Many of my blog readers have heard the news of the passing of Dr. Richard Taylor. Dr. Taylor died in his home Sunday, February 4th. Just before 9:00 AM, I was driving to the clinic to look at a calf. As I passed Dr. Taylor’s house, just north of the clinic, I noticed an ambulance in their driveway. “Huh,” I thought to myself. “I hope everyone is okay.” I made a mental note to call someone after the emergency to see what was going on. Then, right as I pulled into the clinic parking lot, my cell phone rang. It was Dr. Vroman, my former business partner. He gave me the news. Dr. Taylor had passed away suddenly from a suspected heart attack. I couldn’t believe it. It’s true that Dr. Taylor was in his 80s, but everyone that knew him knew that he took great care of himself. Since his retirement in 2012, he would walk to the clinic every morning, which involved walking up a decent hill. He would wave to every vehicle that passed along the way, even if his back was turned to you. I remember after his first few weeks of walking to the clinic, ladies were starting to fuss at him for not wearing an orange vest. One even went so far as to send him a vest. That’s how beloved Dr. Taylor was in our community. My first experiences with Dr. Taylor were most likely when I was younger. We would take our dogs, cats, and even guinea pigs to the veterinarian periodically. When I was growing up and involved in community theater, I remember all of us would be glad when Dr. Taylor showed up for a show. If he was there, we knew it would be a good crowd. His laugh was infectious and would reverberate through the theater. Then others would follow. After being a marine biology major at my college in Florida for a couple of years, I decided that my interest in animals was much more broad than marine life, so I wanted to explore veterinary medicine. I called the local clinic in Fayette to see if they were hiring. Sadly, they were not. I called around to few other area veterinary clinics with no luck either. Then, Dr. Taylor called me one afternoon and mentioned one of his receptionists wanted to take a little more time off in the summer. He asked if I was still looking for a job. “Yes!” I exclaimed. After researching veterinary school requirements, I had learned that in Missouri at least, I needed 400 hours of experience to be competitive on the veterinary school application. If I was going to apply in a year, I had to rush to get those hours. I’m pretty sure Dr. Taylor and Dr. Vroman just found a spot for me at the clinic out of the kindness of their hearts. I worked hard, got my hours, and Dr. Taylor and Dr. Vroman both wrote me letters of recommendation for veterinary school. I ended up getting accepted early after my junior year of college. My husband and I moved back from Florida, where I attended undergrad, to our hometown in Missouri for veterinary school. Throughout the first two years of veterinary school, I worked Saturdays at the clinic and then did the kennel work on Sundays. I’m not sure at what point Dr. Taylor decided I would be his replacement. I can’t remember or say for sure. But as the years of veterinary school went on, it became clear that Dr. Taylor wanted me to take his place once he retired. In fact, I think he would have preferred to retire a year or two before I graduated, but he held on for me. It became clear he had been toughing it out when he got injured during a farm call and had trouble handling some of the physical aspects of the job. For at least two weeks, I joined him on his emergency calls and assisted in delivering calves. I appreciated the experience and the opportunity to help someone who had worked so hard for so long. I worked for the practice for six years total before I started working there as an Associate Veterinarian. Dr. Taylor did his best to instill in me the values of hard work, community involvement, ruggedness, and scholariness. During Dr. Taylor’s funeral, the preacher said that veterinarians are the perfect mix of ruggedness and scholarliness. I never thought of it that way before, but he was absolutely right. And Dr. Taylor epitomized that balance. Admittedly, Doc Taylor and I didn’t always see eye to eye. Sometimes we would butt heads, as some often do when you have two knowledgeable, stubborn people that are certain that their way is the right way. I may have shown Dr. Taylor some of the new, progressive, evidence-based approaches to medicine. He showed me that they can’t teach you everything in veterinary school. There are some tried and true methods that do work well (and sometimes better), even if they don’t have double blinded peer reviewed studies to back them up. As a younger veterinarian from a different generation, I couldn’t relate to Dr. Taylor’s level of dedication. Sure, he was a great family man and was involved in many community activities. But in a lot of ways, the clinic was his life. I’ve found that many veterinarians in that generation live to work. Most people in my generation work to live. Sure, we love our careers, but our identities come to light after we leave work. I would roll my eyes when he would stay at the clinic until 5:30 just in case someone wanted to come after work and buy something. I didn’t understand his dedication or commitment to being at the office all the time, but I admired it. In a lot of ways, Dr. Taylor and I were about as different as you come. Very different generations, different genders and thus different experiences, different political beliefs, and different values or priorities. But despite our differences, we had a mutual respect. We challenged each other, and as a result, we both grew from it. He was my mentor and friend. I still can’t believe he’s gone. Part of me looks to see him sitting at his desk when I walk into work every morning. The day after his death, I peered around the corner, expecting to see him. Instead I saw his desk untouched with his Bible and notebook sitting in the center, ready for his next day’s reading. I still feel honored and blessed that he chose me as his successor. Furthermore, he entrusted me to run the practice and carry on his legacy. He has a rich legacy of caring for animals, but most importantly, caring for people. His hard work, dedication, love for veterinary medicine, love for people, community involvement, and infectious laugh will not be forgotten.
