The fastest physiology lecture ever--the lecturer just sped through the Nernst equation and let us go. I'm not sure I know what the Nernst equation is, but now I have lots of time to go find out.
They told us that we would be spending lots of time at the vet school, that classes would take all day and we'd barely have time to study. I'm sure that is true, but it makes the first week or two unsettling. There's all these random pockets of time that I'm not sure how to fill. The biggest problem is that now I'm not sure when to eat. Normally I like to wake up and eat breakfast, then go and have my time monopolized by work or class until it's time for lunch. Ditto for dinner. If I don't have lots of stuff to occupy my time I default to food. This works great during summer, when I eat food in very small portions about ten times a day. Not so good when I had a filling plateful of pizza during the student org meeting at lunch, plus cookie and candy to power through lecture (turned out they weren't necessary).
So. I could go look at cadavers and learn muscles better. Or histo slides. It's raining, so goofing off outside isn't an option.
Darn it, I need more stuff to learn!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Scalpels are fun!
So far things are working today...I woke up, ate breakfast and rushed to class. I hold that I got there exactly on time, but realistically I was probably ten seconds late. And it was anatomy, too, which starts promptly and doesn't slow down until every last nanosecond has been eked out of the 50 minutes.
Histology doesn't have this problem. Histology, the professors just blithely keep going until they've finished whatever they're talking about, and graciously allow us to be late for lab. Since it's the lab for histology, they can do that.
Two labs today, wherein we learned that
1. As long as you are doing something interesting, like slicing away the cobwebby connective tissue (fascia) between muscles, you CAN survive a three hour lab.*
2. Histology lab is nice. It's clean, it's peaceful, you get a comfy swivel chair to sit on.
3. Your locker will smell forevermore of formaldehyde once you leave your labcoat in there.
Yesterday I learned that I officially know nothing about anatomy. I was good up until I had to identify the greater tubercle of the humerus. "The what-of-the--oh, I'm supposed to know that?" It had never occurred to me that I would be foiled by the complexity of a single bone. The darn thing has, like, a dozen parts! And it's the easy one.
It looks like, for the most part, people are done with excessive sociability. The first few days, you have to introduce yourself to everyone and try to remember horribly difficult things, like what their names are. Now that the classes are starting, we have more important things to remember. Like, when is lunch? Socializing now entails only knowing enough about your lab partners to remember which one has the bone box.
And the last new thing today: the joy of a nat across the road. Finally, reaching the place of exercise takes less time than the exercise itself. I went swimming. It was good. It wiped out the formaldehyde smell.
*EDIT: Four years later I now know I was having some major health issues at this time that made it physically challenging to stand for an hour, but their onset had been so subtle I hadn't realized when I wrote this that three hours, while not easy, was not leaving my classmates pale, weak and wondering how they were going to survive the semester. That was all the other classes.
Histology doesn't have this problem. Histology, the professors just blithely keep going until they've finished whatever they're talking about, and graciously allow us to be late for lab. Since it's the lab for histology, they can do that.
Two labs today, wherein we learned that
1. As long as you are doing something interesting, like slicing away the cobwebby connective tissue (fascia) between muscles, you CAN survive a three hour lab.*
2. Histology lab is nice. It's clean, it's peaceful, you get a comfy swivel chair to sit on.
3. Your locker will smell forevermore of formaldehyde once you leave your labcoat in there.
Yesterday I learned that I officially know nothing about anatomy. I was good up until I had to identify the greater tubercle of the humerus. "The what-of-the--oh, I'm supposed to know that?" It had never occurred to me that I would be foiled by the complexity of a single bone. The darn thing has, like, a dozen parts! And it's the easy one.
It looks like, for the most part, people are done with excessive sociability. The first few days, you have to introduce yourself to everyone and try to remember horribly difficult things, like what their names are. Now that the classes are starting, we have more important things to remember. Like, when is lunch? Socializing now entails only knowing enough about your lab partners to remember which one has the bone box.
And the last new thing today: the joy of a nat across the road. Finally, reaching the place of exercise takes less time than the exercise itself. I went swimming. It was good. It wiped out the formaldehyde smell.
