After working as an equine ambulatory veterinarian for about 17 years, I recently left the field to try my hand as a veterinary copywriter. Equine veterinary medicine can be extremely rewarding, but the hours are long, the on-call schedule is grueling, and risking life and limb is ever-present. In addition, the euthanasias seem to get harder, and I felt I needed a change for my own physical and mental health.

My experience is not unique. Numerous veterinarians have left the field for similar reasons, and the veterinary profession is facing a staffing crisis. While I am well aware of this crisis, the problem really hit home this week when my cat needed emergency veterinary care.

My husband and I have two cats. Pops is an 18-month-old male black and grey domestic shorthair (DSH) and his sister, Olive, is a cream and white DSH with startling blue eyes. We love these young, rambunctious, little guys so much and think of them as family. But, Olive is a special case. She is gorgeous, but she is also a problem child. She enjoys destroying expensive cords and eating hair ties and shoelaces. Knowing her tendencies, we cover every cord in our house and we keep potential ingestible objects securely stored. Still, we apparently aren’t vigilant enough.

On Wednesday morning, I woke up to find several vomit piles of what looked like chewed up shoelaces. Olive has eaten things before and vomited them up with no problem, so I wasn’t too concerned at first. She was crying for breakfast and acting normally, and seemed to dive in when I fed the wee beasties as usual. However, after a little while, I realized she had eaten only a small amount, which is definitely not like her. She then proceeded to vomit a liquidy substance, and also was lethargic, unlike her usual morning behavior of bouncing off walls and flying up and down the stairs. I knew a veterinary visit was in our future.

I called our regular veterinarian, who was sympathetic and recommended that she be seen as soon as possible, but they had no availability. I called another nearby practice that could fit her in the following Monday, but a foreign body ingestion is a veterinary emergency, so I thanked them kindly and continued my search. Next, I contacted a veterinary emergency practice, which was at capacity and couldn’t take any more patients. Then, I called a veterinary emergency practice in the next county that could see her, but could not perform surgery if that was needed. A foreign body usually requires surgical removal, so that didn’t seem the best option.

I was beginning to panic. No one would see my baby who needed emergency attention. Finally, I found a practice about 40 miles away that would see her right away, so without washing my face or combing my hair, I bundled Olive into her carrier and we jumped in the car. Olive is not a fan of car rides, and she meowed the entire way, making the trip in rush-hour traffic much more harrowing. 

We finally arrived, rushed Olive inside, and were told that Olive would be on the floor for triage. The practice had a large, open-concept floor plan, and everyone was busy working on different cases. A veterinary nurse examined Olive and then placed us in a private room so she didn’t have to stay in her carrier while we waited for the veterinarian. The veterinarian, who was extremely nice, listened to Olive’s story, evaluated her, and recommended X-rays. Olive was a bit squirmy, but they were able to get some views that showed material in her small intestine, but no obvious blockage. The veterinarian recommended sending the views to a radiologist, and in the interim, Olive would be put on fluids and monitored, in the hopes she would pass the material on her own. 

We reluctantly left, knowing Olive was in capable hands. They retook X-rays at 10 p.m., and the findings remained inconclusive. Olive wasn’t acting painful, although cats are notoriously good at hiding pain, and she had not vomited again, so they recommended continuing fluid therapy overnight and rechecking X-rays in the morning.

The next morning told a different story—X-rays showed that Olive’s small intestine was abnormally distended. Options were to continue fluid therapy and recheck X-rays that afternoon, ship her to another facility for ultrasound, or perform exploratory surgery. The veterinarian recommended surgery, and I concurred, since we knew she had eaten a shoelace. 

Surgery was planned for 11:30 a.m. on Thursday. When I arrived around 11:15, Olive was so happy to see me, and flopped over and started making air biscuits while I scratched her chin. I wanted to take her home right then but, of course, that wasn’t in her best interest. She was indignant about being left in a cage and having to wear a cone on her head. She implored me to remedy the situation immediately, but she had to make do with excessive pets and my assurances that she could go home soon. The veterinary nurses had placed a sign with three jalapenos on her cage to indicate her spiciness. In contrast, Snowball in the cage next to her, who had also ingested a shoelace—what are the odds?—had only one jalapeno on his cage sign. 

Everyone was busy, but the two veterinarians on duty that day and a few of the veterinary nurses made a point to introduce themselves and say “Hello.” While we waited, a cat  with a 96-degree temperature—normal for a cat is 101 to 102.5 degrees—and a low heart rate, and who was mentally dull, was brought in. The veterinarian performed several diagnostics, because the rule-out list was cancer, head trauma, or rabies, since he wasn’t vaccinated. Yikes! I felt extremely bad for the cat’s owner, an elderly gentleman who seemed attached to his feline friend. A young Weimaraner who was vomiting and whose X-rays showed he had ingested a large rock, also came in. Another potential surgical candidate. 

Finally, at about 12:30, they prepared Olive for surgery. They induced her, connected her to oxygen, clipped her abdomen, and took her into the surgery suite, which  had a viewing window. During the procedure, the veterinarian turned around once and gave me a thumbs up to let me know things were proceeding well. They found the obstruction at her cecum that they were able to manipulate down her intestinal tract and out her rectum, so they didn’t have to incise her intestine. Great news! They recovered several small shoelace pieces.

Olive recovered well, and we took her home the next day. Her brother thought she smelled extremely funny and hissed at her, but Olive didn’t seem to care. 

The team at Veterinary Emergency Group in Falls Church, Virginia, did an amazing job. I want to say a special thanks to Drs. Donaggio, de Armas, and Barnes, and Kat, Olive’s wonderful veterinary nurse, who were all upbeat, kind, and exceptionally competent. Veterinary emergency work is not easy, and I greatly appreciate their hard work and dedication to care for the patients who need their attention in crisis situations.

Olive is so glad to be home. She and Pops love each other again, and all is copacetic.