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Somebody like Hannah got away with a whole lot more. If you were expected to be perfect, the tiniest detour got noticed. If you were expected to make trouble, the little stuff slid right past, obscured by the shadow of the big stuff. And every decent thing you did, no matter how tiny or basic, was celebrated.
It was probably a lot easier to be Hannah.
Sorry. I’ll behave
Gotta get back to work. Thanks, Dunc.
??
~oOo~
Kelsey lifted her hands away from the table, where the pregnant kitten lay, anesthetized and mid-spay. “Show me her chart.”
Peggy held up a tablet in sterile covering, and Kelsey scanned it. Kevin had done the sonogram and enumerated ten fetuses.
Typically, when they spayed a pregnant cat, they removed the uterus intact. But this kitten’s uterus was so stretched it had become like tissue paper, and Kelsey had been concerned about rupture, so she’d opened it and removed the fetuses.
She was good at her work and didn’t let emotion get in the way and endanger the animals in her care, but there was a part of her that hurt with each tiny, unfinished kitten.
After eight fetuses, she hadn’t found more. What Kevin had identified as two fetuses was instead a mass. A teratoma. Spongey, veiny, full of blood and tissue.
A spay surgery like this one had been meant to be took twenty to twenty-five minutes. Slightly more complicated than a cat that wasn’t pregnant, but not particularly time-consuming or difficult. But a tumor excision was something else entirely. Teratomas were like parasites, growing from within and spreading out as far and fast as possible, devouring as they went. She couldn’t just slice it out; instead, she had to very carefully excise it, making sure to get it all and close off any bleeds, some of which might be gushers and others nearly too small to find.
If she left one of the tiny ones open, the cat’s belly could slowly, steadily fill with blood until she ran out of it.
So here, nearing the end of a very long day of surgeries, Kelsey had about three hours of high-stakes surgery to perform to save this poor cat, who was still a kitten herself.
“She’s a TNR, Kelsey,” Anita said softly.
She didn’t say more, but Kelsey understood her implication. This small, malnourished cat, with a beautiful calico coat, was feral. She had no person, no home but the abandoned old farm that was home to a sizeable feral colony. No one would be able to pay for the much more intensive surgery to remove the tumor. No one would mourn her passing. She was already unconscious. They could simply add some medicine to the line and be done.
But Kelsey couldn’t do that. This feral cat wasn’t the slightest bit afraid of people. If anything, she was curious—and sweet as could be. She was one who could be fostered and socialized, who could find a forever home, who could learn how good and comfortable an indoor life could be.
And even if she weren’t, even if she’d been terrified and aggressive, who was Kelsey to say a feral cat—especially one in a colony—wasn’t living its best life?
She had the skills. She was a doctor. She could save this cat. So she would try.
“See if Kevin can do the neuters,” she told Peggy, who nodded and stepped out of the room.
Kelsey turned from the table and allowed herself one disconsolate sigh. Then she turned back. “Okay. Let’s see if we can save this sweet girl.”
~oOo~
“Hello, baby,” Kelsey cooed. The pretty calico mewed softly and stretched a lethargic paw out to touch her finger. She wasn’t completely out from under the effects of sedation, but her alertness and calm was a great sign.
They were both exhausted, but the surgery had been a success.
Kelsey stroked her paw. “You rest and get better, okay?”
She’d texted Dex again after she’d finished surgery, just a quickThinking of you, and gotten a swift reply.Sorry I’m quiet. Busy. But same.So he was okay, just busy. Few understood what a Bull being busy meant like their own family, so Kelsey didn’t push him for more.
“I heard what happened,” Kevin said behind her.
Kelsey turned and smiled. “Hey. Why are you still here?” It was a couple of hours after the clinic had closed.
“I didn’t want you here by yourself—and anyway, I had paperwork.” He peered into the crate and smiled. “I’m sorry I missed the teratoma.”
“It happens. She’s so small, and there were eight fetuses already. Sonograms are inexact.”
