked relieved. ‘Whatever you think is best yourself.’
‘Just go off and try to enjoy yourselves. We’ll keep her in for the weekend and I’ll let you know how she’s getting on. Just leave me your mobile number.’
Teresa quietly shed a few tears as she said goodbye. I couldn’t help wondering if I was doing the right thing.
Melissa, the nurse, came in, laughing, a few hours later. ‘Look what just came in the letter box.’
It was an enormous card in childish handwriting address to ‘Ms Gemma Kenny’. ‘We love you, Gemma. Get well soon,’ it read. Sarah, Mary and Kate had scrawled their names at the bottom; Kate, by joining the dots. It scared me to think how much this dog meant to them.
We gave Gemma a stronger dose of liquid paraffin and an enema and I repeated the powerful muscle relaxing injection before settling her down for the evening. I prepared a surgical kit and placed it in the autoclave, hoping that it wouldn’t be required. She seemed to be in good form when I left her but I lay awake, tossing and turning throughout the night. Mad dreams of Furbys and Barbie dolls, squashed in the delicate intestine, interrupted my sleep and I repeatedly woke up in a sweat. I was glad when the dawn broke.
The next morning, I went in early. I hoped I would find copious amounts of faeces but all that was there was some frothy vomit. I knew I could put it off no longer. Reluctantly, I rang Teresa.
‘I’m sorry, Teresa, but I’ll have to go ahead and operate. I don’t want to let her go on any longer.’
There was a silence as Teresa tried to control the wobble in her voice. ‘I’m really sorry to put you to this trouble, especially on a Sunday, but whatever you think is best.’