Dignity

When I'm working, I try to keep in mind that as the doctor, I should be the voice of calm reason.  Even when things are a little (or a lot) emotional, it's my job to keep my cool and then at 10 o'clock last night, I found myself with  my pants around my ankles in a goat shed.

I was treating a goat who had gotten loose in a corn field and gone hog wild to the point of rumen acidosis and bloat.  The owner had rigged up a spotlight, which had in turn woken up a nest of ground bees.  Or hornets.  Doesn't really matter what they were, all that matters were that one of those suckers weaved it's way over to my little section of the pen, crawled up inside my pants leg and proceeded to sting the ever living crap out of me.  I had a tube down the goat, into the stomach trying to relieve the bloat and I believe my monologue went something like this: ".... so she's going to need some TLC in order to keep her going while her body handles these metabolic changes... ow. OW!  OW OW OW!!! <take off running, unbuckling belt, jumping inside the goat shed, shucking my pants> Please pull the tube out of the goat! OW! Son of a bitch! Die die die you evil little bastard!  <long pause>  Could someone please get me a bag of ice?"

I got myself sorted out, duct taped the bag of ice to the outside of my jeans.  I apologized for the interruption, and my language. Obviously I didn't even have a shred of dignity left at this point.  None.  It was so far gone I had even lost the ability to blush.  I finished the appointment and came home.  I'm sure in 20 years or so I'll laugh.  Maybe.  The owners of the goat?  They got to do all their laughing as I drove away.  And I'm pretty sure it made for some excellent water cooler conversation and their jobs today.