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I attended my state veterinary convention last weekend. It was a great weekend of catching up with colleagues, getting CE, and shopping for fun new toys in the Exhibit Hall. People may think veterinarians are bought by drug companies, which couldn't be farther from the truth. The goodies veterinarians get from the drug company booths include but are not limited to pens, magnets, chapstick, notepads, stress balls, peppermints, and dog poop bags. Not to sound ungrateful, but I feel like I could improve this list. Also, if people are going to think I'm bought by drug companies anyway, I might as well get some higher caliber freebies to justify their misconception. The following is a list of what veterinarians REALLY want from the exhibit hall. Enjoy!
If any drug reps are reading, I hope you take heed for the next convention. Personally, I will be sending this to all of my drug reps. Anyway, we can always dream, right? Either way, I’ll be taking your free stuff because it’s free stuff, but depending on what you have might eliminate my habit of walking by quickly, not making eye contact, and grabbing whatever I can reach on the table before a sales pitch begins. I’ve accidentally grabbed a cell phone before, so if you want it returned, maybe you can stop me with some awesome giveaways. Any woman in the veterinary industry who works with large animals is no stranger to the challenge of finding functional, durable, professional, flattering, and reasonably priced work clothes. These seemingly unattainable qualities have left many of us in the profession frustrated. You eventually realize that you have a choice: clothing that is durable for work that makes you look like a giant dork or more fashionable cheap lines that won't last two months on the job. Look, I get it. The market for women's work clothing is smaller than men's. However, the fact remains that women work outside and need clothing options so they can look professional and brave the elements. My first introduction to the seemingly scarce selection of women's work clothes was in 2012 following graduation. I was fortunate enough to work for a clinic that paid for my work attire, but there was a new problem. The men in my practice had their uniforms decided. Red Cap khaki work pants with button-up blue shirts (with pockets!) with the veterinary asclepius. It was the first time my clinic had a female veterinarian. Obviously the men's clothing was not going to work for me. My boss at the time, Dr. Vroman, was very patient with me. We got the veterinary apparel catalogs out, and I ordered a few different button-up shirts to try on. Luckily, there was a good return policy. I knew I was in trouble after trying on the first shirt. As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror at the clinic, I realized the shirt was short enough that it revealed at least two inches of my abdomen. The strange thing was that the shirt was not only extremely short but extremely wide. I knew crop tops were coming back, but this seemed a little inappropriate for a professional woman. Admittedly my torso is (or was) longer and more slender than average. Remember, this was circa 2012, which was pre-baby. But even still, the extremely short and extremely wide button up top didn't seem like it was likely to fit any normal human being. “There are actually women built like this?” I thought to myself. I tried on more of the button-up tops and same thing -very short and very wide. Apparently, Veterinary Apparel Company thinks all women in the profession are built like Danny Devito. Not only that, but they were clearly not very mindful of the profession they were targeting with the short shirts. Do they realize how much we bend over during our job? With a combo of high riding shirts and low riding jeans, a problem I’ll address later in the blog, our clients would definitely get more than what they were paying for. I'm sure Dr. Vroman would shake his head, but each time I would send the items back. After much searching, I was finally able to find a winner in a Nike women's golf polo. I was unable to find the exact women’s golf polos I use online. I’m praying they haven’t discontinued them (cue tears), but what I wear is quite similar to this at least. I can usually find them at Dick’s Sporting Goods: It was durable, made of moisture wicking material, long enough, and flattering. They were a bit expensive, but I decided they were worth it. The expense ended up paying off in the long-run as most of the polos I bought over five years ago are still in my uniform rotation. Once I got my shirts figured out, I could take them somewhere to get my name embroidered on them. I decided to have the name of the clinic embroidered on one side and Dr. Stroupe on the other. My sister-in-law and I were having a girls lunch in Columbia on my afternoon off, so we stopped by the shirt shop to pick up my newly-embroidered work shirts. I got back into the car and took one of the shirts out of the bag. Suddenly, a gasp of terror and shock came from my mouth. “Oh no! What's wrong?” my sister-in-law asked. I held up the shirt, and the words “Dr. Stroup” were clearly written on the shirt. I went back inside, and luckily my name was spelled correctly on the proof that I had approved. They would have to correct it at no additional cost, but that would still mean more time without work shirts and another trip to the big city to pick them up. That's right. Finding the right work shirt was quite the process, but don't get me started on pants. Initially, I would wear jeans. I wasn't much into the khaki look. At the time, I wore Silver jeans. Not the cheapest, but they fit well. Then, during a roping incident on the farm, a calf rammed the edge of some cattle panel into my leg, ripping my $70 jeans and showing the farmer a little more leg than I would like. Expensive jeans were now out of the question for work attire. From there, it was Old Navy khaki pants, which didn't last. Then there was Red Cap or Dickey’s khaki pants. They're not the most flattering with the high waist and all, but they're durable and somewhat stain resistant. I didn't realize how unflattering the pants were until one of my college-aged employees said, “You look like a soccer mom.” I just shrugged and decided I really wasn't trying to impress anyone at work, at least as far as fashion or looks was concerned. I still wear those pants, but I'm currently on a mission to find some decent boot cut jeans to wear to work and on emergencies. I started by posting to my vet moms group for good tips. I looked online at some of the brands they recommended but decided going somewhere to try some of these jeans on would be a good idea given my difficult history of buying pants. Wranglers were recommended by a few, so I took a trip to a nearby Orscheln’s to try on some jeans. I grabbed three different styles from the pile and got the dressing room key from the cashier. While I was trying them on, my husband was outside the room with my son. “You need help putting them on?” He asked. As if shopping for women's pants weren't hard enough. Now I was being rushed. I have compiled a list of women's work clothes pitfalls from this experience and in my discussion with colleagues.
