'Tails' From The Emergency Department

October 8, 2025, 7 AM - 5 PM.

Today's ER shift was a whirlwind of emotion, teamwork, and lessons that only veterinary medicine can teach. I worked alongside Kristina, my LVT for the day, and we started our morning with rounds and a debrief from the overnight team.

Our first patient was Zeke, a 10-year-old neutered Labrador with fear aggression, admitted the night before for vomiting. His diagnostics revealed a liver mass, and he was scheduled for surgery later that morning. Even through his nerves, Zeke was such a good boy and allowed us to tend to him before his procedure.

Next was Meeka, a 12-year-old spayed Australian Shepherd recovering from a right TPLO surgery. She rested in the ER as we monitored her closely, waiting until she was recuperated enough to go home, sling and all, to her family.

Then came Cassie, a 5-year-old mixed breed who had been mauled and required a sedated bandage change by the surgical team. An hour after her procedure, she returned to us for recovery, sleeping peacefully as the chaos of the ER continued around her.

Our next patient, Jingles, a 6-year-old male tuxedo cat, was also due for a sedated bandage change. Thankfully, that had already been done before our shift began, and we were able to discharge him home - a rare easy win in a day like this.

But the smallest and most fragile patient of all was a 2-week-old stray kitten weighing just 0.3kg. He was brought in by a good Samaritan after being found cold, weak, and covered in nasal and ocular discharge. We dubbed him "Oogie Boogie." We placed him on warmies with a Bair Hugger underneath, started IV fluids with dextrose, and checked his temperature every hour. His tiny body was fighting hard, with a temperature of 92.2°F and a blood glucose of 27.

While we tended to Oogie Boogie, another emergency came in - a cat in respiratory distress. We suspected pulmonary edema or pleural effusion, but before we could begin treatment, his owners elected to humanely euthanize due to financial constraints. It's one of the hardest realities of veterinary medicine: when love outweighs affordability, and we must comfort both pet and person through heartbreak.

Later, we met Rigatoni, a 4-year-old French Bulldog with a suspected adrenal tumor, in for a sedated MRI. Soon after, Tundra, a large Labrador, arrived on emergency after collapsing mid-squirrel chase. He was paralyzed bilaterally in his hind legs and urinary incontinent. We placed an IV catheter and prepared him for diagnostics, hoping for the best.

In between cases, we rechecked Oogie Boogie's blood glucose - and it had improved from 27 to 34, and his temperature rose slightly to 93.4°F. Kristina even allowed me to pull blood from him using an insulin syringe. He fought so hard for such a tiny thing.

Unfortunately, Oogie Boogie began declining as the day went on. Despite our best efforts, his little body couldn't keep up, and I later learned that he was humanely euthanized after my shift ended. 🌈

The truth is, no matter how many patients we help or save, each loss leaves a mark. Veterinary medicine - and medicine in general - is delicate work. It's a balance of science and soul, of resilience and compassion. Some days are filled with success stories, others with sorrow. But every single patient, from the big labs to the tiniest kittens, teaches us something invaluable: that every heartbeat matters. 💗