Coated With Fur: A Blind Cat's Love

by Kristen Nelson

  “Dr. Nelson, I’m going to need your help with Dolly,” Kim told me when I finished with the last appointment. “She’s still too wobbly to walk.”

  “That’s normal, Kim. I’ll get the gurney.” I wheeled the gurney from the lobby to the kennel without dinging any doorjambs. Kim and I lifted Dolly onto it without any problems. She rode the gurney outside like a kid taking her first ride on a merry-go-round, her eyes full of wonder. Every 60 seconds, she looked at Kim and I to make sure we were still there. People going into the boarding kennel stopped to stare at us. In the grass, Dolly stood with a little assistance, emptied her bladder and even sniffed the grass.

  “Dr. Nelson, she doesn’t seem to be in much pain to me,” Kim observed. “And her head looks a little less tilted. Is that possible?”

  “Well, I suppose so.” I hesitated with my answer. “I did relieve a lot of pressure during surgery.” I thought about all the scar tissue in her ear. “But I think she’s going to have a head tilt for the rest of her life because the infection was missed for so long.” We lifted Dolly back on the gurney. “I’m afraid I don’t see a difference, though, Kim.”

  We wheeled her back to the treatment room. Since she liked the gurney so much, we let her stay there for the bandage change. Bloody fluid had soaked all the gauze pads I placed along the incision line. I removed them, cleaned her skin and replaced the bandage with even more pads. Next, I needed to clean the area around the drain to protect the skin. I gently sponged away the clotted blood and covered the area with a protective gel. Dolly endured the entire bandage change without a sound. We transferred her back to her bed with a fresh towel under her head.

  “How about a little dinner?” Kim asked. “Can she have some food?”

  “I doubt she’s hungry, but you can try a little. Just don’t overdo it,” I warned.

  Kim returned with a quarter cup of canned food broken into chunks. She knelt by Dolly’s side and put the bowl in front of her face. Dolly’s eyes widened when the aroma of dog food hit her nostrils. She tried to lick the food out of the bowl, but she couldn’t get the chunks up into her mouth. Kim tilted the bowl to accommodate the tilt of the dog’s head. She ate the entire meal.

  “I should have known that a Lab would never turn down a meal,” I said.

  Kim giggled and stepped out of the run.

  “See you tomorrow, Dolly,” Kim said as she closed the gate. “And you too, Dr. Nelson. Don’t stay too late.”

  The next morning I arrived at the clinic early to help Allie with Dolly. I parked my car in my usual spot, across the parking lot from the clinic. When I looked up, Allie was standing by the evergreen tree waving at me. Dolly stood beside her, wagging her tail in big arcs. The wind blew the hair straight up along her back. Her head twist was much better than yesterday, 50 percent less tilted. The furrows in her face disappeared overnight. She looked like a new dog.

  “I came into work early to help you with Dolly,” I said, getting out of my car.

  “She was standing in her run waiting for me when I arrived,” Allie said. “I threw a leash over her head, and she led me through the clinic out the door to the grass.”

  “She must have remembered from last night. I guess she wasn’t as gorked as I thought she was.”

  Allie bounced up and down on her toes. She pulled the collar of her jacket up to protect her face from the wind. “I should have worn my winter coat, not this stupid windbreaker,” she complained.

  “Me too. I’m freezing. See you inside.”

  When we removed Dolly’s wrap, a pleasant surprise awaited. The majority of the gauze pads were dry; only the first layer contained a little blood. The incision was clean and intact, with no gaps anywhere. The area under her ear flap was swollen, but not as much as I expected. A small amount of fluid still dripped from the drain, less bloody than yesterday. I rewrapped her head with another bandage to protect the surgery site. Since swelling peaks two to three days after surgery, I still had to be cautious about her recovery.

  Dolly would stay in the hospital until I could remove the drain. If all went well, she might be home for the weekend. I wrote out orders for her care on a hospital sheet. The top line on the form read, “E-collar at all times.” I wasn’t taking any chances. Allie fitted Dolly with a plastic cone that hung from her collar. Despite hating the new party hat, Dolly continued to wag her tail.

