Four-Legged Lexis

Who's Counting to DVM?

I am.  I am counting.  A week from tomorrow, I'll walk across the stage, and become a DVM, officially.  Between now and then, though, there's still five more planes to board, my sister's graduation to attend, and an apartment full of "stuff" to pack up and stuff into a U-Haul in some sort of organized manner. 

I've already left Iowa behind in my mind, even though I have three make-up days to complete before I'm done with rotations.  A couple days after Easter, I boarded a plane (imagine that) to fly to PA.  It's my new home, and the current home of my love interest, MH.  Ah, he's more than a love interest.  Who am I trying to kid?  We're a very much in-love couple, and I'm ready to get out of Iowa.  The long-distance thing has worn on us a little.  For sure, though, each time he's met me at the airport, it's been all that much sweeter.  There will be no more airport good-byes, at least not ones where we are leaving each other for different homes. 

So, here I am, waiting for plane #2 to board in Detroit.  The taxi driver picked me up at MH's apartment this morning at the ungodly hour of 4:30 a.m.  I slept on the first flight, and planned on sleeping on the second.  But when the gate agent asked for "a volunteer," I jumped, and exuberantly gave up my seat.  I'd much rather fly out a little later if it means a free ticket for summer travel.  Even though I'll finally be making a salary soon, that doesn't mean air travel is any less expensive.  It just means I can't play the role of "poor student."  (But I can be "poor enough veterinarian paying back her student loans.")  And free is always a bonus.

Earlier today, I made momentary friends with a woman from PA.  Her travels were taking her to her new home in Montana.  Along with her today was "Bousa," a domestic short haired cat.  I introduced myself as a soon-to-be veterinarian.  She then told me that her cat was sedated.  I suggested a drug name, and indeed, that was correct.  Petting her cat, I wondered if the veterinarian had told her about the side effect of that drug with cats.  The third eyelid elevates, and quite honestly, cats on that drug look a little odd.  She nearly flipped out, and later said if I wouldn't have explained it to her, she would have thought her cat was having a seizure.  Interesting.  In any case, I'm glad that I could use that little bit of knowledge to clear things up for some random person. 

The airport seems quiet.  I'm thinking about wandering soon to find something to eat.  After all, Northwest Airlines is paying for whatever tasty vittles I find to enjoy today.  Sushi to go and a coffee from Starbucks would make me smile. 

Snowed In in the Keystone State

High above the city streets, eight floors to be exact, I'm sitting in a hotel room, just steps from Chinatown.  Last night's snow storm of monstrous (apparently) proportions has resulted in my flight's cancellation, and therefore, an extension of my stay in Philadelphia.  When the snow began to fall yesterday afternoon, I was driving here.  After arriving, and circling around the one-way streets several times before finding the parking ramp, MH and I went out to dinner.  We walked a couple city blocks before finding the Hard Rock Cafe.  A chain restaurant, but one that neither of us had been to before.  While we ate, the snowfall intensified, but the atmosphere inside was warm and full of great music that we both knew. 

After dinner, we trekked out again, and I had my first experience of hailing a cab.  The driver spoke broken English, and apparently was not impressed that we wanted to go to Manayunk.  MH made out the phrase "it's slippery up there."  I didn't pick up on that.  We laughed to ourselves during the ride.  He pointed out a few sights to me as the cab drove north through the city to Manayunk.  He didn't know exactly where we were going, and ended up dropping us off a couple blocks from where we wanted to be - that being Grape Street.  The band iKe was playing, and the guys of Jealousy Curve were supposed to be there. 

MH was freezing; I could feel his hand shaking in mine from the cold.  When we finally found the place, I sarcastically commented that this place was "the place to be," as it was absolutely silent with no people outside milling about.  We walked around to the main entrance, and found the doors to be locked.  I made a phone call to  no avail, and within a few minutes, we were in another cab, and headed back to the hotel.  Still when we arrived, the streets were just slushy, with barely any accumulation.  All that would change overnight. 

