A year after yelling at the resident about her lack of common sense, I was sitting in a bar with some friends. Unbeknownst to me, we were surrounded by a bunch of vet students, one of whom was my friend, Ben.
“Hey, Snarky,” Ben said. (Okay, he didn’t call me Snarky. He called me by name.)
“Hey, Ben,” I said.
“Wait,” said a young woman sitting with him. “You’re Snarky?”
“Uh…” I glanced at Ben for a little help. Why did this random woman think she knew who I was?
Before Ben could open his mouth, several more women leaned toward my table. “You’re Snarky?”
Ben bowed his head and started laughing, but didn’t offer assistance.
“Well,” I said, thinking they had me confused with someone else, “that’s my name, but there are a lot of us around. I don’t think…”
“You’re the one who yelled at Dr. Resident last year!” one of the very young women squealed.
“Uh…” I glanced at Ben, who was nodding his head and still laughing. Seriously, that’s what this was about? “Yeah…I guess.”
“We’ve heard about you,” another one said. “You’re a scary bitch.”
I glared at her. “You have no idea.”
Monday, July 4, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
I May Have an Attitude Problem
When I was but a lowly grad student, I took bears to the vet hospital monthly for body fat analysis.
And one day, I got into a tiff with a resident.
I had been bringing bears to the vet hospital for almost two years, and unfortunately for me, the two people who normally helped went onto bigger and better things. So, this time, I was stuck with a resident…who had a very big ego.
Everything went smoothly, until we were finished. We had loaded the still sleeping bears into our truck and I went back to get the data. The data that would normally be ready and waiting.
Not this time.
The resident, who I’m sure was good at her job, but apparently had zero common sense, decided this would be a good time to teach a bunch of fourth year students how to use the piece of equipment that measured body fat. She was taking them through the process of how to set up the calculations…step–by slow as molasses–step.
I stood in the doorway…and because I’m super patient *cough*… I let her ramble on for about a minute before interrupting her and calmly *cough* explaining to her that it was not appropriate to make us wait because we had GRIZZLY BEARS with us. GRIZZLY BEARS that would wake up in minutes! I suggested it might be more appropriate to use, oh I don’t know, a dog or cat as a teaching tool.
She scowled then finished the data analysis, printed it out and handed to me…still scowling.
When I got back to the truck, I said to my advisor, “FYI, I yelled at the resident because she was taking her sweet ass time teaching students how to use the DEXA.”
He nodded and said, “I wondered what took you so long.”
Later that day, I had a message on my voicemail from said resident, yelling at me and demanding an apology. Several minutes after listening to her long-winded message and wondering what I should do, my advisor sauntered into my office.
“Your favorite resident left a message on my machine,” he said. “She wanted me to know how unprofessional you were and that she expects verbal and written apologies. She also wanted me to tell you that you are but a grad student. She’s a doctor and you had no right to speak to her that way, especially in front of her students.”
She had a point, and if my advisor, who I had (and still have) the utmost respect for, wanted me to apologize, I would…*gulp*
“So…I should call her?”
“I already did,” he said. “I told her she was an idiot. I don’t think she’s expecting an apology anymore.
Did I mention how much I respected my advisor?
And one day, I got into a tiff with a resident.
I had been bringing bears to the vet hospital for almost two years, and unfortunately for me, the two people who normally helped went onto bigger and better things. So, this time, I was stuck with a resident…who had a very big ego.
Everything went smoothly, until we were finished. We had loaded the still sleeping bears into our truck and I went back to get the data. The data that would normally be ready and waiting.
Not this time.
The resident, who I’m sure was good at her job, but apparently had zero common sense, decided this would be a good time to teach a bunch of fourth year students how to use the piece of equipment that measured body fat. She was taking them through the process of how to set up the calculations…step–by slow as molasses–step.
I stood in the doorway…and because I’m super patient *cough*… I let her ramble on for about a minute before interrupting her and calmly *cough* explaining to her that it was not appropriate to make us wait because we had GRIZZLY BEARS with us. GRIZZLY BEARS that would wake up in minutes! I suggested it might be more appropriate to use, oh I don’t know, a dog or cat as a teaching tool.
She scowled then finished the data analysis, printed it out and handed to me…still scowling.
When I got back to the truck, I said to my advisor, “FYI, I yelled at the resident because she was taking her sweet ass time teaching students how to use the DEXA.”
He nodded and said, “I wondered what took you so long.”
Later that day, I had a message on my voicemail from said resident, yelling at me and demanding an apology. Several minutes after listening to her long-winded message and wondering what I should do, my advisor sauntered into my office.
