I was running errands on a Friday afternoon (my afternoon off), and my phone dinged with a text message. It was from one of my technicians, Angela. It said, “Our clinic just got signed up for donkey basketball. Get excited!” A number of feelings came to mind at that moment, but excited was not one of them. “This is what I get for taking an afternoon off,” I thought to myself. For those of you that don't know what donkey basketball is, it's exactly what you would imagine. It's playing basketball on a basketball court...while riding donkeys. It's an event that happens every once in awhile in our hometown, usually as a fundraiser for local FFA chapters. The FFA chapters of neighboring schools play each other, but there's also usually a local group made up of businesses or organizations. In the past, the Howard County Cattlemen's Association would play, but they had a hard time getting enough players under the weight limit. This is not a diss of the Cattlemen’s Association, just the truth. Donkeys are not meant to carry a large dude, so this is in no way a condemnation of the stereotypical steak eating cattleman you may picture. If that was the case, I wouldn’t be allowed to play either because I haven’t seen a vegetable in years. They’re mostly just stocky, tall men, but donkeys were made for petite women like myself (See what I did there? Just complimented myself when you thought I was taking up for the cattlemen. It’s my blog.). The thought of me trying to play basketball on a donkey was daunting. I got a flashback of the time I played little league basketball and scored...for the wrong team. Don't get me wrong. I was athletic in school. I was a competitive gymnast as a young girl. In middle school and high school, I ran track and field, qualifying for state every single year of high school. I ran cross country and track in college. I was even cheerleading captain in high school! However, I was and always have been a disaster at team sports or any sport involving a ball. Unless this game of donkey basketball involved chasing donkeys around the court or doing elaborate mounts and dismounts from the animals, I wasn't exactly going to be great at it. I can barely play basketball on my own two feet, let alone atop a donkey. I then decided that the crowds don't come to watch for a good game. They come to watch people embarrass themselves, which I was bound to do, so I was definitely the right pick for a good show. So as not to be embarrassed alone, I roped my husband into joining our team as well since he was athletic and under the weight limit. Hopefully he would pick up my slack. My husband suggested we buy a basketball to practice. “Why?” I asked. “We don't even have a basketball hoop.” He said, “I'm more concerned about you being able to pass the ball.” Fair enough. We arrived at our local high school an hour early for the rider meeting. The team would consist of me, my husband Patrick, my associate Dr. Potter (the one who signed us up for this thing), and two of my technicians, Robyn and Angela. The guy with Dairyland Donkeys went over all of the specifics with us. The rules were simple. You must maintain possession of your donkey at all times. You can get off and lead your donkey, but you must be on top of the donkey to shoot or pass. Most importantly, no abusing or mistreating the donkeys in any way. No kicking or pulling hair or tails (of your opponents or the donkeys). The donkey guru said there were a few donkeys that didn't move much, so if anyone wanted a donkey that didn't move, to let him know. He said, “The good news is, this young man has volunteered to ride the bucker,” as he gestured to a young cowboy from our hometown. The boy puffed up his chest and said, “I'm not coming off of that thing!” The donkey guru laughed and shook his head. You have to have at least one bucking donkey for donkey basketball for the entertainment aspect. We watched two of the FFA chapters play first. My husband volunteered to be the sanitation guy for the first game and grabbed the shovel. Maybe he thought that would get him out of playing. I sat in the stands and watched the entertainment while I held my son, paying close attention to which donkeys performed well and which didn't. The cowboy kid put in a valiant effort, but he was thrown from the bucker within about five seconds. Then it was time for us to play. We walked onto the court and grabbed our helmets. The girls on the team grimaced as we discovered the helmets were soaked in sweat from the previous game. Yuck! We toughed it out and selected our donkeys. My donkey was the smallest of the bunch. We mounted our donkeys and got to playing. We were playing Fayette FFA (our hometown). My donkey went right to trotting down the court and I thought for a second I had selected a good one. I got myself in just the right position under the basket to shoot when suddenly my donkey started veering sharply to the left. There was no steering this thing. The ball would bounce to the ground and suddenly all of us would jump off of our donkeys, pulling on the reins as hard as we could to get the stubborn