In the morning, the snow had accumulated, probably a foot or so on the rooftop of the parking garage next to the hotel.  I knew from a phone call made yesterday that the morning flight from Philadelphia to Milwaukee had already been canceled.  Now it was just a matter of waiting to find out if my flight, the evening one, would also be canceled due to the weather. 

Sure enough, by about 3:30 this afternoon, my phone rang.  A call from a 215 area code number that I did not recognize had a caller on the other end who politely informed me that I had been re-booked on the flight tomorrow morning.  So, I'll watch TV, eat delivered pizza from a local place, and relax.  I'll hopefully make it home tomorrow afternoon, and be reunited with Izzy.

And the Results Are In...

I stalked my mailbox each day last week until the scores came in my gray mailbox.  Tuesday.  No scores, and really just a bunch of junk.  Wednesday came, and in the morning, a call to the Iowa board revealed that the scores had been sent to us yesterday.  Sitting in the radiology viewing room, I did a little dance on the spinning stool that I was sitting on; at least now the answer would soon be clear.  I rushed home at lunch on Wednesday, only to find more bills, more ads, and more student loan consolidation stuff.  Apparently, "sending them out yesterday" does not necessarily mean that the scores were sent in time to go anywhere the day before.

So, that meant only one thing.  Thursday, for sure, would be THE day.

The clock ticked off the minutes in the radiology area on Thursday morning.  The first lunch time came and went, and then the second.  I had purposely been choosing to take the latest lunch to make sure that I could check my mail on my lunch break.  I couldn't stand it anymore as the minutes disappeared on the way to 1:00 p.m.  At five minutes 'til, I pleaded to leave a few minutes early, not that those few minutes would change the ink already printed on the paper. 

I don't remember my thoughts on the way home.  I don't remember my speed as I flew out of the parking lot and down the connecting road between the veterinary school and my apartment complex.  I just remember pulling into my parking lot, fumbling with my keys to get the right one that would unlock the mailbox, and pull out a stack of envelopes.  On the very bottom of the stack was one from the Wallace building in Des Moines.  That was the letter. 

It was thin.  It was in a normal sized business envelope.  I had heard people from other states say there was a "big envelope, little envelope" difference.  Still, from other states, it was a difference in the number of pages in the envelope.  So, being unsure of what to expect, I just hurried into my apartment and ripped open the envelope.

The folded pieced of paper, a single sheet, had three boxes on it.  All my eyes needed to see was the word in the first box to become completely elated, relaxed, overjoyed, and even a little teary.  "PASS."  The other two boxes had numbers in them that showed that I passed comfortably.  And just then, I started the phone calling.  Parents, new employer, friends, more family.  I made as many phone calls as I possibly could in that short time that I had remaining for lunch. 

There was a discussion in radiology prior to the scores coming out about the attitude of veterinary students after getting board results.  The consensus was that post board results, some of us traditionally get lackadaisical and somewhat insubordinate.  Despite the fact that I've passed, and I really want to move on to the next new adventure in my life, I know that there's more to be done. There's still two weeks of dermatology and six weeks of surgery left for me.  And there's plenty of learning to do that will make me a better veterinarian.  This just means I can relax, eat normal meals again (maybe), and focus on getting settled in Pennsylvania, as in, finding a place to live.  And that's just what I'm about to do later this week. 

And lastly, the count is on...there are less than 90 calendar days left until the class of 2006 becomes veterinarians. 

The Wait is On...and On.

Stalking resumes.

When I applied to veterinary school, I didn't know when the letters would come that would make me absolutely elated or drop me like rock.  Not knowing, I've decided, would be better, than having any inkling of an idea, only to be stuck in a holding pattern.  I would wait a thousand hours on a plane sitting on the runway at Chicago's O'Hare...in the snow with no snacks and a crying baby on board if only I could have my scores now.  (Note:  should this situation happen on my next flight out of the Midwest, I'd still likely complain!)