  Friday morning dawned bright but cold. The overnight temperature had plunged into the high 30s. Allie swapped her windbreaker for her winter jacket, a black leather biker jacket. She completed the outfit with a red headband and mittens. She left her purse on the pharmacy counter and headed back to the kennel for Dolly. When she flipped on the light, there was Dolly with strips of cast padding around her neck like a necklace. A crumpled e-collar laid at her feet in three pieces. Her entire ear, surgical site and all, was exposed.

  “Dolly, bad girl,” Allie scolded. Dolly bounded over the open gate with bandage material stringing behind her. She wagged her tail, ignoring Allie’s rebuff. Allie freed her from the bandage and lifted the ear flap for a closer inspection. The incision was still intact with no signs of trauma, but the drain was gone. Allie’s heart raced with fear. If Dolly ate the drain, it could get stuck in her intestines, requiring surgery. If she chewed it off, leaving a piece inside her head, it could cause infection and ruin the surgery.

  Allie searched the run for a clue. Dolly’s Penrose drain was a half-inch wide by about seven inches long. The rubber tube was tan and flexible. She sifted through the bed and bandage material without finding anything.

  “It’s got to be in here,” Allie said to herself. She started her search again, only this time, she meticulously checked every towel, blanket and corner of the run. Unfortunately, she came to the same conclusion. No drain!

  When I arrived at the clinic, Allie met me at the door. “Kris, Dolly got the e-collar off and I can’t find the drain anywhere,” she blurted.

  “Calm down, Allie,” I said unzipping my jacket. “What was that about Dolly?”

  “When I arrived this morning, Dolly had destroyed her e-collar and bandage.” She took a deep breath before adding, “The drain is gone.”

  “Gone,” I repeated.

  “Yes, gone,” she confirmed. “I’ve checked her run three times, and I can’t find it anywhere.”

  Allie followed me to the kennel with a slip lead in her hand. She looped it over Dolly’s head and brought her into the well-lit treatment room. I knelt over Dolly’s head, looking at the hole where the drain should exit her skin. With my fingertips, I pulled the skin in different directions while looking inside the hole.

  “Allie, I think I found it.” I took a pair of mosquito forceps from the surgical pack lying next to the autoclave. “Hold her head still for me.” I slipped the small curved tips under her skin and pulled out the end of the drain.

  Allie let out a huge sigh and relaxed her shoulders.

  “Since she’s doing so well, we might as well remove it. Hang on,” I ordered. I grasped the drain a quarter inch under the skin and pulled. It popped out intact. No pieces were left behind.

  “Call Jenna and tell her that Dolly is ready to go home,” I instructed Allie. “She’s too healthy to be here.”

  Allie smiled and stroked Dolly’s head. “Are you ready to go home, girl?” she asked. Dolly responded like she always did. She wagged her tail.

  Chapter 16

  Recheck

  “There is a very special cat waiting to see you, Dr. Nelson,” Kim teased me. She wore turquoise scrubs, the kind with elastic around the bottom of the pants and a matching shirt. Since we kept the clinic at sixty-eight degrees to save energy, she wore a white turtleneck underneath. “You’d better hurry because you don’t want to be late for this very important date.”

  “Who am I seeing?”

  “Hurry up,” she said, ignoring my question. She stood by the door to the cat examination room with the record pressed against her chest. “No hints!”

 
; “OK, you win.” I washed my hands and joined her at the door. When she swung it open, I saw a white cat sitting on the table with an orange feeding tube sutured to his head. Margaret and Scott stood next to the table, beaming with joy.

  “Snowflake,” I cried. “How have you been, buddy? It seems like I haven’t seen you forever.”

  “Three weeks at least,” Scott corrected. “Good to see you again, Dr. Nelson,” he said as we shook hands.

  “Yes, it is,” Margaret echoed. When I stuck out my hand, she ignored it and hugged me instead. “Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”

  I nodded, unable to speak after Margaret’s bear hug.

  “So what brings you in today?” I asked when my breath returned. “Toenail trim, vaccinations or maybe a root canal?” I teased.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Margaret instructed Snowflake. “Today we get rid of that nasty tube.”

  “That tube saved his life,” I noted. “I wouldn’t call it nasty.”

  “I know, but it looks so awful,” Margaret said.