“Your favorite resident left a message on my machine,” he said. “She wanted me to know how unprofessional you were and that she expects verbal and written apologies. She also wanted me to tell you that you are but a grad student. She’s a doctor and you had no right to speak to her that way, especially in front of her students.”
She had a point, and if my advisor, who I had (and still have) the utmost respect for, wanted me to apologize, I would…*gulp*
“So…I should call her?”
“I already did,” he said. “I told her she was an idiot. I don’t think she’s expecting an apology anymore.
Did I mention how much I respected my advisor?
Monday, June 20, 2011
Disease Control
One summer, many years ago, I had some major stomach issues. Eventually, I went to the doctor and found out that I had contracted not one, not two, but three intestinal “bugs." This got me a slew of medications…and a phone call.
“Hello?” I said, answering the phone.
“This is Talk Fast Listen Later from the health department. The hospital reported that you have contracted X, Y and Z diseases, is this true?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to ask you a series of questions to try to determine where you might have contracted them. Please answer as accurately as possible.”
“Okay, but this isn’t--”
“Have you been out of the country in the past several weeks?”
“No, but--”
“Have you eaten at any restaurants in the past few weeks?”
“No, but--”
“How about fast food?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes, and because I had time, I let the idiot ask me all (100) of his stupid questions.
At the end of his survey, he sounded quite perplexed and asked, “Do you have any idea where you might have contracted the diseases?”
“Hmm…” I said as if racking my brain for an answer. “I wonder if I got them from the captive beaver colony I work with?”
“Hello?” I said, answering the phone.
“This is Talk Fast Listen Later from the health department. The hospital reported that you have contracted X, Y and Z diseases, is this true?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to ask you a series of questions to try to determine where you might have contracted them. Please answer as accurately as possible.”
“Okay, but this isn’t--”
“Have you been out of the country in the past several weeks?”
“No, but--”
“Have you eaten at any restaurants in the past few weeks?”
“No, but--”
“How about fast food?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes, and because I had time, I let the idiot ask me all (100) of his stupid questions.
At the end of his survey, he sounded quite perplexed and asked, “Do you have any idea where you might have contracted the diseases?”
“Hmm…” I said as if racking my brain for an answer. “I wonder if I got them from the captive beaver colony I work with?”
Monday, June 13, 2011
Alien Abduction...of a Bear.
One Friday evening, while I was sitting on my couch, stuffing my face and watching television, I got a phone call.
“Get dressed,” my friend said.
(Did I mention it was 6pm and I was in my PJs…and my friend knows me well?)
“Why?” I asked, gearing up for a fight. If she didn’t give me a really, really, really good reason, I wasn’t getting dressed.
“A bear escaped.”
“Pick me up in five.”
On the way to the bear facility, I wondered how a bear could escape. When I got there and watched the video, I got my answer. The bear had stood on her tiptoes and pulled herself through a small hole in the ceiling. Because of the camera angle, all we saw was the bottom half of the bear, dancing, and then “POOF” she appeared to get sucked upward…as if being abducted by aliens.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering…everything turned out fine. She was stuck in a crawl space. We got her safely back to her pen…and covered the hole.
“Get dressed,” my friend said.
(Did I mention it was 6pm and I was in my PJs…and my friend knows me well?)
“Why?” I asked, gearing up for a fight. If she didn’t give me a really, really, really good reason, I wasn’t getting dressed.
“A bear escaped.”
“Pick me up in five.”
On the way to the bear facility, I wondered how a bear could escape. When I got there and watched the video, I got my answer. The bear had stood on her tiptoes and pulled herself through a small hole in the ceiling. Because of the camera angle, all we saw was the bottom half of the bear, dancing, and then “POOF” she appeared to get sucked upward…as if being abducted by aliens.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering…everything turned out fine. She was stuck in a crawl space. We got her safely back to her pen…and covered the hole.
Monday, June 6, 2011
What Kind of Bears are Those?
I’m asked many questions—some dumber than others—about bears and wildlife. One such stupid question came from Joe Public just a few weeks ago when I was participating in a grizzly bear workshop. Let me be clear. This workshop was hosted by a facility that houses grizzly bears in a zoo-like setting. The bears have indoor and outdoor runs and access to a large yard with a jungle gym. It’s like a zoo, but not. We were working with an immobilized bear, when a large group of spectators began to congregate and ask questions. Many times while working at this facility, I’ve heard, “Are those grizzly bears?” and “Are those black bears?” but not until this day did I hear, “Are those captive bears?”
Monday, May 30, 2011
Miracles do Happen
This is a story for those who love dogs…and those who know my freak of an Aussie. For those of you who don’t know him, let’s just say I could write a book about his antics.