So, the NBVME sent the scores of the board exam to the state boards last Thursday.  Some mail person picked up the various packages to the different state boards.  That person probably had no clue what they were carrying would change the lives of so many expectant veterinary students across the country.  And from the sounds of it, the NBVME didn't necessarily spend the $13.85 or what not to overnight any of the states.  Rumor had it that the state of Iowa had the scores today, but that they were not yet processed.  So, we still wait. 

I mentally psyched myself up to find the envelope today.  When I flipped through the mail at lunch only to find bill envelope after bill envelope, and no envelope from the Iowa State Board, I felt let down.  And now, I'm in a bit of a funk, a blah mood, and not even a chocolate chip cookie is going to make it any better. I'm not even getting psyched for tomorrow because I know they will not be here.  I suppose they will get here in good time, and I'll just wait.  I have told others that patience is a virtue, and I suppose that I should start heeding my own advice.

And further, JS says that "good things come to those who wait."  So, here I am waiting.  Good things?  Come to me! 

Put Your Hands Together...

I woke up feeling stuffy on one side of my head and like I had an internal faucet on the other.  And my throat was sore.  I will not get sick.  How awful is it to be sick when I'm supposed to be making up time on the radiology rotation because I was already sick earlier in 2005?  Come on!

I pressed through the morning, waiting until I could wander into the hallway and check the mailbox.  I ordered graduation announcements, filled out the order form to rent my cap, gown, and hood, and did some other miscellany.  During that process, I placed a couple phone calls to my mom.  Finally, after the second or third call to her, she asked that I stop calling because each time the phone rang with my number on the screen, she nearly jumped out of her skin, thinking THIS would be THE call.  With that last call, I decided to check.  GAP advertisement, student loan consolidation blah, blah, blah, and nothing else that even resembled a letter from the NBVME.  So, that means Monday it is...or at least it should be. 

Supposing that I can do nothing to change what the paper will say if I sit around my apartment and fret all day, I cleaned.  I organized.  I continued my quest to throw out stuff I don't need/want anymore, lessening the burden when I start to pack in a couple months.  I wrote to my soon-to-be boss, and I chatted back and forth with JS.  I've had a productive day, despite the rain outside which lends itself only to a warm quilt and a bunch of DVDs. 

So, for the rest of the weekend, just as I've been doing since December 8th when I took the exam, I'll be putting my hands together in prayer.  I took that phrase, though, from RB, who likes that better than "crossing your fingers" for luck. 

There's nothing about luck involved here.  It's all just me & God.  I don't think I've really said this before on my blog, but God has brought me so far in this ever-changing path toward my career.  And there have been times when I didn't think I would even make it, but when I'm at my lowest point, He's still there to pick me up and give me the strength I need to go on, to finish. 

I am trusting this is no different.  So my hands will be together.  Yours can be too, for me.

It's in the Mail...

After writing the last post, describing my semi-stalking behavior concerning my mailbox and the NAVLE score report, I clicked over to the webpage for the National Board of Veterinary Medical Examiners.  Curiosity just kills me, I suppose. 

This is what I read.  Results were sent yesterday.  Is it possible, then, that by tomorrow, in less than 24 hours, that I could KNOW?  This is the closest thing to a sympathethic response that I have had in a long time.  When I read that page, my body felt warm, my palms got sweaty, and if I would have looked, I'm sure my pupils are dilated.   I have to be able to put this out of my mind for a little while.  Getting anxious is not going to bring the letter any sooner. 

But it does mean that come Monday, I'll be "super stalking."  Any day now, and I'll know.  Pray for the word "pass."

Stalker

After living in this apartment for over a year now, I know when the mailman comes.  If there's a substitute mail person, the timing can be off, but for the most part, my mail arrives between 12 and 12:30 every day.  Lately, it's been full of ads that encourage me to consolidate my oodles of student loans, warning me that my interest rates will jump if I do not.  Little do they know, I've already consolidated, but all the same, I still get seven or eight different offers a week.  All of them get ripped in as many little pieces as I can before falling on top of the coffee grounds and other miscellany in the trash can. 

