Laura L Hady
Bio
Laura is a veterinarian and a medical writer whose passion for writing began as a child. She loves spending time with her family, gardening, cooking and hiking. Laura also rescues pets with special needs, or in her mind, special abilities.
Stories (4)
Filter by community
Losing the Battle - Or So We Thought
I don’t know at what point that I decided to look upon cancer in my dog and cat patients as the ultimate enemy. As the general in the little veterinary clinic whereI worked, I wanted to be on the offensive with cancer just one time. Instead, I always seemed to be on the defense, and about three steps behind the enemy. Cancer is simply uncontrolled growth of abnormal cells, and it always amazes me how such a tiny force can wreck so much havoc. For a 8 year old friendly Pitt Bull named Tyson that lived just two doors down, that force was now a large cutaneous hemangiosarcoma that started as a small red lump just under his skin. Over the months, it had become gnarly and already burst open more than once. My weapons were steroids to help reduce the size, medications to keep the pain at bay, and freezing of the edges to help portions die off over time. I had watched Tyson grow up with two other Pitt Bulls, as well as the Riley’s three children. His human mom, Renee, had asked me a few months earlier in the check out line at the Dollar Tree store, if I thought we could easily remove this tumor. Another veterinarian had told her it was a bad prognosis. I had let her know as gently as I could, that the odds were not in our favor. So today, with weeks of preparation, I was ready to stare this evil cancer right into the face, as I let his human dad know what my plans were for the day. I put on my game face before I entered the room for Tyson’s pre-operative exam. “James, Tyson’s gums still look pretty pale to me. The first thing I need to do is check Tyson’s blood to make sure he has enough platelets to clot his blood during surgery and enough red blood cells to efficiently carry oxygen. If the levels are not high enough, I will need to give him a blood transfusion, and the best candidate would be one of his littermates,” I stated. While the blood was processing in the lab machine, I had to see two other patients just to keep up with my morning schedule. When Stacey handed me the results, I took a quick look, and let out a long sigh as I headed back into Tyson’s room. “Ok, James, are you able to go get Po back at your house?” I asked. Po was fifty pounds of pure energy, and I had already warned James that we might need to sedate him just to get the much needed blood transfusion. “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes,” he said. This would give us enough time to get an intravenous (IV) catheter inserted and some fluids running to give him a boost. As I came back to the pharmacy area and noticed that every exam room was full. Kaitlin pointed to which one was first, and I said a quick prayer for strength and wisdom. Mrs. Crabtree wanted full exams, bloodwork, and an explanation of the results as soon as possible. In Room 2, Bosco, the Labrador Retriever, had yet another ear infection. In Room 3, was an euthanasia on a cat that was not allowing his owners to give him medicine to lower his high thyroid levels. I had already given him two sets of sedation, but his adrenaline and high rate stopped any chance of calm without the big drugs. So I went back in the room again to give him the best happy drug combination I could find before we could even think of trying to hit a vein with the euthanasia solution. These are the moments when my thirty years of veterinary experience sends me into the zone of slowing down to speed up the pace. I had Kaitlin and Stacey clean and treat Bosco’s ears, while I started the exams for Mrs. Crabtree’s cat and dog. Shilo stayed in the back with Tyson to monitor his IV fluids. I could hear the front doorbell ring as James and Po entered and went to the corner of the lobby until one of us could help them. I extracted myself out of Mrs. Crabtree’s room, which was no easy task because she was deep in the tale of her late husband’s rescue of their fluffy cat. I was able to give Po a sedative injection right away. Stacey appeared to grab Po’s leash and lead James around the back way to Room 2 as Kaitlin led Bosco out to the front so that his owner could pay the bill. Shilo was able to use her inner strength to lift Tyson off the back table and into a comfortable cage. I met Shilo and Stacey in Room 2 to start the blood donation. I inserted the needle into Po’s large jugular vein, and blood began to flow into the transfusion bag. Back in Room 3, Kaitlin held off a leg vein on the now serene Wally cat, so that I could administer the final injection. We could hear his sigh as the euthanasia solution took its effect, and felt both the owner and Wally relax as I gently removed the