*EDIT: Four years later I now know I was having some major health issues at this time that made it physically challenging to stand for an hour, but their onset had been so subtle I hadn't realized when I wrote this that three hours, while not easy, was not leaving my classmates pale, weak and wondering how they were going to survive the semester. That was all the other classes.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Day Two
And where is Day One, you ask?
Well, that was yesterday, y'see. That was all orientation games and eating tacos, waaay too many cookies, and signing up for every club the vet school offers. There are fifteen, no kidding. But no vet schoolish stuff, per se. The closest we came was the carefully timed attack of the cute, fluffy, up-for-adoption puppy. Those sneaky vets from the clinic brought her around during the tacos, while people's guard was down in anticipation of food.
Today was bones in the anatomy lab. Each group got a box with bones from one side of a dog skeleton. My group dumped the bones out on the table, picked out as many as we could (5) and spent the next hour trying to decide what the other 30 or so were. Vertebrae? Oh, definitely. The question is whether any given piece was cervical, thoracic, or lumbar. Or coaxal. Or not actually from the backbone at all. We had that little problem with the atlas, which I'm still not sure what it is.
Later, after the scheduled activities, a good chunk of the student body ventured out to the Union. I think most of them were after the beer, but a good minority recognized the true purpose of socializing on the Terrace, which is to provide an excuse for ice cream. Raspberry cheesecake shall haunt my dreams...I got my fave, choc chip cookie dough, but a taste of the raspberry severely shook my resolve.
Being vet students who are not yet privy to each others' deepest secrets (like what do you really think of your lab partners), the conversations were terrific. Lots of horror stories about pitbulls and reminiscing about undergrad physics exams.
Well, that was yesterday, y'see. That was all orientation games and eating tacos, waaay too many cookies, and signing up for every club the vet school offers. There are fifteen, no kidding. But no vet schoolish stuff, per se. The closest we came was the carefully timed attack of the cute, fluffy, up-for-adoption puppy. Those sneaky vets from the clinic brought her around during the tacos, while people's guard was down in anticipation of food.
Today was bones in the anatomy lab. Each group got a box with bones from one side of a dog skeleton. My group dumped the bones out on the table, picked out as many as we could (5) and spent the next hour trying to decide what the other 30 or so were. Vertebrae? Oh, definitely. The question is whether any given piece was cervical, thoracic, or lumbar. Or coaxal. Or not actually from the backbone at all. We had that little problem with the atlas, which I'm still not sure what it is.
Later, after the scheduled activities, a good chunk of the student body ventured out to the Union. I think most of them were after the beer, but a good minority recognized the true purpose of socializing on the Terrace, which is to provide an excuse for ice cream. Raspberry cheesecake shall haunt my dreams...I got my fave, choc chip cookie dough, but a taste of the raspberry severely shook my resolve.
Being vet students who are not yet privy to each others' deepest secrets (like what do you really think of your lab partners), the conversations were terrific. Lots of horror stories about pitbulls and reminiscing about undergrad physics exams.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Glass breaking as a summer pursuit
At the beginning of the summer I dropped a glass mixing bowl. It shattered and I spent the next hour picking glass out of shag carpet (yeah...if it had fallen in the kitchen, I could have swept it up. If it had fallen in the living room, it probably wouldn't have broken. But no, I had to drop it at the doorway.)
Then midway through summer, my sister was playing fetch with the dog and broke a window. Once again, glass all over the kitchen floor.
But now I have done one better. I have exploded a pie plate. Replete with pie.
*hitting head on wall*
Just a word to the wise--do not heat up the burner when there's a pie sitting on it. Glass goes boom.
Then midway through summer, my sister was playing fetch with the dog and broke a window. Once again, glass all over the kitchen floor.
But now I have done one better. I have exploded a pie plate. Replete with pie.
*hitting head on wall*
Just a word to the wise--do not heat up the burner when there's a pie sitting on it. Glass goes boom.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Letter to a Fourth Year
Dear Vet Student Self:
In a few years, you will start your final year of school, and with that will come rotations. You will be one of those blue-garbed, stethoscope-carrying people of authority. It will probably be very cool and utterly exhausting, and your brain will be so full of medical miscellany that the fact you can still walk in a straight line will amaze us all. Actually, walking in a straight line may be a bit of a stretch, but we can always hope.