Even though I know what time the mail man comes, I tend to be stalking him right now.  There are a few others in my class that are doing the same.  It's now six weeks post "end of the NAVLE window."  The last date to take the exam was December 10.  Little rumors have been leaking out saying that all results will be available by February 1st.  Some states are allowing students to call the state board to find out an answer.  Others, like Iowa, are not. 

I'm leaving for a short trip to PA in early February.  I am hoping to find a rental home and maybe get some more surgery experience in my new practice.  As a sidenote, saying "my new practice," or anything with the possessive term "my" in front of it regarding the hospital feels REALLY good.  The good feeling will only be compounded exponentially if I can take a letter to my new colleagues that will affirm that I am able to get a license in Pennsylvania. 

Trying to find out just WHEN results would be mailed, I called the Iowa Board of Veterinary Medicine.  She only told me they had no scores, and passed me on to the national board's phone number.  A short phone call to a very kind woman there revealed that they too had not received results yet.  Hearing that, the thought that came to my mind was, how in the world does this process take so long??  With careers in the balance, you would think they would make it a little easier on us, but that's just not the case.  So, the thought is that the national board will have a result by February 1, but the state boards may not get the results to us for a few days after that.  With any luck, any luck at all, I might have an answer by this time next week. 

Until then, I will continue to stalk my mailbox, doing everything I can to make my mail man NOT think I'm a crazy veterinary student, but doing everything I can to get my hands on that little piece of paper that WILL change my life. 

It's a Girl...

Every year on the local news stations in my hometown, and probably in your hometown too, there's a contest of sorts to see who is the "first baby of the new year."  The mom who might wish she were enjoying a champagne spritzer at midnight is instead laboring through the contractions and thinking that after all this, she'd better get kissed at midnight or soon thereafter.  And when the baby is born into the world at 12:01 a.m., the nurse may say, "congratulations," and later a camera crew visits to say hello and film the bundle of joy.  Well, it's slightly after New Year's, and this story is certainly not about the first baby of the new year at the teaching hospital.  Nonetheless, it's a story about a mom and her baby, and how I managed to end up with only a few bruises.  (And as was pointed out to me by JS, this IS my first blog of the New Year.)

After returning to the teaching hospital after a six-week hiatus (ah vacation!), I started on ophthalmology.  I never have liked eyes, and maybe that's because I have never really been sure of what I'm doing.  Further, there seems to be a disproportionate number of diseases and conditions that happen to such a small organ.  I did a lot of reading on the rotation, though, and practiced as much as I could.  As the rotation progressed, it because easier to understand, and I walked away with some valuable clinical jewels.  On the imaginary tote board that is marking down my time left in the Midwest and left in the teaching hospital, though, two weeks of "eyes" checked off left me with only ten weeks to go. 

The next rotation, which I'm just about finished with now, is theriogenology.  Looking back to my interviews for veterinary school, I remember mentioning someplace along the way in an application for a certain school with nut named  Brutus as a mascot that I had an interest in this field.  And as far as I knew it, that word meant "reproduction."  And when an interviewer asked me, "What's the definition of theriogenology," I said that very word, for which I got an incredulous stare and the request to give "more information."  Maybe my slightly dumbfounded look was the cause of the form letter in the mail a couple weeks later that said "sorry we don't want you," in so many words. 

The first week of theriogenology was disappointing.  The clinician-in-charge was away, and I spent most of my time in the library, slowly paging through a British book on reproduction and neonatology, where the word that I know as "estrus" is spelled "oestrus."  Extra vowels are pointless.  I intermittently read and stayed awake by sending text messages back and forth on my cell phone to JS.  I spent few hours in the clinic, but did learn to read vaginal cytologies, something that probably is of no interest to someone outside of the field.  I knew the second week could only get better from there.

And it did.

The scene reminded me of undergrad, in a way, when I worked at a foaling barn.  Outfitted usually in jeans, several layers of shirts, and a coat, always with some form of extreme caffeine, and equipped with a flashlight, I worked from 11 p.m. - 7 a.m.  I walked through the barns every 15-20 minutes, checking on the moms to be, and in some cases, the young babies.   It was an easy job for an undergrad, and gave me a little extra cash, not to mention great experience with animals larger than a cat or dog.