things to move forward and retrieve the ball. I got a hold of the ball and started heading down the court. The young cowboy on the bucker started pushing and trying to get the ball away from me. I then employed my cross country defense tactics of throwing boney elbows his direction and it seemed to work. I was impressed at Angela’s ability to catch the ball and score. Robyn played solid defense. Dr. Potter and Patrick weren't Michael Jordan by any means, but they showed off their passing and shooting skills and helped lead us to victory in the first game. Me? Well, I was just an extra body on the court. We ended up tying with the Fayette team, which led to a free throw shootout. Whoever got the most free throws out of three attempts would win. We selected Dr. Potter to do the shooting for us. At 6’ 4”, he would at least be closer to the basket. The Fayette team selected the brave cowboy as their shooter. Both players made two out of three baskets, so it went to sudden death. The first person to make a free throw after that would win. The cowboy went first and missed the shot. Then it was Dr. Potter’s turn. We all held our breath as he dribbled and shot. Swoosh! The ball went in and the crowd went wild! Our clinic had a pretty good crowd of cheerleaders that showed up that night. We had won the first round! Then it was time to play the final game. Dr. Potter was tired from the first game and decided to sit out, so we subbed in Robyn. I switched from my tiny donkey that was impossible to steer to a taller one. Patrick got selected to ride the “bucker in training,” which was worth double points. We would be playing New Franklin FFA. We lined up, mounted our donkeys, and started playing. This new donkey steered better, but didn't want to move. I was constantly smacking the donkey on the butt as I rode, and I was hoping the donkey guru wouldn't consider that abuse. I didn't make any baskets either game. I did actually catch and pass the ball a few times, which was enough to make me feel okay about my participation. Patrick ended up making several baskets, so the double point donkey worked out in our favor. We lead the whole game and won it 12-8. We were officially crowned the Donkey Basketball Champions of Howard County! My husband said, “I kind of feel guilty showing up and beating high school kids.” I said, “Really? I don't!” But then again, I'm a competitive jerk. Ha! Jokes aside, it was certainly a fun activity and great opportunity to laugh at yourself for a good cause. I was thankful my staff has better basketball skills than I do, but I don't think any of us will be quitting our day job anytime soon. If there was such a thing as professional donkey basketball, we’d be the Harlem Globetrotters of the Midwest for sure, so yes, we’d quit or day jobs in a second for that, but for now we’ll just have a good memory to look back on. Life is too short to take yourself seriously, so might as well get on a donkey and try not to look like the ass.
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Last week I wrote about being a new mom on call. It’s a challenge to say the least, but I’m definitely not the only one who deals with the late night, early morning fear of a ringing phone while the baby is soundly asleep. As of 2009, female veterinarians outnumbered their male counterparts in the profession. Currently, women hold 80% of the veterinary school seats. Practicing female veterinarians are part of the gender shift generation, and there are a lot of issues/stories that come with that as the profession tries to catch up. We even have our own Facebook support group! Here are some shared stories from a few colleague friends of mine. Rebecca H. W. Ten years have gone by and only once did I have to take my daughter with me, but she slept in the work truck and the owners of the horse fell in love with her. But many times I knew what a milking cow felt with swollen udders and a wet mark or two on my scrubs. After having a child naturally I also appreciated more all the drugs I gave to the cows during a hard calving! Elizabeth M. S. My first two children were probably in every barn in north Mississippi. I had my first two about a year and a half apart and my husband travels a lot for work. We didn't live near any family so I can remember many times having to take them with me. It wasn't that bad when they could stay in the baby carrier, but when they were toddlers it was much harder. I remember having to go sew up a nasty laceration on a horse once and the clients were a sweet grandparent couple. They made the oldest cookies and brought him coloring books and she rocked my one year old on the porch and gave him a bottle. I also remember them helping with a lot of late night c-sections. Once they were asleep in the truck, and I'd just gotten bluetooth on my truck, so I used my cell to call the clinic and put the phone nearest the surgery room on speaker, and did the fastest section of my life. Not 100% on vetting or mothering that night, but we got through it. I also remember several times having to take them to calls that didn't end well and