tiny needle from the vein. We let Wally’s owners spend a few last minutes with him so that they could begin to process all that had happened. As I went back to check on Po, I could see Mrs. Crabtree came to the door and cleared her throat loudly. “If we are going to do bloodwork it better happen soon because I have a hair appointment in a half hour,” she announced. Before I could respond, the door to the treatment room opened. “Dr. Fran, we need you in here now, there is a clot in the vein and blood line,” Shilo said in even a louder voice. I gave Mrs. Crabtree a sympathetic nod, and went in to solve the blood clot issue. I knew at that point, it was time to go to the old fashioned technique of drawing up individual syringes lined with the anticoagulant, heparin. I was able to get three 20 ml syringes filled before the jugular veins were blown. I explained to James that we would need to get as much of the blood as possible into Tyson before the surgery. I quickly checked to see if there was a reaction between Tyson’s and Po’s blood on a glass slide to make sure the transfusion would not be rejected by Tyson. No reaction occurred, so I let James know it would take about 1 ½ hours of slowly dripping in 1 ml of blood every thirty seconds, so the best plan was to take Po home and wait. Back in Mrs. Crabtree’s room, we easily drew blood for analysis from her little Sasha’s leg. Raymond her cat was going to be a whole other story. “I just see how you can’t seem to find a vein on Raymond. He is so thin and practically hairless, it should be easy,” she sniped. I felt like she laid down the gauntlet, and by no means was I going to let Mrs. Evelyn Crabtree win. It took me three more tries because of my arthritic thumbs, and I only got just enough blood in the syringe for a minimal amount of bloodwork. “Mrs. Crabtree, I will have to call you later with the bloodwork results,” I mentioned. “Well, I can text my hairdresser and tell her I will be a few minutes late. I am sure she won’t mind waiting for a Gold card client like myself,” she firmly stated. I let Stacey handle this situation while I raced to the back to make sure that Tyson wasn’t having a transfusion reaction. After listening to his heart and breathing with a stethoscope, I finally took a deep breath. Shilo and Kaitlin, ever the professionals, gave me a smile to let me know they could handle it. The blood machine had just given its “Bloodwork complete” ding, when Stacey came to tell me that our client with dementia was here to euthanize her old Chihuahua named Chip. She said someone had told her on the phone last week to come in at 10:30 am today. It’s hard to argue with dementia, and you should always tread lightly around a broken heart, so we guided her into Room 2. I went back to make copies of the bloodwork, but the copier wasn’t working. “Mrs. Crabtree, Raymond has non-significant changes in his bloodwork, but I will text you a copy and an explanation in a few hours,” I said. “I just don’t understand the slow service here today. What is going on?” she asked. “We have a dog in the back with cancer who is getting an emergency blood transfusion before we can surgically remove a large tumor,” I succinctly stated. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place. I will have Stacey check me out and I will leave you to your work,” she said with a gentler voice. With that, she gathered up her pet’s and headed to the front desk, so that I could attend to the euthanasia at hand. Meanwhile in the back, I had a decision to make about when exactly to do the surgery on Tyson. Should I let it wait a day, for the blood transfusion to have a full effect, or should I take the chance and get the surgery done today. My gut told me to look for a secondary bleed inside of his tired body. When I put my portable ultrasound probe on his abdomen, I received the answer to my question. “Only about one in five hemangiosarcomas under the skin metastasize to the spleen. Since the spleen is the cleaning house of blood in the body, it can be life threatening if a cyst or tumor in it ruptures,” I told Shilo and Kaitlin. Why don’t you give him some oxygen and warm him up while I call the owner to see how they wanted to proceed. I sat down at my small desk, and took a deep breath before I dialed the Riley’s number. This time, Renee picked up the phone when I called. “Renee, I want to let you know that Tyson has recently had a bleed from a cyst on his spleen in his abdomen, and that is why he is so pale. To go ahead with surgery, may not be the best option as he may not recover,” I let her know. “Dr. Fran, what would you do if it were your dog?” she tentatively asked. “My beloved deaf and blind Australian Shepherd named Sprite had hemangiosarcoma in his heart. We elected not to do any heroic treatments with him. My one regret was that I was not home when he passed away, but he had so much fun on