At hand, there was a "mom to be,' but the scenario was more emergent.  The concrete floor of the room was bustling with the feet of surgeons, technicians, and students.  Medicine had a team ready on the floor with a blue mattress-like pad with a warming blanket.  Surgery students were scrubbing in just behind the table where the mare was already recumbent, legs in the air, and well, one other hoof and small bit of a leg protruding from her.  The surgeons who were already scrubbed, four of them, were helping each other complete the gowning process.  The surgeon in charge of the situation stood with his arms crossed and ready for the impending action.  And then there was our team...team therio...with caps and masks, but on the periphery. 

Getting to this point was a progression of events that started the day before, in the morning.  The mare was known to be carrying a "high risk" pregnancy.  She has an aneurysm off of one of the main branches of her abdominal aorta.  The thought was that allowing her to foal on her own, putting an unreasonably high amount of pressure on that aneurysm, may cause it to rupture.  Rupture in this mare would equate to almost instantaneous death.  But the politics of the situation ruled, and the call of the owners was to "save the foal at all costs."

After some discussion as to whether the mare should be allowed to foal on her own or not, and how to handle it if she did, the decision was made for an elective Cesarean section.  The next question, though, was when.  Taking the baby horse (foal) early may mean underdeveloped lungs among other things.  On Tuesday, I left early for lunch. When I returned, the clinician and the intern were deciding on a dosage of oxytocin to give the mare.  If she started labor on her own, it was time for surgery.  An impossibly small dose of the drug was drawn up into a syringe and injected.  I busied myself doing a couple other things around the hospital, with the intention of getting upstairs to read for a bit, but before I could get upstairs, I was overhead paged to come to therio.  The mare went into labor quite easily, and the intern was going to palpate her to see where the foal was located.  Very quickly, she ascertained that baby was already on his or her way out, and with that, the stocks were opened and the mare was rushed, or "rushed" as much as possible in a teaching hospital, into surgery. 

By just a few minutes after one, the mare's belly was opened up and two legs were out.  And within moments, the baby, a filly, was on the blue mattress pad, and being rubbed just like a puppy after a c-section (which is more of what I'm used to seeing).  And a few minutes after that, she was perky and holding her head up on her own.  It was a spectacular sight, and for me, the first horse c-section I'd seen. 

While standing on the edge of the surgery room, the clinician, from about 15 feet away, said "Hey, therio student!," and with my attention, threw a piece of doughy something or other toward me.  If I had not caught it, it would have hit me right in the face.  I had no idea what it was, but it was slightly stinky and the texture of a very large wad of chewed gum.  "What is that?," he asked.  Well, deduct one point from my grade, because I had no clue.  It turned out to be the hippomanes, a collection of debris that lies free in the uterus.  Yummy.  And that little piece of "stuff" was passed around the audience who stopped by to see the new baby, and all were quizzed on its origin.  I wasn't the only one that didn't know! 

A little while later, I stopped by the stall to check on the baby, and with the lack of other students, I got to help with the baby.  That meant holding it while another clinician put in a jugular catheter.  Holding a dog is much, much easier, even a fairly aggressive dog.  I'd much rather get bit, I think, than kicked in the face. This little filly was full of energy and vigor.  She objected quite fiercely to the idea of being restrained, and frequently thrusted her legs in all directions to attempt and free herself.  The goal of the procedure was to just prevent the doctor from getting kicked in the head while he did the procedures, but several times, it was nearly my head that narrowly missed a hoof shot.  In the end, I had two scraped up elbows, a bruise on my calf, a smaller bruise on my wrist, and stall straw poking into my shoes. 

Despite my minimal injuries, it was great to work with the foal, who was healthy, and less than an hour later, nursing from his mother.  A situation that could have gone terribly wrong went absolutely right, and when that happens, you cannot ask for a better outcome.   