In any case, you won't be in any condition to remember the poor, downtrodden kennel workers. This letter is to remind you of the things that us downtrodden kennel workers would like all fourth year students to do while they're garnering clinic experience.
1. Thou shalt mark it on the cage card when thou hast fed thy caseload.
2. Thou shalt arrive early enough to take your patient out before he hath an accident.
Double-plus bonus: we can clean while you walk him, and we don't have to clean as much. And the kennels won't smell like dog poo. We're talking 7 am here.
3. Thou shalt give thy patient enough blankets, but not too many (three is good).
If thou bringest in thy own dog for days in a row, leave a card saying "save" and maybe clean that kennel on your own time. It's not that we mind the pets, it's just...there's sometimes a lot of kennels to clean.
4. Thou shalt clean up after exceptionally messy patients (optional).
This one just makes the kennel crew like you.
5. Thou shalt explain thy patient's bizarre health conditions to the curious kennel workers.
Half of us are pre-vets. We LIKE gory detail. Oo, and you knowing who we are is also cool.
6. Thou shalt occasionally thank the kennel crew for their hard work.
It's not usually all that hard, but it is messy and smelly and necessary.
Other things come to mind, such as
the nice people in CCU who consolidate the overnight garbage from all the bins;
picking up the poo from your patient out on dogwalk;
noting that you the student will feed a dog that needs special handfeeding;
piling the bags of soiled laundry along the wall, rather than in the mop room doorway.
But those are little things. The main things are getting here early enough to take the dog on a walk before its bladder fails, and marking whether you have fed (or will feed) your patient.
On behalf of kennel workers, thank you! And (when you get there) enjoy your last year of vet school!
Sincerely,
Your kennel worker self.
In a few years, you will start your final year of school, and with that will come rotations. You will be one of those blue-garbed, stethoscope-carrying people of authority. It will probably be very cool and utterly exhausting, and your brain will be so full of medical miscellany that the fact you can still walk in a straight line will amaze us all. Actually, walking in a straight line may be a bit of a stretch, but we can always hope.
In any case, you won't be in any condition to remember the poor, downtrodden kennel workers. This letter is to remind you of the things that us downtrodden kennel workers would like all fourth year students to do while they're garnering clinic experience.
1. Thou shalt mark it on the cage card when thou hast fed thy caseload.
We don't mind feeding the dogs in the morning (it makes them like us, after all), but we'd rather not have you pop in two minutes later, gasp, and say "But I already fed him, and if he eats any more his colon will explode!"
2. Thou shalt arrive early enough to take your patient out before he hath an accident.
Double-plus bonus: we can clean while you walk him, and we don't have to clean as much. And the kennels won't smell like dog poo. We're talking 7 am here.
3. Thou shalt give thy patient enough blankets, but not too many (three is good).
If thou bringest in thy own dog for days in a row, leave a card saying "save" and maybe clean that kennel on your own time. It's not that we mind the pets, it's just...there's sometimes a lot of kennels to clean.
4. Thou shalt clean up after exceptionally messy patients (optional).
This one just makes the kennel crew like you.
5. Thou shalt explain thy patient's bizarre health conditions to the curious kennel workers.
Half of us are pre-vets. We LIKE gory detail. Oo, and you knowing who we are is also cool.
6. Thou shalt occasionally thank the kennel crew for their hard work.
It's not usually all that hard, but it is messy and smelly and necessary.
Other things come to mind, such as
the nice people in CCU who consolidate the overnight garbage from all the bins;
picking up the poo from your patient out on dogwalk;
noting that you the student will feed a dog that needs special handfeeding;
piling the bags of soiled laundry along the wall, rather than in the mop room doorway.
But those are little things. The main things are getting here early enough to take the dog on a walk before its bladder fails, and marking whether you have fed (or will feed) your patient.
On behalf of kennel workers, thank you! And (when you get there) enjoy your last year of vet school!
Sincerely,
Your kennel worker self.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
How it looks from here
Photographic proof! 170 reunited with her calf, the cows and calves enjoying the pasture, and, Yes, the hen has that many chicks (and there are more running around elsewhere).