For water proofing, I simply leave my next oldest pair of boots in my truck with rubber shoe covers over the top. Then when I get out to the farm or out to the corral, I take my new boots that I wear around the office off and slip into the old boots with the rubber shoe covers. It’s not a perfect system. Sometimes in really deep mud, it will go over the top as the rubber shoe covers aren’t extremely tall. However, it is a system that works, and it keeps me from tracking mud or manure all over the office (most of the time), which makes my staff happy. It’s true that being a woman is not for the faint of heart. Just dressing yourself in clothes that won’t cause a major wardrobe malfunction is a feat in and of itself. The main thing I’ve learned in my veterinary fashion exploration is that Duluth Trading Company seems to be the most popular among my female colleagues for women’s work attire. Any chance they’ll sponsor my blog? No? From my shopping experience at Orscheln's, I’m just happy that I walked away with one pair of somewhat properly fitting jeans. If I ever decide to quit my day job in private practice, perhaps I’ll join forces with someone in the fashion/clothing industry and create the perfect women’s veterinary clothing line. In the meantime, I’ll keep searching for more options and simply grumble every time my shirt gapes open, I bend over and half of my back is showing, or the back of my pants gape open wide enough to toss a football in them. Cheers to my fellow female veterinarians who tough it out through these clothing challenges. I hope you at least found some helpful shopping tips or at least can get a good laugh from my shopping mishaps. The past couple of weeks in Missouri have been particularly frigid, so I figured there was no better time to talk about how to care for our pets in the frigid cold. I always know it is frigid cold when my Great Pyrenees wants to come inside. Yup, it’s too cold outside for a breed of dog that was adapted to weather in the French Alps. What the heck, Missouri. Look, I’m not one of those people that thinks animals are sissies and need to be inside 24/7. In fact, I have a cat that refuses to come indoors since we moved to our new house across the field. I’ve tried to bring him inside a couple of times the past few weeks out of concern that it was too cold. Every time I carried him in, he would walk around the house meowing loudly and kept going to the door. I finally gave up and let him outside, realizing that yes, animals are much tougher than we are. However, don’t worry about my cat, Linus. He has some amenities outside to fight the winter cold that I will discuss below. Animals may be tougher than us, but when it comes to caring for animals in the outdoors, there are some things you must keep in mind. Despite your pet’s thick hair coat, winter can be hard on them as well. The following are some guidelines to help keep you and your pet safe this winter:
I’ll close the blog by mentioning some products that may help you survive those winter months with your furry friends.
