I never planned to live above a veterinary clinic. When I decided to start a practice, I envisioned a neat little building with a fenced area in the rear to let dogs exercise. Perhaps even a drive-through to pick up meds. I had a file of clippings pulled from Veterinary Practice magazine. Each month, they featured plans from a stellar new practice, which included the latest and greatest gadgets to enable veterinarians to get the job done.
However, I graduated from Vet school with a fair bit of school loan debt. After visiting several banks, I learned that I would have had to take on at least 250K of debt to build a free-standing building, never mind filling it with the equipment and supplies needed to treat animals.
My father was a wise man. He told me about a property that might be used as a home and a site for a Veterinary practice. We used Richard’s savings to renovate the basement into a full-service clinic.
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When my children arrived, they were upstairs with a babysitter. I was able to check on them during my lunch break, and they often came down to see me. I think most of my clients enjoyed seeing them playing in the backyard or passing through. I distinctly remember being in an appointment and embarrassed when hearing the rolling noise of the baby walker going down the hall above my head. Sometimes, they were with me on the weekend, rolling around the clinic floor as I treated animals (collecting cat hair on the wheels). I am not proud of the fact that my daughter’s favorite teething toy was a plastic syringe casing.
One Saturday, when our son was around two, I had an emergency call early in the morning. Richard had already left for work, and my Saturday babysitter had not yet arrived. I had no choice but to take my toddler downstairs, wondering how in the world I would manage to place an IV or give injections while keeping him safe. Suddenly, I had a solution. He was fascinated with seeing the animals in the cages, and I was constantly pulling him out, locking the doors. Bingo! The cages were stainless steel and disinfected after each patient. I grabbed a few of his toys and rushed downstairs. I put him into the cage and shut the door. He let out a squeal of joy and started playing with his toys. I greeted my client as they rushed through the door with a dog with a large laceration. I took it directly into my treatment room and drew up a sedative. While the pet was getting sleepy, I gathered the needed items to administer anesthesia and suture the wound. Engrossed in the task at hand, I did not hear my babysitter enter upstairs.
After searching upstairs, she eventually came downstairs looking for us. When she found me and asked for her charge, I pointed to the kennel room. Her eyes got really large, and she had a look of horror on her face, not believing that I put my baby boy into a cage! When she got to the kennel and opened the door, she found a gleeful little boy playing happily. He squalled and fought when she tried to extract him. We laughed about that incident for years.
We were able to check on the patients who stayed overnight and walk the dogs prior to going to bed. I had peace of mind with a patient on IV fluids or left on a heating pad to be able to check on them frequently.
The downside was that occasionally, someone took advantage of the fact that we lived there.
I never minded an abrupt interruption of a family event or sleep if it was a true emergency.
It was normal to see a stranger unexpectedly wandering around in the backyard or even at my back door. We would redirect them to the clinic entrance in the front. Once, when pushing my small son (the little cage dweller) in his swing in the backyard, a client spied me from the parking lot. She came over to ask a question about her kitty, who was a frequent visitor to the clinic. Before she could speak, my son looked at her and said boldly, “My mommy is off today”. Yikes. Out of the mouth of babes.
I remember one night, arriving home after celebrating a sibling’s birthday. As we pulled into the driveway, we noted a car sitting off to the side. The headlights were off, and we could see two people inside. Our kids were in car seats in the rear, and for a split second, I was worried.
Richard stopped, got out of the car, and walked over to find a familiar face and voice. The man held a beloved chihuahua in his arms. “I knew you would come home sometime.” “Petey ain’t acting right, and I was wondering if doc could take a look?”
My first impulse was to be annoyed. The kids needed a bath, and it was their bedtime.
However, it was obvious that my client wasn’t going to give up easily, and I would feel terrible if little Petey’s condition was serious and I dismissed him.
The kids were thrilled to have their bedtime postponed once again.