I’ve heard many stories about dogs attacking porcupines and ending up in the vet hospital with a face full of quills. A friend of mine had it happen just last week. When he told me the story, I smiled because not only do I LOVE porcupines, my dog Tucker and I saw one the same day.
While on a hike, I rounded a corner in the road. Tuck was ahead of me, watching something in the bushes and wagging his nub of a tail. He took a step toward it then looked at me and wagged again. I saw the bushes move, so I peeked in for a closer look. There it was, an adorable porcupine waddling through the brush and up the hill.
And for once in my life, Tucker listened to me...and remained quill-less.
I’ve heard many stories about dogs attacking porcupines and ending up in the vet hospital with a face full of quills. A friend of mine had it happen just last week. When he told me the story, I smiled because not only do I LOVE porcupines, my dog Tucker and I saw one the same day.
While on a hike, I rounded a corner in the road. Tuck was ahead of me, watching something in the bushes and wagging his nub of a tail. He took a step toward it then looked at me and wagged again. I saw the bushes move, so I peeked in for a closer look. There it was, an adorable porcupine waddling through the brush and up the hill.
And for once in my life, Tucker listened to me...and remained quill-less.
Monday, May 23, 2011
I Have Taken My Fair Share of Bears to the Vet Hospital.
One such occasion occurred at two a.m. I got a call from a technician who was feeding the captive bears (yes, at two a.m.).
“You need to get out here,” he said.
“What happened?”
“One of the bears is injured.”
“So badly I need to get out of bed? Did you call the boss?”
“He’s not answering and his machine isn’t picking up.”
Smart man.
“I’ll be there in a few.”
Sure enough, when I arrived, one of the bears was walking funny. We got a flashlight (cause it’s dark at two a.m., we didn’t have outside lights, and the bear wouldn’t come inside) and realized one of her front paws had been torn open so badly we could see bones.
I called my boss again. No answer. Then I called the vet hospital and told them we’d be there with a sub-adult female grizzly in 45 minutes. Then, don’t ask me how (I don’t remember), but somehow, we darted the bear…in the dark.
When we arrived at the vet hospital, one resident and one fourth-year vet student were waiting for us. We pulled the bear off the truck and onto the gurney, and their eyes got huge! Nothing like instilling confidence in your clients.
The resident took a look at the paw and gave us several options. I again called my boss. After all, it was his money. When he didn’t answer, I decided on a minor procedure and antibiotics. When the vet and student started wheeling the bear toward the operating room, they looked back at us and said, “Uh…you coming?”
“Sure,” we said and followed, knowing they were scared shitless.
As the procedure progressed and the fourth year student got more comfortable with the bear and her duty as anesthesiologist, she forgot to pay attention.
“You need to give her more gas,” I said, thinking I saw signs of the bear coming out of the drug.
“Are you sure?” She blankly looked at the bear then me.
Granted, the bear had long burned through the drugs we had administered and I had never seen a bear on isoflurane before. And yes, she was the anesthesiologist, the one with the knowledge and experience with the drug, so no, I wasn’t 100% positive.
That was, until the bear lifted her head and growled.
“You need to get out here,” he said.
“What happened?”
“One of the bears is injured.”
“So badly I need to get out of bed? Did you call the boss?”
“He’s not answering and his machine isn’t picking up.”
Smart man.
“I’ll be there in a few.”
Sure enough, when I arrived, one of the bears was walking funny. We got a flashlight (cause it’s dark at two a.m., we didn’t have outside lights, and the bear wouldn’t come inside) and realized one of her front paws had been torn open so badly we could see bones.
I called my boss again. No answer. Then I called the vet hospital and told them we’d be there with a sub-adult female grizzly in 45 minutes. Then, don’t ask me how (I don’t remember), but somehow, we darted the bear…in the dark.
When we arrived at the vet hospital, one resident and one fourth-year vet student were waiting for us. We pulled the bear off the truck and onto the gurney, and their eyes got huge! Nothing like instilling confidence in your clients.
The resident took a look at the paw and gave us several options. I again called my boss. After all, it was his money. When he didn’t answer, I decided on a minor procedure and antibiotics. When the vet and student started wheeling the bear toward the operating room, they looked back at us and said, “Uh…you coming?”
“Sure,” we said and followed, knowing they were scared shitless.
As the procedure progressed and the fourth year student got more comfortable with the bear and her duty as anesthesiologist, she forgot to pay attention.
“You need to give her more gas,” I said, thinking I saw signs of the bear coming out of the drug.
“Are you sure?” She blankly looked at the bear then me.
Granted, the bear had long burned through the drugs we had administered and I had never seen a bear on isoflurane before. And yes, she was the anesthesiologist, the one with the knowledge and experience with the drug, so no, I wasn’t 100% positive.
That was, until the bear lifted her head and growled.
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