https://www.amazon.com/Pet-Products-Thermal-Bowl-Heated-96oz/dp/B000Y8GQ56/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1515282486&sr=8-3&keywords=heated+water+bowl
https://www.myvetstoreonline.pharmacy/main.asp?uri=1029&cat=2&page=1&pi=2826&init=1
https://www.amazon.com/Pet-Products-Extreme-Weather-Kitty/dp/B0009YWJRE/ref=sr_1_2?s=pet-supplies&ie=UTF8&qid=1515282998&sr=1-2&keywords=outdoor+heat+pad
I hope you found these tips helpful, and you can enjoy these cold winter months with your furry friends. I’m sure there are more winter essentials out there, but I better just sign off now. Between entering inventory, end of year taxes, a teething baby, and a sinus infection that is kicking my ass, I’m going to snuggle up with my furry friends and nurse a glass of wine. Toodeloo and keep those pets warm! Many who know me well know that 2017 probably hasn’t been my best year. However, that doesn’t mean it hasn’t come with lessons, challenges to overcome, and even good moments. I thought I would take a quick moment to reflect on this year, good and bad. A lot has happened both personally and professionally. Basically, to remember what happened this year, I just have to get out all of my medical bills. I need to do that soon anyway for our taxes. Here are the highlights:
It’s been a heck of a year. A pretty challenging one I’d say. I’ve tested my mental and physical limits in a lot of ways this year. A lot of people said, “You must be so relieved to be done with treatment,” once I finished radiation. To be honest, the relief hasn’t come quite yet as I’m still dealing with some pretty undesirable side effects, like double vision, dry eye, occasional dizziness, and chronic sinusitis. However, these are symptoms I can deal with, and I have found ways to be productive at work. For that, I am thankful. For anyone who has been diagnosed with cancer, I don’t think it ever truly feels “finished.” There’s always that worry or thought that the cancer may come back again. Or worse, it could come back again and kill you. Don't get me wrong, I have a good prognosis and I think positively. I do my best to be faithful and thankful, but that doesn’t erase the fearful thoughts that come up from time to time. I am forever changed after this year, and I have learned a lot of things. I have learned to become more patient, and I am slowly but surely learning to let go of things that are completely out of my control. I have learned to accept help from people, which has been uncomfortable for me. However, I look forward to the time when I can pay it forward and help others. I am thankful to have a thriving business, one that is continued to grow despite the setbacks I’ve had. I am thankful for the people in my clinic that held down the fort during my treatments, and the people at home that make it easier for me to do my job well. I’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff, and I try not to waste my time worrying or fretting about things that are shallow or unimportant. In that regard, the cancer diagnosis has been freeing. You learn to live in the moment. Even though I’ve grown a lot this year, I’m honestly glad to see this year end and a new one beginning. Even with an extensive support network, being a business owner, practitioner, mother, wife, and cancer patient has tested the limits of my sanity at times. I have purchased a “2017” pinata that I will beat the crap out of on New Year’s Eve, and I have filled the inside with plastic mini wine bottles. I can’t think of a more cathartic way to end one crappy year and begin a new one. Thanks for joining me on this journey. This Christmas I had fully intended on having a girl’s night of baking and crafting so I could write another blog about my experience with DIY pet Christmas gifts. I invited my sister-in-law over, had snacks, and had wine. There lies the problem. We sat down to Pinterest a few ideas, and we ended up having more wine than initiative and spent the rest of the evening scrolling on our screens, laughing at funny ideas that we had no intention of trying, and sipping some wine. I didn’t want to leave you stranded out there, though, if you hadn’t gotten your pet a nice gift for Christmas, so I put all those pins to use and created a top 10 list of all the cool (and hilarious) pet gifts that we found, and not just DIY ideas. Just remember, we were under the influence of sweet red wine when we chose these, so our idea of a great gift at the time might be slightly skewed now. Enjoy! 1.) HAHA! That’s all I have to say about this one. It was pretty hilarious at the time too! Nip-in-the-Butt Cat Butt Handmade Catnip Toy 2.) DIY Dog Collar My own dog would either need to be shaved for this to work or would need an XXXL shirt to fit around her hairy neck, but I’m very tempted to try either one for a family picture. She’ll hate it for sure, but she’d look fantastic! 3.) DIY Vintage Kitty Camper Every kitty needs their own Airstream, right? If you’ve got an extra box hanging around from opened Christmas gifts (or those large boxes they always ship tiny items in) definitely make the Kitty Camper. 4.) DIY Salt Dough Ornaments Here’s a simple one for you, and one that you can do yearly if you’ve got a puppy. Hey, you might as well do the baby too while you’re at it. I wouldn’t suggest the cat though. I’m pretty sure my cat would add claws to the print, and it might be pre-painted red after he’s done with me. 5.) Mini Pom Poms Here’s a simple one for your cat and shouldn’t take you long. Now you just need to find that yarn that’s stored away in the house from when you had the urge to learn how to knit, then quickly realized you’d rather drink wine and watch Netflix. 6.) Dog Murphy Bed This isn’t really a DIY gift, but you could most certainly order it for your pet. If you have an old cabinet hanging around, I suggest sending it off to someone more crafty with more time. But personally, I really want to order this for next Christmas. I wonder if they have an extra large Pyrenees version. I could also buy two, and the second one could serve as the toddler napping bed. 7.) Whack-a-mole Cat Toy This is just fun to watch. I don’t think I could personally make this, but maybe you should go for it. 8.) Dog Art I guess this is more of a gift for the owner, but the dog might think it’s for him/her. Either way, it’s awesome! 