Monday, August 11, 2008
On call already?
Diagnosis: sick calf
Treatment: repeated poking with needles and tubes
I got back to my apartment after work on Saturday, wanting nothing but to sleep for an hour or two. My mom calls, and there's a sick sick calf at home. Since I'm the vet service for anything that doesn't need a real vet, I had to go home. It was just like being on call, and I haven't even started vet school yet! I forced myself awake, and talked my boyfriend into accompanying me home, and we went to see what the problem was.
The calf had a temperature and was listless. So listless that I probably could have given her the shot of antibiotics without sitting on her, but not quite so listless that she was going to swallow the sulfa drugs on the first try. The sulfa drugs come in the form of blue boluses, which you break in half before stuffing down the calf's throat...I had to give her 4 halves. I thought I had all of them down, but then I peered into her mouth and, surprise! 4 blue chunks that she was ready to spit out. On the second try I got her to swallow them all. And then we tubed her with electrolytes, which look like nothing so much as Tang.
I voted to stay at home and sleep, which meant the next morning I had to get up at 5 am to drive in to work. There were rather a lot of kennels to clean, for a Sunday. Thank goodness--otherwise I would have felt that going in was a waste. The calf, meanwhile, was still listless, though she was oddly eager to drink water from a bucket. Not normal behavior for a 3-week old. At least her mom hung around most of the day. Sometimes the cows don't do such a good job of keeping an eye on their calves. It was just as well that she went off to graze later, though. We tubed the calf with powerade, the electrolyte-substitute, and gave her a shot of Banamine. Banamine just to make her feel better.
This morning I found her in the wrong pasture. She had tried to follow her mom, I think, and wandered under the wrong wire. I escorted her at a slow walking pace all the way across the pasture. Her mom, whose pacience had been exhausted by yesterday's fast, stayed where she was and only occasionally gave an encouraging moo, through a mouthful of grass.
The final installation of shots was a single Nuflor injection this evening. This time I had to catch the calf, and I'm afraid she won't forgive me this time. Nuflor is a nasty sort of thing--super thick, and she needed a lot of it. At least I didn't have to force feed her any more energy drinks.
Treatment: repeated poking with needles and tubes
I got back to my apartment after work on Saturday, wanting nothing but to sleep for an hour or two. My mom calls, and there's a sick sick calf at home. Since I'm the vet service for anything that doesn't need a real vet, I had to go home. It was just like being on call, and I haven't even started vet school yet! I forced myself awake, and talked my boyfriend into accompanying me home, and we went to see what the problem was.
The calf had a temperature and was listless. So listless that I probably could have given her the shot of antibiotics without sitting on her, but not quite so listless that she was going to swallow the sulfa drugs on the first try. The sulfa drugs come in the form of blue boluses, which you break in half before stuffing down the calf's throat...I had to give her 4 halves. I thought I had all of them down, but then I peered into her mouth and, surprise! 4 blue chunks that she was ready to spit out. On the second try I got her to swallow them all. And then we tubed her with electrolytes, which look like nothing so much as Tang.
I voted to stay at home and sleep, which meant the next morning I had to get up at 5 am to drive in to work. There were rather a lot of kennels to clean, for a Sunday. Thank goodness--otherwise I would have felt that going in was a waste. The calf, meanwhile, was still listless, though she was oddly eager to drink water from a bucket. Not normal behavior for a 3-week old. At least her mom hung around most of the day. Sometimes the cows don't do such a good job of keeping an eye on their calves. It was just as well that she went off to graze later, though. We tubed the calf with powerade, the electrolyte-substitute, and gave her a shot of Banamine. Banamine just to make her feel better.
This morning I found her in the wrong pasture. She had tried to follow her mom, I think, and wandered under the wrong wire. I escorted her at a slow walking pace all the way across the pasture. Her mom, whose pacience had been exhausted by yesterday's fast, stayed where she was and only occasionally gave an encouraging moo, through a mouthful of grass.
The final installation of shots was a single Nuflor injection this evening. This time I had to catch the calf, and I'm afraid she won't forgive me this time. Nuflor is a nasty sort of thing--super thick, and she needed a lot of it. At least I didn't have to force feed her any more energy drinks.
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