It's a Wonderful Christmas

If I duck my head at just the right angle, I can keep the very bright, almost offensive, sun behind the Christmas tree in my sister's living room.  Don't get me wrong.  I love a bright winter day, but this is just a little extreme.  Nonetheless, it's been a very exciting and productive time off from clinics, and the result is some VERY big news. 

After the NAVLE exam at the beginning of the month, I had just a few days to prepare for my first job interview.  Most of that prep time, though, was spent running around the apartment, collecting my life that had been strewn all over the desk and the coffee table for weeks before the exam.  And I had a list of errands that needed completed all before my friend picked me up on Sunday to go to the Des Moines airport.  And when Sunday arrived, I was still running, and running late. 

It took more effort than I expected to get Izzy all packed up and to the pet-sitter's house.  Putting the collapsible kennel into my Jeep was less than graceful.  But after some manipulation, it all worked out.  I nearly cried when I left her.  But I knew she was in good hands and that her new Great Dane friends (Clay, Ethan, and Chance) would teach her the ropes.  In fact, when I came back, she had learned to master stairs, which is something that we have been unsuccessfully working on intermittently since she was 7 weeks old.  Now, in my sister's home, where steps are essential, she's a pro, sometimes even jumping across the last three, making her long, lean body sail through the air for just a brief second.

It was typical for flying in the late fall when there's snow on the ground.  My flight was delayed going from Des Moines to Chicago.  Luckily, it made it in time for me to make my connection, but just barely.  I should have known better than to wear three inch heels on the day of a flight.  I ran in the Chicago airport to get to my connecting flight, with only a couple minutes to spare before the door to the jet was closed.  And two hours later, I was meeting the Drs. S at the airport.   Meeting them for the first time, after conversing on the phone and via email since September, was very exciting, and just slightly overwhelming all at the same time.

That evening, the three of us ate dinner, a late one, at a local Harrisburg diner near the airport.  The conversation was relaxed and informative, and none of the questions were too difficult on this my first night of a working interview.  Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the home where I was staying, and I got some much needed sleep.  The next couple days were going to be long, and with plenty to see and do.

Early Monday morning, I arrived at the hospital, armed with my checklist of things I wanted to find in a future place of employment.  I had a good idea that this hospital was going to be a good fit, yet I was still cautious about getting overly excited, only to get my hopes dashed when it wasn't what I wanted.  The caution subsided quickly.  When I walked in the front door, I was astoundingly impressed, and at this point, I had only seen the reception/waiting area.  The rest of the tour of the hospital was equally impressive, with areas of the hospital divided, and technicians and assistants in every area.  Everyone was smiling and friendly, and I smiled right back.  Quickly, this hospital felt like home, like a place where I could practice at for a long time, maybe even the length of my career.  It was kind of an assuring feeling, just like the one I had felt nearly five years ago when I decided that I definitely would attend Iowa State, despite the fact that I would have to pay out of state tuition for all of my years there.

That evening, I had dinner with the doctors and their significant others at a fun restaurant in Lewisburg, near Bucknell University. I only saw Lewisburg at night, but from what I could see, I found it to be a very quaint, yet progressive, and even beautiful town.  Dinner ended late in the evening, at nearly 10 p.m., but from there, I made the trek to Harrisburg to see TK.  The evening ended as happily as it had begun. 

The next morning, I drove back up the highway, the 11/15 as the local people call it, which runs parallel to the Susquehanna River.  As the sun rose around the mountains, and glinted off the snow and water, I let my mind wander a bit, thinking about what it would be like to call this gorgeous backdrop "home."  Through the day, I worked one-on-one with the doctors, doing both medicine and surgery.  I had to get used to be called "Dr. W.," even though I'm not quite there yet.  The staff and the doctors addressed me as such, and introduced me as such to the clients, letting them know that I was visiting the area and thinking about working in central Pennsylvania.   It was weird to hear it, yet all together satisfying too. 