begging the farmer not to shoot the cow until we turned out of the driveway so the boys wouldn't hear. More times than I can count, I've shown up late for school pick up covered in blood. My oldest (7) is aces at opening gates now so I don't have to get out of the truck. I bought the clinic I'm in now when I was pregnant with the third and I no longer take call. It's good for reminiscing, but I wouldn't live it again. Jacqui M. I have a lovely college student that is on call when I'm on call (when husband is out of town on business). I have had to call her occasionally in the wee hours, and it adds a bit of time for me to get to the call, but works pretty well. Usually I'm home before the kids wake up. Julie C. Ugh! It's so hard! My son is a terrible sleeper. I went back to taking calls at eight weeks postpartum. I remember one night I got a call at 12 A.M., returned home at 2 A.M., only to have the baby wake up at 3 A.M. I sat there crying, rocking him, and wondering how I would ever survive. My husband leaves for work at 5 A.M., but daycare doesn't open until 7:30. Getting a call between those times is my worst fear. I can't leave the baby, and I'm not going to wake him up to take him with me. Thankfully, so far I've been able to postpone seeing those patients until we open. Sarah K. I just make sure my husband is awake and realizes I'm leaving. My stress level about going out at night is a lot lower now that my son sleeps through the night. It's rough sometimes. He got the flu when he was five months old, was up until 11 P.M., I got a call around 1 A.M., got home around 4 A.M., and had to get up at 5 A.M. for work. I get up at 5:15 now and leave the house at 7 so I can get to work by 8. If I get a call between those times I just tell them I'm already on my way to the clinic and I'll get to them as soon as I can. I took my four year old to a milk fever once. It was a farm close to home, and they have grandkids a similar age, so are used to having small kids around and know them well enough that there aren't likely to be any surprises. Making the call took significantly longer than expected. The down jersey cow popped up and looked great after treatment. My son was completely unimpressed and told me to "stop hurting that cow!" when he saw me put in the IV needle. After the cow got up, the client said, "Aren't you proud of your mom? She saved our cow!" Answer, "Nah." Then their son pulled up with the feed wagon, and he got very excited. I guess old doc mom has nothing on the feed cart guy… Kerrie P. I had one today. Called out at 7 A.M., just before my hubby was due to catch the train to work. Organised him to take the next train and popped into work. I had an hour before I had to be back. Anyway - cue gdv surgery.... Then organised a babysitter and told my hubby to walk baby to babysitter before he went to the station. When I finished, I found the babysitter had prior commitments and had taken baby on a long walk in the pram to carry out those commitments... So around town I drove trying to find the offspring! The worst times for call outs are between 5-8 P.M. and 6:30-8:30 A.M. because those are the times I have no backup help. Kristi M.L. Nikki J.L. I had to load up my then twin four year olds and a six month old for a 2 A.M. dystocia call while my husband was out of town. They slept through the entire thing and when we finally got home and I carried them in they all decided it was time to wake up for the day! Made for a LONG day! Kerry B. I was called out for several calving assistance calls when my kiddos were small. Once my son was with me when we pulled the calf and once when I performed a C-section. (My son was about five years old at the time). Later he said, "Mom, I know how cows have babies! They either poop them out or you cut them out their side." Simple as that! LOL Heather T.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my four months of being a mother, it’s that being a working mother is hard. Especially when your work extends into all hours of the night. I’m not complaining by any means. I love my job, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say it were a challenge at times. I’m on call every other week, so fifty percent of the time, I have to be prepared to drop everything at a moment’s notice and head to the clinic or out to a farm. First and foremost, there’s the mom guilt. Every mother has experienced this. Just a couple of weeks ago, it was 9 P.M., I was nursing my son, and just getting ready to lay him down in his crib, when my phone rang. “Crap!” I thought to myself. I forwarded the call to voicemail as usual. This is a skill I have acquired throughout the years of being a veterinarian to weed out the price quote and appointment scheduling calls. As a mother, there are also certain sacred moments where you don’t answer your phone, like during bath time or laying your baby down to bed. It can wait two or three minutes. Then my phone dings with a voicemail. “Double crap!” I thought to myself. I listened to my voicemail. A dog had been hit by a car and needed to be seen. I called the owners back