10.) DIY Kong Dog Toy Here’s a very easy last second gift for your pooch, like if you wake up Christmas morning and have nothing. Head to the kitchen and whip it up in a few minutes while he’s out in the yard taking a potty break. Hopefully you get a good idea here! Or just enjoy the hilarity of our laziness of Pinteresting rather than actually making even the simplest of these gifts. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! December 13th is National Day of the Horse. This holiday was created to acknowledge contributions horses have made to the United States. They plowed fields, they were a form of travel that brought pioneers west, they diversified Native American hunting, and much more. Admittedly, I work with horses in my practice, but not extensively. Most of my large animal work is with cattle, and I'm okay with that as I find cattle much more predictable and less dangerous. However, as a former horse owner myself, I understand the beauty of these animals, their contributions, and the bond they share with their owners. This week, in honor of the holiday, I'm sharing photos of my blog readers, their horses, and what contributions their horses have made in their lives. Maybe someday I'll write a blog post about my days as a horse owner. This is my sweet Savannah. She currently resides in Heaven due to complete blindness that created extreme anxiety. She was my best friend for 23 years. She was born on my 13th birthday and from that point on she knew more about me than any human! The love and trust this horse had for me was immeasurable and I'm so very grateful to have experienced her existence! - Lisa S. Kahuna has been the one constant in our Air Force Family circus lifestyle- we move every 2-3 years to a new base, school, and state, but for the past 14 years this guy has been our constant, and my two daughters know that as long as Kahuna is there, wherever we are is home. We just love him to pieces, even if he’s all grey and retired to pony rides these days. My girls have never known a single day without him, and I’m grateful. - Bentley L. Thanks for sharing your great pictures! Happy National Day of the Horse! Horses lend us the wings we lack. - anonymous Last week I ended my post with the highlights and lowlights (an old guy’s butt) of my second sinus surgery. I thought all was well when I was discharged from the hospital, and I was very happy to be heading home. We headed home mid-morning. I was ready to see my baby boy and put the whirlwind of a night in the hospital behind me. For the first couple of days, recovery went relatively smoothly. I was having to take more pain medication than before, but I figured they had to remove tissue more aggressively with this surgery, so that made sense. My surgery was on Wednesday, and by Saturday I woke up with a swollen eye and what we call in the profession a unilateral mucopurulent nasal discharge; basically, nasty stuff coming out of the left side of my nose. I was able to stay comfortable on the pain medication, but I was maxing out the dose. When I looked at the vial and saw only a few pills left, I knew I would probably need more to get through the weekend, so I called the number they gave me and asked to speak with the ENT resident on call. I discussed the swelling and the discharge with him, which wasn’t terribly concerning at this point post-op. He said he would write me a script for the medication and leave it in the ER of the hospital. I would have to drive 30 miles to Columbia to pick it up as in the state of Missouri, doctors have to write paper scripts for opioids and can’t legally call them in to your local pharmacy. My husband was putting in some extra hours at work, so my mom came over to drive me to Columbia. My mom showed up, we got the baby ready, and headed to Columbia. I had hoped the baby would sleep during the drive, but he was not in the greatest mood and crying. About 15 minutes into the drive, I decided to mix him a bottle of formula to see if he would take a bottle and go to sleep. I got out my thermos of hot water and carefully started to mix the bottle when I felt the sudden urge to vomit. I told my mom, “You need to pull over. Now!” My mom then started freaking out because I had an open thermos of hot water in my lap, and she started yelling, “Don’t spill the water! Don’t spill the water!” She pulled over into a small driveway going into a pasture, and I immediately opened the door and lost my lunch, and breakfast, and possibly dinner the night before, all while the baby was screaming. I was currently cursing America’s opioid crisis for making my life so much more difficult. Nevertheless, we made it to Columbia and got my script. I went ahead and filled it at the hospital to eliminate having to make one more stop. Over the next day or two, I slowly became aware that even the max dose of pain meds I was on was not controlling my pain. I didn’t understand why this was so much different than my first surgery, where I took pain meds for just a couple of days. I’m also a long distance runner and have a very high pain tolerance. Something was not right. I called my doctor first thing Monday morning, and we discussed the possibility of infection. He prescribed me an antibiotic, the same antibiotic I had been prescribed for my first surgery, and I started it that morning. My pain progressed throughout the day. I spoke to my doctor’s nurse, a good friend of mine, and they said it might be a good idea to come in and have some testing done to rule out meningitis or a CSF leak. It was approaching late afternoon by this point, so they told me to come into the ER and one of the residents would direct my testing. I left my baby with my mother-in-law, and my husband and I left for the ER. My mom met us there, and we waited in the waiting room for awhile. I sat there frantically looking for more and more kleenexes as purulent drainage poured out of the left side of my nose. Gross, I know. They ushered us back to the ER itself. It was a busy night in the ER and the individual rooms were full. They had us in the hallway of the ER with dividers in between patients. The nurse came by and I explained the history and told them the ENT residents would be expecting me. I also told her I was in a significant amount of pain, a level 8 or 9 by this point. She said she would get something for my pain. I decided to distract myself by eavesdropping on the person in the ER behind me. I listened through the divider to what seemed like a college-aged guy. He was anxious and complaining about feeling out of