his walk that morning. I feel that euthanasia would be the best solution in this situation,” I said as I felt my strong woman facade starting to slip. “It will take about thirty minutes for the whole family to get there. Tyson is my stepson’s dog, and he will want to say goodbye,” she said with tears in her voice. I let Shilo and Kaitlin know the change in plans. Tyson enjoyed the cheese whiz, peanut butter and turkey we gave him since he no longer needed to be fasting for surgery. I administered an injection of pain medications to him, as he licked up the treats. We kept him up on the table in the treatment room with the warm winter sun coming through the window, and oldies rock playing on the radio. There were many tears that flowed in the next hour. The euthanasia went smoothly as I used the one remaining undamaged vein on his back leg to slowly inject the euthanasia solution. There were many tears when he passed, but an overwhelming sense of peace. To do my job effectively, I have to be like a general, and not get emotional in the thick of things. On that day, I performed three euthanasias on beloved pets before 11:30 am. There were moments when I wanted to get angry, be sad, or even joke to bring any type of levity to the situations at hand. I knew I would do all three when I went home that day to evening to stare at the sunset and tell my own dogs all that had happened. . You see, sometimes our patients will lose the battle with their disease, but that prepares us for the next battle, by giving us experience. In the heat of the moment, I tend to suppress my emotions knowing that sometimes death is the ultimate healer by giving the patient and the owner peace.
By Laura L Hadyabout 3 hours ago in Petlife
Climbing that Hill
I walk out into a chilly Spring dawn towards our little home orchard on top of a mesa in northern New Mexico. Lilly, the yearling Merino sheep, greets me with a questioning look as if asking why I haven’t fed her a morning flake of delicious high-quality alfalfa hay. When I walk back to the covered bale of hay I start to laugh because I discover that she has already helped herself to a corner of the bale. While Lily is my friend, I also have the tough job of being her veterinarian. Lilly is currently on an extended stay at our home because she needed a second surgery on her Achilles tendon that was cut during shearing at a high desert sheep ranch about a month ago. I know that in a few minutes it will be a battle of the wills to catch Lily to change her back leg bandage. Healing has been slow and marked with set-backs, but that doesn’t keep Lily from using her athletic skills in outwitting us in the chase to catch her. This is about the time the thought crosses my mind that I will certainly be climbing my daily hill. I am not really sure when I decided I needed to climb a hill each day either physically or in my mind. I think it started when I was first in semi-retirement which prematurely started for me after major back surgery. I guess I realized that I just couldn’t work full-time anymore in such a physically demanding job as rehabilitating animals after orthopedic and neurologic surgery or those who had strokes or extensive arthritis. For some reason, though, I still wanted to challenge myself each day. I had just purchased a stroller so my 2-legged dog, Cubby, and my old Chihuahua, Peeka, could come on walks with me and the other 2 dogs. Each day near sunrise, I found myself pushing that stroller up a sandy hill while I huffed and puffed. I think that is all part of the mindset of most veterinarians. While we tend to be very compassionate people, we also have to set goals and feel a driving need to complete them. I put together a bag with bandaging material including a sanitary pad to cover her wound, extra soft cast padding, flexible wrap and Duct tape. I make sure to draw up her antibiotic injection and anti-inflammatory injection to help with the pain and provide protection from infection in the wound area. Last week, I changed the bandage every two days using sugar in hemorrhoid cream to help keep out bacteria and aid in contraction of the wound. I pray that Lilly will stay still once I grab the leash attached to her fancy collar. I will have just enough time to finish this project before my first appointment if Lilly doesn’t make me chase her around our ½ acre yard. Lilly is sitting over by the Mexican honeysuckle in the shade by the fence. Today I decide to use her curiosity of dogs in my favor to more easily catch her. Peeka may be my smallest and oldest dog, but she is the least afraid of Lilly. Lilly sees us coming, but actually decides to walk toward me since I have Peeka in my arm. I place Peeka and my supplies about five feet away from Lilly. She lowers her head and takes one step towards us taking in all the smells of an aged ten pound Chihuahua. I just need Lilly to take four more