I received a message today informing me that no one cares about what happens to my truck. The sender requested that I focus on all the details of the baby camel. I aim to please...
You will be happy to know that the staff here has finally settled on a name for her. From this day forth, she will be known as Amy Rae. It is possible that her name is Amy Ray, though it doesn't seem quite as feminine. I do not know the correct spelling yet because her medical records still list her as "Camel, Female".
When I saw her this evening during the first treatment, Amy was laying on her side. When we placed her into a more natural position for a camel to rest, the wood shaving bedding in which she had been laying was covering her sandy blonde hair. I removed the stray shavings sticking to her long eyelashes with a delicate swipe.
At times during the two treatment sessions, she showed flashes of brightness but overall her demeanor is dull. While we are giving her fluids, I have taken it upon myself to be her defense against barn flies since she is too weak to shoo them away herself. During the late night treatment, I spotted a large bee making a path towards her face. I picked up a nearby piece of straw and knocked that bee into the next county.
I find myself humming to her during treatment. I count her heart rate, respiration rate, run my fingers gently through the soft hair covering her sides then appologize every time I have to take a rectal temperature. When I was alone in the barn stall with her, I sat on the blanket close to her. She leaned into me a little bit and I responded by cuddling her a little bit.
I am getting attached to this creature and that could be a very bad thing. As a veterinarian, becoming attached to patients can be a difficult thing. In an emergency care situation, emotions are not an ally. I believe that a great vet needs to be able to tread a fine line between caring and calculated. The more time I spend watching Amy Rae wobble around, the more the line becomes blurry.
Highlight: Amy Rae finished all of her formula tonight, gulping the second bottle in record time. The fact that she still has an appetite make me feel optomistic. The vet student who is doing her clinical rotation has repeatedly assured me that she is OCD and will exhaust every option to ensure that Amy Rae is getting the best care possible.
Lowlight: Amy Rae is still not standing up on her own despite my very generous incentive. When treatment is completed, we encourge Amy Rae to stand up on her own. I offered her a deal, "I'm going to count to three. If you get up and make a move to run out the door, I will not try to stop you." Thus far she has not taken me up on the offer.
The prognosis for Amy Rae is currently considered guarded at best. I'm holding out hope for a full recovery. On the short ride back to my cabin, I realized that I should be preparing myself for what might be a very bad ending to this chapter of my internship. I'm just not quite ready to accept that yet. I take comfort in knowing that I am not the only one who feels that way...
Postscipt: I normally spell check and redraft these blog posts. Right now I am looking at under four hours of sleep so please accept my appologies for any errors that might be contained in this post because I just don't have the energy to recheck for grammer etc...
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