That evening, I took the staff out for dinner, and tried to get to know them better.  Unfortunately, there were several other groups of people there, and all very loud.  Nonetheless, I moved my way around the table, introducing myself to the staff, and talking to them about who they are, what they like about their jobs, and what we as doctors could do to help them do their jobs better.  It was a very informative discussion, and also a chance for me to bond.  After all, at this point, they could be my future staff, and I want them to find me approachable and still knowledgeable.  All in all, the evening went very well.  And the food was quite tasty too!

The next day was my last day in the hospital, and there was a lunch planned for me with the Drs. S.  If there was going to be an offer made, I was hoping it would come then.   As we left, one doctor asked the other if he had "that thing" with him that she had given him earlier.  My heart lept a bit, hoping it was an offer.  And within the hour, indeed, it was an offer.  The offer was VERY good, and there, I tentatively accepted, but giving myself time to really read it over and think about it. 

Two days ago, I officially accepted the offer.  I guess that makes me now employed as an associate veterinarian, pending the little while envelope with my board results and graduation.  It's a great feeling to have it settled, and to know where I'm going, and better yet, to know that I'm going into a great environment to start my career, the career I've worked so long and hard to achieve.  I can't think of when I've had a better Christmas present for myself.  And it seems that Michigan will have a white Christmas on top of all that! 

Happy Holidays to all, and to all, a wonderful 2006!

Little White Envelope, Come My Way

If you've bookmarked this page and faithfully checked it daily, waiting for new, fresh words from the middle of the U.S., I apologize for the apparent moratorium on interesting tidbits from the life of a veterinary student.  It's been a busy month or so.  Oddly enough, I thought this past month would be the easiest of the year, but it turned out to be more difficult than I expected, given the option of resting or studying until my brain liquefied and drained out of my ears.  (That would be "liquefactive necrosis," but I'm pretty sure that's physiologically impossible.)

So, now, the first week of December has passed, and it finally did get cold in Iowa.  For a while, I thought I had unknowingly changed latitudes.  I was wearing short-sleeved shirts during the day, and enjoyed the late afternoon walks with Izzy in the sunny, 70+ degree weather in November.  Now, Izzy finds it very enjoyable to run at the end of her leash, like a zip line, through the 8+ inches of snow that are settled across the ground behind my apartment, all powdery and soft.  She's not supposed to be doing that "crazy dog" thing, as she's still recovering from surgery last week.  Oh not to worry, though, the world's cutest Great Dane was not in a medical emergency at all.  She was spayed and gastropexied. 

What's a gastropexy?  It prevents this from happening in large breed dogs.  That's mostly correct, I suppose.  Izzy could still bloat, but her stomach will not twist on itself, as it is now sutured to her abdominal wall.  It was great for me to watch this surgery.  Although a scheduling conflict prevented me from doing it myself, I assisted, and now, I feel reasonably confident that I could repeat it.  That was last week, though.  This week was an even bigger challenge, that being taking my last "final exam," ever.

Knowing that it would snow last night, again, I planned ahead.  I had all my snacks neatly tucked into a Target shopping bag (thanks to TK for sending a care package when it really counts!).  I had my keys, gloves, and remote starter placed in a row beside that.  And still on the coffee table were my notes and books.  I had been studying for NAVLE - the North American Veterinary Licensing Exam - for months, on and off.  And now, it was time to show the computer (and the licensing board) what I know.  My little scratch pad of notes was flipped open to the page on neonatal scours - uh - calf and pig diarrhea.  And on the way to the testing center, I recited a little song about the different organisms that cause diarrhea in calves and pigs.  And, of course, I prayed for all the wisdom that I needed and for peace of mind when it was over.

Other than having the fallacy of easy parking blow up in my face, everything went well.  There was a rumor floating about that we could park just in front of the building, and get a parking pass.  The actuality of the situation was that since we were students, although not students on main campus, that we had to park in the parking garage.  It's a short walk away, but in the snow, it felt like I would never arrive back at the testing center.  The brisk (which is an understatement) air bit into the skin on my face, and awoke my senses.  This is it.  THE final exam. 

