Animals

The cat was on the surgery table. He was dying. Technically he was in respiratory arrest. My mind was racing. The pulseoximeter was shrill and loud in my ears. The doctor was performing CPR and rattling off the names of emergency equipment. "Ambu bag, trache tube, epinephrine shot!" The other assistant and I scrambled to get these things and bring them to the doctor. We knew if we took too long it would cost the cat his life.

His name was Monroe. He was a huge cat, weighing in at 17 pounds. All black with a fat belly and slender legs and feet, he was a little funny looking. He may have made me laugh, had the situation been different. He was a sweet, affectionate cat though I didn't know it at the time. The small of his back was balding and speckled with white hairs. He was too fat to groom himself there. All in all, he was quite charming.

Monroe came to us initially to have a urinary catheter placed. He had a urinary blockage and his regular veterinarian couldn't get his catheter in. He was sedated when he arrived at our clinic. Unfortunately, the sedative the other veterinarian used greatly decreased his blood pressure and heart rate. Because of this, we couldn't get the IV in any of his legs and finally inserted a jugular catheter, which is a last resort for cats. By the time we got the IV in, his tongue was blue and cold as ice.

Monroe did die on the table that day, but we brought him back. For awhile we still didn't know if he was going to pull through, but by the time I returned to work the next morning he was awake and meowing. By helping in his recovery, I found that his personality was just as charming as his appearance. Talkative and affectionate, he loved a good scratch behind the ears.

Being a veterinary assistant means I have to think and act quickly. This is especially important because I work at an emergency clinic. It means that sometimes I have to deal with death and pain, yet still be