it after smoking a bowl of marijuana with five other friends. I wasn't sure if I heard him right at first, but as the conversation went on it was clear that I did. I floated between being amused and laughing to thinking, “Stop screwing around with this idiot and bring me my pain medication!” Who knew the ER on a Monday night could be so entertaining? The nurse came by with my pain medication. As the nurse was about to give me my medication IV, my mom kindly asked the nurse, “Can I go get you some alcohol wipes?” She then added, “The last nurse didn’t wipe down the port before using it, and that bothers me. You know us old nurses. We need to follow protocol.” My nurse agreed to go get disinfectant wipes to wipe down my catheter. My mom was very nice and tactful, and it felt great to have someone so knowledgeable as my advocate at this time, especially since I was only thinking of the pain and everything else didn’t matter at this point. The nurse wiped down the port to my catheter and gave me a large IV bolus of fentanyl. It was the first time in days that my pain level went down to zero. My whole body relaxed and I lounged back in the chair in the ER hallway with a warm blanket. After days of unresolved pain, I finally had some relief. My mom brought us snacks from the kiosk and they took me back to get a CT. Shortly after I returned from CT, my pain came back again. I knew fentanyl was short-acting, but it still caught me by surprise. My pain went from zero to 10 again in a matter of minutes. It may have been the sudden onset of pain again, or just feeling heartbroken that after getting relief it returned again so quickly. I started hyperventilating and having a full-on panic attack in the ER hallway. The nurse came back and gave me another bolus of fentanyl, but I was so worked up that it didn't work very well. On the tail end of my panic attack, the ENT resident showed up. I kind of felt bad for him considering I was pretty much a basket case. After having a high pain level for days, I was just done. I couldn't take it anymore. I mentioned to him that I had been started on antibiotics earlier that day, but I had been on that antibiotic a lot in the recent past. He was very nice and respectful, and he told me he would scope my nose. He took me to a room to scope me, and it was clear I had an infection. He also took a culture. At this point, he thought about changing antibiotics, but he would go talk to his clinician in charge first. He came back, and they decided to keep me on the same antibiotic pending further culture results. After he left, the ER doctor came in. He told me to continue my current pain medication, but they added a muscle relaxant as I was having spasms in my neck from being so tense with pain. My pain level seemed pretty under control when I left the ER late that night. The next day, I actually felt pretty good. I had a recheck scheduled with my oncologist. When I went in that afternoon, I was feeling encouraged. Before my doctor came in, his resident came in to get a history. I mentioned I had been to the ER the night before for severe pain, and they found infection and ran a culture. The resident said, “Wait. Who told you you had an infection?” I said, “The resident. He scoped me and saw puss in my sinuses.” He looked at the computer and said, “Well, you didn't have a fever or an elevated white count.” He took a light and looked up my nose and added, “Yeah. I really don't see anything wrong here.” I was fuming. I didn't appreciate being treated like a whiny sorority girl, especially by a guy with way too much product in his hair. My mom piped in and said, “She's really not one to complain about pain. She's feeling better today, but something isn't right.” I was just about to school the resident on the difference between a localized and systemic infection when my oncologist walked in saying, “Was I right about those antibiotics, or what?” I gave a knowing glance to the resident. I discussed everything with him, and we decided since I was feeling better we wouldn't make any changes to the antibiotic until the culture results were back, which made sense. I went back home and had a wonderful evening with my son while my husband did some farm chores. I even felt up to taking the baby for a walk in the stroller. It was great to finally feel more like myself again. In the middle of the night, the pain returned. My pain medication could only be taken every four hours, and it was lasting me two hours. Which meant I had two hours of agony between every dose. Ice packs gave me some relief, so I was able to get some sleep by balancing an ice pack on my head. When I woke up, my head was throbbing, and I still had at least an hour before I could take my next dose of pain medication. I had never had migraines before, but I could now understand how your whole body shuts down when your head is throbbing. The baby was fussing and my husband was doing his best to take care of him, but then he handed the baby off to me as it was time for him to leave for work. I tried to comfort the baby for a minute or so and get him back to sleep, and then I just started crying and said, “I can't do this.” I had reached a new low. It was bad enough that I couldn't work, but I had reached a point where I couldn't even care for my own child. “What kind of mother am I?” I thought. My husband looked helpless. I looked helpless. He took the baby to my mother's house, catching her off guard when she was barely awake. And in the rush to leave and get to work on time, he forgot the diaper bag. My mom brought the baby back to my house shortly after, frazzled and confused why my pain had returned. I think it caught everyone by surprise as I was doing much better the day before. I sent my oncologist’s nurse a text message (I know her, and she told me I could communicate with her that way). This is in no way an open door to start calling or texting your doctors and nurses on their personal phones. I know this nurse personally, and she told me to text her (probably because she didn’t want to listen to my mouth breathing over the phone). I told her my pain had returned and that I had reached a point where I could no longer take care of my baby or even myself, and that all of my helpers (my husband and the two grandmas) were getting fatigued and reaching their limit. I told her I was getting desperate. I really don't like that word, but I couldn't think of a better word to describe what