big steps towards us so that I can grab the leash. As Peeka inches towards Lilly, she begins to take those precious steps towards us. I try to stay in a direct line with Lilly as I know her direct vision is not as good as her peripheral vision. As I make a low reach to grab the leash, Lilly turns and bolts the other direction heading off into the back forty. I am amazed that a 130 pound yearling sheep can run so fast with her right hind leg in a bandage and brace. I dusted my hands off and wiped the sweat off my brow as Peeka looked at me and decided she had enough of this kind of rodeo. I walked down to the back forty with my supply bag in hand and watched as Lilly stared at me as she chewed her cud. I thought I saw her dare me in that moment as she went to follow the cat up to the guest casita on our property. I took out after her as fast as my legs could run and I saw her dart through the hula hoop weaves as she rounded the corner. Once again, Lilly’s curiosity was piqued by my cat named Fluffy who looks to be 16 pounds, but who is actually eight pounds cat and eight pounds of hair. Fluffy has beautiful green eyes that she used to stare down Lilly. Fluffy carefully turned around knowing that Lilly would soon follow. Lilly looked both ways before she entered that doorway with an insane amount of confidence. As I was watching the incredible scene unfold in front of my eyes, I realized that my hands had started itching again. I am allergic to lanolin, which is the oil in sheep’s wool, and I once again forgot to wear my exam gloves. While Lilly was smelling the exercise equipment in the physical rehabilitation casita, I inched my way closer to the door. Fluffy willingly flicked her tail up at Lilly to follow her as if she already knew my plan. Lilly started to turn as entered the dimly lit threshold, but hesitated for a split second. I seized the luck of the moment and closed the door. Lilly soon jumped up on the futon and struck her front foot down just like she owned the placed and turned to face me. I caught my breath and let it go slowly and easily. The three foot distance was almost palpable and I think Lilly realized that she had been caught. I grabbed the leash and gently pulled her down off the couch. As I started removing the brace and cutting off the small bandage, Lilly turned to look at me like an old friend or maybe an equal. When I began to place the new bandage, she balked and leapt which made the whole thing fall off in a bundle on the floor. I started to cry just wishing that Lilly could give me one ounce of cooperation. She must have known that I was upset and did not move as I wrapped my arms around her leg and calf tossed her into a lateral position on the carpet. Lilly no longer put up a fight and let me gently bandage the leg that had given her so many issues for the last six weeks. I still think to this day, how beautiful and supportive that bandage was with all the pink and purple Easter themed Duct tape that peeked out above and below the ankle brace. In that moment, I felt that I had won the fight in the battle to save the leg and Lilly’s life on the Perez ranch back in Encino. Lilly would be an tough adversary to any coyote that tried to get near her or any of the other sheep. In these instances, I am not the climber, but the helper pushing them up that hill to the top.
By Laura L Hady2 years ago in Confessions
The Peaceful Kingdom
“Please don’t disrupt my peaceful kingdom by bringing in the pigs,” I tried to calmly explain in my best Haitian creole to the farmers. I understood the fact that bringing all their animals at one time was easier for them, but experience taught me that treating certain animals together could lead to disaster. The other livestock such as the goats, sheep, cows and chickens were patiently waiting for their exams, vaccinations and deworming medication. This was our team’s first medical mission trip to Paynol, which was a small farming village at 5,000 feet in elevation that was located in what was considered the bread basket of Haiti.
By Laura L Hady4 years ago in Fiction
Almost Death by Chocolate
My name is Laura and I am an animal physical rehabilitation veterinarian. I have baked for work every week for the last fourteen years and never had a problem. The staff at the veterinary emergency clinic where I rented space thoroughly enjoyed these special treats on Wednesdays. Baking is such a stress reliever for me on my Tuesday admin days. I often wake up early and mix the special ingredients together using recipes from my mom. Before I know it, the smells of cinnamon, bread and chocolate often grace my kitchen. Freshly baked oatmeal rolls with a side of homemade apple butter are the favorite, but my gluten free chocolate black bean cake comes in a close second. I would top the cake with a dark chocolate ganache and fresh raspberries.
By Laura L Hady5 years ago in Fiction