I had to "own" it.  (Again, thanks to TK for the words of encouragement through this process.)

After the I.D. verification silliness (I now look almost nothing like my driver's license photo), I was ready to take the exam.  In my pockets, I had absolutely nothing except the bright orange piece of paper with my candidate ID and my driver's license.  No gum.  No keys.  No anything.  I walked into the small room, and sat down at a computer in the back corner, and settled in to start clicking. 

Previously, I had reviewed the information on the NBVME website, so I knew what to expect on the monitor in front of me, but just for the sake of doing it, I went through the tutorial.  And as soon as that ended, I typed my candidate ID in the box, and the first question popped up.  Here we go...

I don't remember too much about the test in retrospect.  I remember that I seemed to have a fair number of cattle and cat questions.  There was what I thought to be more reproduction questions than what I expected, but they were not too "over the top."  I was profoundly happy that I had reviewed neurology and the sensitivity/specificity equations from public health.  There were a couple ethical questions.  I surely hope I got those right; I aim to be an ethical veterinarian.  Then again, I can't imagine anyone who is in my position who says, "I want to be an unethical veterinarian." 

I took breaks, and communicated with those that were anxiously awaiting my impressions of the exam on those breaks.  Completing two sections of the six, I put the computer on "break," and left the room to sip some green tea and make a phone call.  I found the radiator in the hallway was kicking out some supremely hot air, and found it relaxing and comforting to feel warm for a few moments.  When I returned to the exam, I put forth a sustained effort for another two sections, and took another break.  And since I had plenty of time leftover, I took yet another break between the fifth and the final sixth section of the licensing exam.  The breaks were great for refocusing and finding some renewed energy.

So, now the test is over, and the wait is on.  A friend of mine from undergrad that I've recently reconnected with told me, based on her experience taking this exam last year, that the news will come in one of two envelopes.  A small envelope is a simple letter stating your score and that you've passed.  A larger envelope is news that you haven't passed and the generous board that they are, give you tips for improvement for the next time, which is in April of 2006.  I'm confident that there's a God looking out for me, who blessed me with all the knowledge that I have in the first place, and praying that the LITTLE white envelope will come my way at the end of January.

And now, it's time to resume a somewhat normal life for a bit.  I am off-clinics until January 3rd, but that does not mean I will not be busy.  Sunday, I leave for my first job interview.  I'm sure I'll write more about it after it happens.  I'm thrilled by the prospect of this position, and hope that all that I feel about it is not just a sugary happy feeling, but the real thing.  This is exactly what I wanted when I started this blog...to be able to follow my course through clinics, all the way until the day I'm "hooded" as a doctor.  I can't think of a more intensely happy moment, and it's not even here for me yet.  Maybe getting engaged and married will be happier, but becoming a doctor would be a VERY close second. 

After the job interview, it is time to reunite with family.  Izzy will blow them all away with her size.  She's now nearing 60 pounds, a bit less than half of what I hope her adult weight will be.  The last time my parents saw her, she was barely 9 weeks old, and only 20 pounds.  Izzy and I are traveling about the Midwest, first to Michigan, and then, perhaps, a return visit to another state.  It's all in the works, and I'm being quite flexible.  It's much easier to be flexible when the weight of a thousand veterinary textbooks is lifted from your shoulders. 

Lastly, I was given great advice today, by a veterinarian who has been called "doctor" for many years now.  I had mentioned to her that it's been a long, sometimes really tough, road to get to where I'm at now.  Whoever uses the cliched phrase about a light at the end of the tunnel couldn't imagine how real that is for me now.  But although the figurative road has not always been smoothly paved, there's no stopping me now; I'm rushing ahead toward the end, and I can't wait.  I'm just one more step closer to practicing, and as I mentioned, getting hooded on May 6, 2006.  And this wise veterinarian told me, "Remember this and how you feel!  Sometimes you may need to call on those feelings so you can remember why it is you've done all this.  It *is* worth it!" 

I will remember.  I promise.