I was feeling. She said my doctor would like to admit me to the hospital to get a better handle on things. She said she would let me know when my room was arranged so everything would be ready when we got there. My mom was a nurse, so I might be biased, but, of course, it felt like another amazing nurse came to the rescue. I packed my bags and said goodbye to my baby again. I arrived at the hospital late morning. They started me on fluids, took some labs, and took me in for another CT. My doctor came in to see me, and in an hour or so, they had started me on two high powered antibiotics. I was getting the good stuff. I needed to get up and distract myself, and one of the nurses filled me in that 11 laps around the floor was a mile, so I did just that. I walked a mile. As I walked, I thought about how this whole process made childbirth seem like a walk in the park. I slept a little better that night, and my pain was not totally controlled by the next morning, but better. They told me the next morning that culture results were still pending, so they would probably keep me at least another day. I hung out with my mom in the hospital room most of the day. I told my husband to go to work as I knew he would feel better there and be a nervous, antsy wreck hanging out with me in the hospital. My mom showed me an area where I could sneak out the back of the hospital and take a walk. MU campus was right there, so I would take short jaunts around campus. I'm sure the students walking to class were wondering what in the world was this person doing walking around with an IV pole. At least I wasn't wearing the assless hospital gown. All the while, my medical team seemed unsure why I was in such pain, which scared me. No one likes to be in limbo land, not knowing what is wrong or how to treat it. Later that day, culture results came back. I had pseudomonas and Staph aureus. Luckily, there was one oral antibiotic that both bugs were susceptible to, so I could go home on medication the next day. Finally some answers, and there was an end in sight. My doctor came by to visit again the morning of discharge, relieved that I was feeling better. You could tell he cared. I knew I'd have a long road to recovery. I had dropped 12 pounds since surgery (there goes the rest of my baby weight. Woot woot!), and I was currently having trouble holding down my breakfast due to the strong antibiotics I was on. It had also been the longest I'd gone without seeing my son, and I was ready to go home. I had a hair appointment scheduled that afternoon that I had scheduled months before. I had honestly given up on making that appointment as I figured I wouldn't be discharged in time. I think my mom may have mentioned this appointment to my nurses because all of a sudden there were a team of nurses in my room disconnecting me from my IV, getting my medications together, and one of them even went over my discharge instructions while I pumped. They put in a lot of effort to get me out of there in time for my hair appointment. It doesn't seem like much, but an hour in a nice salon after this ordeal was nice. The nurses doing that for me meant a lot. I got home on a Friday and was taking calls again by Sunday. Returning to work and a little normalcy that following Monday was a great feeling. There were definitely some challenges I wasn't expecting. I can't thank my medical team enough for being proactive and getting me back home and back to work, especially my oncologist, his nurse, and the nurses that cared for me in the hospital. Well, maybe with the exception of the cocky resident, but I’m sure he had his fill of patients who had self-diagnosed themselves on WebMD that day. . I really can’t thank my mother, my husband, and my mother-in-law enough. My mother was my hospital advocate. Having been a nurse for decades, she was qualified for the job. My husband and mother-in-law held down the fort and cared for my baby when I was unable to, which also meant a lot. I've learned a lot from this experience. Firstly, pseudomonas will kick your ass. Secondly, I learned that if I wasn't a tough b!@#$ before, I sure was now. After receiving a letter from my health insurance a few days later denying the claim for my hospitalization, claiming it was medically unnecessary (which has since been resolved), I also began to understand Breaking Bad and how dealing with the American healthcare system could turn a nice teacher into a drug lord killing machine. Joking aside, I’m thankful to have weathered the first phase of treatment, despite a few hiccups. For my regular readers, I posted a blog about my cancer diagnosis a few weeks ago. I kind of left you hanging after that, so I decided it was time to write another blog post about my treatment journey. For the sake of staying in chronological order, I will focus this post on my second surgery and then visit the aftermath next time, which was phase 1 of cancer treatment. Rewind to about two months ago. As I was getting ready to have sinus surgery for the second time, I really wasn’t scared. This surgery would simply be my oncologist removing the stump that my ENT left during the first surgery and taking biopsies of different areas, like my orbit and skull base. The recovery was supposed to be very similar to my first sinus surgery, which was no big deal. I rode to the hospital that morning ready to take on this thing! I was also ready for a sandwich. Fasting does not agree with me. My bags were packed because, this time, I would stay overnight in the hospital. I arrived at the hospital with my husband and mom and got ushered to the surgery prep floor. The nurse showed me my surgery prep bag on the hospital bed. I used the wipes to wipe down my entire body and put on the lovely purple disposable surgery gown and non-slip socks. Then I realized I forgot to pee before getting all of my surgery attire on, so I waddled down the hallway of the surgery floor to the bathroom making sure my gown didn’t gape open in the back. Not my best look. After the careful trip to the bathroom, I laid back in the hospital bed and turned on a reality TV show about a girl with Tourette syndrome. The nurses came in and placed my IV catheter. My mom, my husband, and my pastor came into the room, and then my aunt showed up! A crowd! The anesthesiologist joined the party to make sure I understood the risks involved with surgery, and we chatted for a short bit about running and steak, my two