  “And he’s been sneezing a lot,” Scott added.

  “Then let’s get rid of it,” I replied. “As long as he has been eating on his own.” I paused for confirmation from the couple. They both nodded.

  “He eats a quarter can of food every eight hours,” Scott reported.

  “Perfect, then it’s time to lose the tube.”

  After a physical examination, I removed the e-collar from Snowflake’s neck. It left a ring of matted fur around his neck. Kim scratched his neck for 10 seconds before holding his head for me. Three nylon sutures held the tube in place, one on his forehead, one between his eyes and the toughest one, right by the corner of his nose. I slipped the small blade of the suture scissor under the one by his nose, hooking the suture on the first try. One down, two to go.

  Next, I tried to snip the one between Snowflake’s eyes. Every time the scissors came close to the suture, Snowflake jumped and pawed at my hand. I removed the one on his forehead before trying to get the suture between his eyes again. When the scissor tips came within an inch of the suture, Snowflake let out a warning hiss, then tried to bite. Margaret and Scott were shocked to see him so angry.

  “He was easy to work with when he was sick,” I mumbled. Kim nodded, pressing her lips together. I stepped back from the table, hoping for inspiration.

  In veterinary school, I worked for a referral surgeon named Lance Magnuson. He was the most gifted and humble surgeon I have ever met, a rare combination indeed. One day, we scrubbed in on a cat with a fractured scapula. Rosie was chasing a bird when she jumped out of a second-story window onto a fence post. She shattered her scapula into five pieces. Lance worked for two hours to repair the bone with no luck. None of the bone plates in our pack fit her little scapula. Pins slipped through the fragments because of her poor bone quality. If the fracture didn’t come together soon, amputation of her leg was the only option.

  Suddenly Lance stepped back from the surgical table. I cringed in anticipation of what was to come. I had worked with other veterinarians who screamed at me when things weren’t going well. “You’re holding the clamp wrong, idiot. Why can’t I find competent help?” And my favorite, “Women should never be allowed in the OR because they always screw things up!” I even saw a surgeon throw instruments against the wall.

  “Kris,” Lance said sternly. “When you’re in trouble, get better exposure.” That’s “surgeon speak” for look at the problem from a new perspective. He motioned for me to trade sides of the table with him. From my new vantage point, I spotted a finger bone plate hiding under a clamp. The plate fit Rosie’s bone perfectly. Lance realized he could extend the incision another half and inch, giving him more room to work. He had Rosie’s leg back together in 30 minutes. She went on to make a full recovery, and her owners promised to get screens for their windows.

  I studied Snowflake as he sat on the table with his tail twitching — not a good sign. “Kim, turn him around with his rear end facing me,” I instructed.

  Kim looked at me for an instant to see if I really meant what I said, then turned him around. From behind, I petted his head and rubbed his chin until his tail stopped twitching. Next, I rubbed his fur with the suture scissors to get him used to the feel of German steel. When he was comfortable with that, I inched the scissor down his forehead until the tips were between his eyes. A quick snip freed the feeding tube. Thank you, Lance!

  “OK, now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” I announced. I grasped the top of the feeding tube and pulled it out of Snowflake’s nose. Snowflake sneezed three times during the procedure. When the entire tube was out, I held it up in the air like I was showing off a blue ribbon from the Minnesota State Fair. Scott beamed, but Margaret looked a little queasy. I quickly threw the tube in the trash to get it out of view.

  “Yay!” Kim exclaimed. “Good boy, Snowflake.” She drew him close and rubbed his chin. Snowflake winked several times, reveling in the attention. When Kim stopped rubbing, he pawed her for more.

  “My turn,” I said. Kim reluctantly backed away. Snowflake looked at me with sparkling green eyes and meowed. I scooped him up and held him close. “Wow, he’s gained weight,” I observed.

  “Yes, he’s over eight pounds,” Kim informed me.

  “We can’t thank you enough for saving him, Dr. Nelson,” Margaret said with misty eyes. She started to say something else but stopped and looked at Scott.

  “We are forever indebted to you,” he said. “So we would like to do something special for all of you.” He smiled at Kim.

  “That’s not necessary,” I responded. “Seeing Snowflake get better is our reward. We became very attached to him. He’s a special boy.” I paused. “I couldn’t be happier for you two and him.”

