Surgery Ward

I’ve been around the shelter long enough now the staff is bothering to learn my name (Melody).  As they’ve taken smoke breaks out back Lara jokingly shouted, “We should start paying you!” and half-jokingly I respond “Sure!”  At the end of that same day I talk to Danny, the operations manager for the shelter, and ask exactly what needs the shelter really has.  There are three opportunities they are looking for; Intake, Un-certified Vet Tech (i.e. paid less than certified), and Adoption Counselor.  To me they all seem interesting, but assisting with veterinary care for the animals pulls my heart and my mouth forward as I happily volunteer to try that one on for size.  The next day at 8am I’m at the shelter and ready to understand exactly how the spay and neuter process goes, and hopefully see one of the operations close up. 

The first step I help with is gathering the patients from the general kennel area and placing them in the surgical prep/recovery room.  Working with another volunteer we bring in nine different dogs and place in stainless steel kennels next to the two cats and litter of kittens already occupying other cells.  Loretta, the certified Vet Technician, and I start to look over the collection of creatures and she points one out as the first surgery for the day.  Taking Hobbs from his kennel, first we weigh him, coaxing his anxious energy to stand still long enough to register in at 40lbs.  Knowing the weight Loretta begins to draw the amount of sedative we’ll use on him, along with vaccinations he’ll receive for rabies and distemper.  For some strays, this may be the first medical attention they have ever received, and they are dismayed or freaked out as a result.  For other lost pets, they’ve been to Vets before, but never alone and without their real parents to comfort them.

To give a dog anesthetic is no small task, at this location since they operate more like a M.A.S.H unit, they are efficient and effective if not always gentle-handed as I’d like.  Since I’m the assistant today I start by taking the lead we have on Hobb’s neck, while standing behind him, getting Hobbs to sit and quickly wrapping the cord twice around his muzzle so he won’t bite.  There are more than one way to hold a dog in order to give a shot, but this is how Loretta suggests I do it.  So I lift the left front leg so Loretta can find a vein and administer the anesthetic.  Sometimes it’s hard to find the dog veins, so there is expected squirming from them as she pokes and prods until a small amount of blood enters the syringe and she knows to inject the anesthetic.  I’m told at a normal vet hospital, they’d shave the area first to make the vein easier to find, but here that’s a step which is skipped. 

Once in the bloodstream anesthetic takes hold very quickly changing a hyper or strong dog into a docile and slouchy dog body.  Hobbs is very agreeable, or simply overwhelmed, so administering his anesthesia goes quite smoothly.  I hold him as I feel the effects, first his body is less tense, muscles soften, then his head sways slightly left to right and back.  He’s trying to focus, trying to stay awake, but it’s moments until he lays down, with eyes open and tongue protruding, he’s asleep.  Now lying limp on the floor, we know he’s out when his blink reflex no longer reacts to taps on the nose.  We grab his legs, she takes the front and lifts his head using the nape, and I take the back.  Raising the dogs up to the operating table is a challenge, given how their bodies become limp and how much some of them weigh.  Hobbs is only 40lbs, so not too bad, lifting him is easy and we position his middle back into a plastic v-shaped tray designed to support his spine and keep him stable.  Next we tie down his legs with cords attached to the table and adjust the light so it’s directly over the field of operation.  Loretta shaves Hobbs and preps the area with an iodine solution.  Three gauze pads of iodine are used and this may represent the first bath Hobbs has had in many months, if not years.  If he’s a stray likely his mother bathed him, but this is nothing like that loving act.

Three Vets work at the shelter, and according to Loretta each have a different operating style, but in essence the operations are the same.  It’s easier to neuter a male than spay a female, but although the female operation is more involved, I must state plainly that neutering seems much, much more grotesque to me.  I fully support spaying and neutering, but watching one being done speaks volumes to the healing power and good nature of dogs who, when they recover from this, still let humans touch them.

The Vets all use a cautering knife for their surgeries since it seals as it separates.  There is an unpleasant odor, similar to a dentists drill when it gets hot, but less blood loss.  To neuter a dog, an incision is made along the lower abdomen, near the testicals, and one at a time they are pushed upward and outward like white, glossy, shooter marbles.  Using the testes which extracts first the Vet then pulls the other one through the same opening, yielding a length of tissue with each.  Clamps close off one piece of tissue, then a second set of clamps create the cutting line where the cautering knife separates the tissue and creates a sealed scar at the same time.  In his hands he holds one testes and places it on the blue fabric placed over Hobbs chest.  Then he does the same with the second testes and now they both lay on Hobbs stomach, outside his body, no longer attached.

Once the testes are removed, the remaining tissue slips back into and under the skin rather easily and the Vet checks for bleeders.  Sometimes there is a little blood, sometimes there is more, but he carefully cauterizes the area and seals them off.  Then it’s a matter of simple stitches and the procedure is complete in 20 minutes or less.  Doc steps out and Loretta moves back in and cleans the area with peroxide, we trim nails and hoist the still limp Hobbs off the table.  30 minutes ago when we got Hobbs from his surgery kennel, he probably thought he was going for a walk, he couldn’t possibly know what was to happen.

Walking backwards with Hobbs back legs held in my hands and his hips hanging at my knees, Loretta lifts his front legs and his head hang down with his tongue protruding through quiet lips.  If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was dead.  Holding Hobbs I step from the surgery room to recovery where yippy dogs become momentarily quiet taking in what they are witnessing, a dog that left their ranks with full bark and bravado, and is returned knocked cold and placed on a newspaper blanket within the kennel next to them.  Loretta slams the kennel door shut and the loud noise startles the other animals and me.  Some dogs remain quiet, others start barking, yipping, crying or pleading for attention, to get out, water, food, or a clean kennel.  Or maybe they are barking “What did you do?”  We go back into the surgery room and pull the card for the next animal, dog or cat, clean the operating table, check syringes are ready with the appropriate contents, and go back in to get whoever’s number came up. 

We keep this up until noon, when Loretta takes lunch and I get back to the dogs in the recovery area.  By now the ones we started the morning with are waking from anesthesia, and they are lucid enough to stand, albeit wobbly and woozy.  Carefully, one at a time, we take them to an isolated area just outside so they can get fresh air and relieve themselves, or vomit, and we clean their kennels which almost always are urine soaked as a result of their condition.  No one can have food or water yet until they are fully out of anesthesia, so the best comfort we can provide is a clean kennel to come back and lay down in.

The comforting thought I cling to throughout this day in the surgery ward is that we only operate on those going to rescue groups, or those being adopted.  (And of course those operations on dogs with life-threatening injuries, although we didn’t have one of those today.)  While this seems a drastic day for any animal to endure, it’s a milestone on their way to a more permanent place, with foster or pet parents who will care for and caress them all, perhaps fingering the scars on their bellies while rubbing and showing affection, and the dog will not associate them with this day.  They will only know this day is over and the rest of their life has been better since.