passions. We then gathered and said a prayer with my pastor. Shortly after, the nurses came to wheel me off. I gave my husband’s hand a squeeze and then waved as I was wheeled down the hallway. When we got into the elevator to head to the OR, the nurses explained that they were giving me Versed in my IV, which would make me feel relaxed, maybe loopy, or the dream of every Type A personality, it would make me feel like a Type B personality. They were definitely right. As they wheeled me into the OR, I could see a team of people there and the surgery lights above me. One of the nurses said, “I’m going to place a mask on you. It’s just oxygen.” That’s the last thing I remember before surgery. Clearly, it was not just oxygen. I woke up in recovery, and there was a nice nurse right there. He offered me water, and of course I took it because I was breastfeeding and I drink water like crazy. My surgeon then stopped by, and he seemed so happy. He said the surgery went extremely well, and suggested that I may not even need to get radiation. I couldn’t believe it! No one had mentioned not doing radiation before. I was wheeled to my hospital room, and my mom and husband joined me shortly after. It was probably the pain meds talking, and the euphoria at the thought of not needing radiation, but I was pretty spunky. My husband probably should have taken away my phone. I was texting family members and loved ones, joking about the lift next to my bed. I honestly can’t remember what else I was joking about, but I’m sure it was entertaining or disturbing for those receiving texts. My husband and I watched some cable TV, and we got updates about our son from my mother-in-law, who was watching him. My hospital room had the perfect view of Jesse Hall and Memorial Union, Columbia’s most iconic buildings. My husband got settled in his bed right next to the window, but not before I jumped up on his bed for a picture in front of the window to show the view. That was probably not the greatest idea on the all the drugs I was on. I explained to the nurses that I wanted to stay on schedule with my pain medications as I learned from my last surgery that it is easier to stay ahead of the pain. We settled into our beds and went to sleep. I thought a night in the hospital and away from the baby might help me rest. Boy, was I wrong. Things were going well, but that all started to change at 2 A.M. I heard the door to my room open, so I raised my head. A bald man in a hospital gown walked into my room, looking confused. He said, “Oh, I guess I walked into the wrong room.” He turned around to leave, and his hospital gown revealed more of his backside than I wanted to see. After having a stranger’s ass in my face, I knew I wouldn’t be going back to sleep for some time. Shortly after, the tech came into my room to take my vitals. I was about due for my next pain medication dose, so I mentioned to him that I would like more pain medication. “I’ll tell the nurse,” he said. I dozed back off, and then I woke up a couple of hours later. This time, my nose was throbbing. The nurse must not have given me my pain medication. I pushed the call button and asked for pain medication...again. The nurse came in with my medication. She didn’t apologize as I had hoped, but she gave me my pills, which was good enough. I laid down and tried to drift back to sleep, but it took awhile since I felt like I had been punched in the face. I had just started to fall asleep when the ENT residents came in to make their rounds. They asked how I was doing. I mentioned I was in a little pain, but that we had got behind on the pain medication (exactly what I didn’t want to happen). We discussed that I would likely be discharged later in the morning. When shift change happened, I was relieved to see that I had the nurse that I had the day before, who I really liked. As I was organizing my things to leave the hospital and drinking my morning coffee, my nurse walked in. She said, “Um, I may have an embarrassing question for you.” I said, “Okay, go ahead,” with uncertainty. She handed me a box and said, “The pharmacy sent this up. Do you need this?” I looked at the box and realized it was the morning after pill. I said, “Ummmm, no...” The nurse said, “Oh, the pharmacy must have sent it up by mistake.” We both had a good laugh when I told her that my husband and I did not have that great of a time last night. In fact, my husband had slept through everything, including the stranger in the assless hospital gown and my missed pain medication. I said this while secretly thinking to myself, “What in the world did they do to me in that OR?” I kid, of course. All in all, my experience in the hospital went well. I learned from the experience that I have a lot to be grateful for, especially for the people who were there with me, the doctors and nurses who had to deal with me, those praying for me, those doing the behind the scenes work to keep my life and business running smoothly, and to those who sent inappropriate messages, GIFs, and/or videos to keep me entertained. I left feeling very positive, and slightly loopy, but like every good high, it wasn’t meant to last. Next week I’ll share how naive I was to think that this surgery stuff was a piece of cake. Recently the AVMA posted an article on their website titled “5 Reasons You Want a Veterinarian on your Team in a Zombie Apocalypse.” It’s an entertaining article about how versatile we veterinarians are in a pinch. Honestly, I thought of writing a blog on this exact topic. With the popularity of The Walking Dead on AMC and Halloween around the corner, it was a perfect time for it, and even better, the AVMA did the work for me, because, let’s face it, I’m a walking zombie right now. Check out the AVMA article here: https://www.avma.org/public/Health/Pages/you-want-a-veterinarian-on-your-team-in-a-zombie-apocalypse.aspx Here’s my continued list of why I, and other veterinarians, would be a great pick to survive against a zombie apocalypse:
So good luck during the zombie apocalypse, trick-or-treating, or just binge watching The Walking Dead. I truly believe I would be an amazing asset to your team in the event of a zombie apocalypse, but I am also a runner, and in the face of something like that, you might want a vet that’s more of a walker. Happy Halloween! |
Jessica Stroupe, DVM
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August 2017
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