Diary of a Third-Year Vet Student: Touching Real Animals

After two years of a lot of foundational material and long discussions of diseases in theoretical animals, the third-year vet student at last gets to lay hands directly on actual animals.

Two weeks ago, I performed my first surgery, a castration of a dog. Of course, I made mistakes. But I started with a living animal and I ended with a living animal, so that counts as a success. It was all those details in between that got me. A surgery like this can take a regular general practioner about 10 minutes, far less time to complete than it takes to prep the dog for the surgery. For us, it can take over an hour.

I was as prepared as I could be. I watched videos. I wrote out, by hand, all of the steps. I read the instructor's notes on the OSU protocol. I practiced and practiced my suture patterns and knots. And even with all that, I made mistakes. But I also learned how to correct those mistakes, and I am fairly confident that, while I may make entirely new mistakes in the future, I won't make those particular ones again. Learning the hard way can certainly push the lesson firmly into your brain.

I had a deer-in-the-headlights moment during the surgery, and oddly, it wasn't when I was making the first incision. It occurred a few minutes later when I was holding the dog's right testis in one hand and gauze that I had used to strip the fascia off the spermatic cord in the other hand. I froze up, and only later did I realize explicitly what my lizard brain had already figured out: everything had been reversible up to that point. And at that point, there was no way to go but forward, to finish the surgery. I took several deep breaths then did just that.

I was terrified going into that surgery. The hubris of the idea that we would be cutting into a living animal and that the outcome was expected to be, was intended to be, better than the starting conditions, was an overwhelming burden. But that drove me to maximize the learning during every second of that long, long hour.

Later that week, we learned how to conduct a breeding soundness exam on a bull and I got to do my first rectal palpation. Kids raised on a farm will think, pfft, that's nothing, I've had my arm up the rectum of hundreds of cows. Yes, but there is always that first one.

Last week, we had our first dystocia lab. Dystocia describes a situation in which the cow can't give birth to the calf in a normal fashion. It can be caused by calves that are too big, calves that are dead, calves that are malpositioned, and so forth. Using a modeling device, essentially a large, zippered plastic bag that is attached to a metal ring on one end with the other end resting on a slanted metal plate, we took turns positioning a lubed-up dead calf in the bag then had our teammates attempt to describe the position of the calf via "vaginal palpation" (sticking their arm covered with an obstetrical glove through the metal hole and feeling the arrangement of the head and limbs of the calf). Then we got to reposition the calf and pull it out, learning how to properly attach chains to its feet and head.

If you think any of this is shocking, I can assure you that I am sparing you even crazier details.

But I will make these comments. The dogs that the students operated on are shelter dogs. They can't go to new homes until they are neutered. We are providing a useful service to the community. And we are watched like hawks. There are fourth-year students, residents, lab techs, and instructors swarming around each operating table. The bull was from the university beef farm. He was probably more annoyed at being stuck in the squeeze chute for an hour than he was by the exam and palpations. The calves were born dead, brought in by clients or collected from the OSU farms or large-animal hospital, and kept frozen until the lab. Yes, there is a risk in having an inexperienced student cut into a living animal or stick their arm into the rectum of a perfectly healthy bull. But those risks are mitigated by engaged instructors who make sure we are ready, classmates who will catch us if we stumble, and having a little bit of healthy fear for the process.