and told them I’d be at the clinic in fifteen minutes. Then the wheels started turning. I have the convenience of my in-laws living just a quarter mile down the road, but I really don’t like asking them to babysit at 9 P.M. I then considered going to the clinic by myself, but HBC (hit by car) dogs often require bloodwork and radiographs, so I needed an extra pair of hands (my husband) to do that. With teary eyes, I changed my baby out of his warm fuzzy jammies and into lighter clothing (he gets hot easily) and started gathering things to haul everybody to the clinic. “I feel like a bad mother,” I said to my husband. “The baby needs a routine and I’m hauling him all over the place at all hours of the night.” My husband reassured me, “You’re a good mom. He’ll just sleep in his car seat anyway.” Or so we hoped. We arrived at the clinic and my husband took our son to the lounge until I needed him. After examining the dog, it was clear he had a broken leg and radiographs were necessary. I carried the lab back to our radiology room at the back of the clinic and told my husband as I walked by that I needed help restraining the dog for radiographs. I fired up our developer, started writing labels, measured the dog, and gathered the lead aprons. My husband brought the baby back in his carseat, and he placed him in the other room (just outside the wall from where we were) so as not to expose him to radiation. He woke up at this point but didn’t make a fuss. He sat there just taking it all in. Radiographs confirmed a fracture on the femur (thigh bone) and we scheduled surgery for the next day. After getting the dog settled down in a cage with pain medications, we headed home. I fed the baby one more time and laid him down in his crib for the night. He fell asleep just fine, but I laid awake in bed thinking about how I was going to fit a surgery into the busy schedule tomorrow, the different bills I needed to pay, finishing our taxes, the laundry I haven’t done, and oh yeah, I should work out more. When you’re a veterinarian with a lot of on call time, you always have a diaper bag prepared with all of the necessities, including hot water in a thermos to warm bottles. You jump into action the second you get a call and you know all the things you’ll need for you and the baby. You learn quickly like that time you forgot nursing pads or burp cloths, it was a disaster. Brawny paper towels aren’t as strong as you think and they certainly don’t look great stuffed in your bra. You can also strap in a car seat base securely in a matter of seconds. All of these skills come quickly out of necessity. Farm call emergencies with a baby are a whole different ballgame. Leaving the controlled environment of the clinic can add a host of challenges when leaving your baby at home isn’t an option. It’s currently calving and prolapse season, which means sometimes I need my husband’s help on these calls late at night. The baby has already slept through a few uterine prolapses and calf deliveries in the truck. For all the sanctimommies out there who may want to pass judgement, my truck is always left on so the heat or air conditioning can be run and a baby monitor is left in the truck so we know how he’s doing or if he starts to fuss. Most of the time, so far, he sleeps through the whole thing. The farmers usually get a kick out of seeing him as well. Sometimes the wives will even volunteer to take a peek at him in the truck when I’m shoulder-deep in a cow. Being a mother has also given me a different perspective as a veterinarian. I know exactly how that cow with the swollen udder feels. After enduring 10 hours of labor after being induced before my epidural, I'm happy to give those laboring momma cows pain medication to keep them comfortable. And I only reach for the calf jack when I absolutely need it. I don't think any female wants to be hooked up to a come-along. When you work in an unpredictable job like mine, you learn to be adaptable. At this point, we’ve come up with a system that works. Once my son gets more mobility, we’ll have to adapt our system and do things differently, but that’s life. Sometimes being called out is challenging and less than ideal when you’re a young mother, but you do what you have to do. On nights when you're called out multiple times, it's hard to feel 100% vet or 100% mom. Sure, sometimes I feel guilty that my hours aren’t set and my schedule is unpredictable. I feel a lot of guilt in general. But my son will hopefully someday understand that being available for my animal patients and their owners when they need me is important. He'll know the value of hard work, and he'll figure out how to open and close every type of gate at a ripe young age. I can at least pray he's better at throwing a lariat than I am. If I'm being honest, he'll most likely also learn every swear word imaginable, but at least he'll learn how to cuss properly. And who knows? Someday those little hands of his may come in handy! |
Jessica Stroupe, DVM
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August 2017
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