  “Well thanks, Dr. Nelson, but we still want to do something special for you.” He looked at Margaret. She nodded and urged him to continue. “At noon, we’ll drop off lunch. You ladies are in for a treat. Margaret made her signature dish, wild rice soup.”

  “It’s a family recipe,” Margaret said. “I like to make it in the fall when the seasons change.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said. “I can’t wait.” I hugged Snowflake one more time before passing him to Kim. She kissed his forehead and placed him in his carrier.

  “Time to go home, Snowflake,” she told him. “No more camp at the Minnesota Veterinary Center.”

  Our next appointment was another recheck. At 10:30 a.m., a mini-van parked in front of the clinic. Mark Flemming opened the trunk of his car and pulled out a little red wagon that looked just like the one I had as a kid. He pulled the “Flyer” around to the passenger door. Stephanie placed Bianca in the wagon with a stuffed bear.

  I used to do the same thing with my dog, Babbie. I dressed the black poodle in doll clothes and a scarf, placed her in the wagon with some other dolls and then paraded her around the neighborhood. It is amazing how much dogs will put up with when kids are involved.

  At four weeks post accident, Bianca needed an X-ray to see how her fractures were healing. Stephanie reported that Bianca had improved dramatically over the last two weeks. e was crawling around her playpen, didn’t whine anymore when picked up and was using her back legs to scratch her head. But the biggest improvement had come the previous weekend when Stephanie and Mark slept in. Bianca had stood up and barked to go outside. It was the first time she had stood on her own since the accident.

  Kim wheeled our little princess to the radiology suite. Genny watched the wagon through the open office door, her tail thumping. She knew about gurneys and dollies but had never seen a wagon. She followed behind at a safe distance until Allie closed the door to radiology. Genny is not deterred easily, a trait common in calico and tortoiseshell cats. She waited behind the door, listening to the strange noises on the other side. When Allie emerged with two cassettes in hand, Genny sneaked past her into the room. She sniffed the edges of the wagon and even lifted her upper lip to intensify the scents. Fi
nally, she jumped into the wagon and Bianca’s bed.

  “Genny, that’s not yours,” Kim admonished her. Genny placed both front paws on the bear’s belly and started to knead. When Kim rocked the wagon, Genny took off.

  “Films look good, Kim,” Allie called from the dark room. “I’ll get Dr. Nelson.”

  Allie’s first instinct was right on; Bianca’s films looked great. I could barely see the fracture lines in her pelvis. I had been concerned that the bones might collapse into the pelvic canal. If they moved too much, Bianca might have difficulty passing stool. However, the structure of her pelvis remained intact without shifting. Her bladder and colon were empty, but I did see a fair amount of kibble in her stomach. We were two for two today.

  “Who’s next on the hit parade?” I asked Allie as we watched Mark load the wagon into their car.

  “Two more rechecks, Dolly and Guacamole,” Allie replied. “Guacamole needs a new bandage because she jumped in her water bowl this morning.”

  “Bummer. She must be feeling better.”

  “Remember, the Olsons are bringing lunch at noon,” Kim added. “It would be great to sit down and have a civilized lunch for a change instead of wolfing down a sandwich between surgeries.”

  “Yes ma’ams,” I replied, saluting. “I’ll start working on my callbacks now, ma’ams.”

  Dolly pranced into the clinic, dragging Jenna behind her. Thankfully, all of the children were at school and daycare. Dolly ran between Allie, Kim and me, wagging her tail and licking our hands. She still held her head tilted to the left, but the tilt was much less severe. When we first saw her, she held her head parallel to the floor. Now her nose almost pointed at the floor.

  Although I was happy with the improvement, what I really cared about was how she felt. Jenna reported that Dolly acted like a puppy again. She chewed up a Barbie doll, two sneakers and the leather nametag on Thomas’ briefcase.

  “Dr. Nelson, I feel so bad,” Jenna told me with tears in her eyes. “We attributed her behavior to being a good, well-behaved dog. We had no idea she was in pain.” She paused. “It breaks my heart to think about how much she suffered.” I put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “She’s really a naughty girl with a zest for life that never stops.”