Page 11 of Holding On

Chapter Four

Travis Russo

I watch my sister as she makes a neat incision down the abdomen. My first day and I’m here to assist her with a spaying. The dog, a large lab-retriever mix, is a good fifteen pounds overweight, which is not making our job easier.

“Okay, Travis,” she says, “go find them.”

She means the fallopian tubes. Snipping tubes is a pretty easy procedure. I’ve actually done it in vet school. But this isn’t school and there’s no teacher, just Claire standing there with bloodied gloved hands, holding some forceps and a scalpel.

“Get a clean pair of forceps and start looking. Grab a probe.”

I adjust the light above my head. After a minute of pawing past intestines, I start to sweat. I can’t find them.

“They’re there,” she says.

I keep searching.

“The dog has a lot of adipose tissue,” I say, trying to sound clinical.

“You mean the dog is fat? Yes, sometimes it makes it very hard with heavy dogs to find the tubes.”

Sweat trickles down my forehead. I shouldn’t have had those potatoes this morning. Potatoes make me sweat. Finally, I see the pinkish little thread, no bigger than a thin ribbon.

“Got one,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

Now I’m not so sure. It’s a thin strip of pink corded tissue.

“It could be a piece of intestine. Could be part of the pancreas too.” Her voice isn’t admonishing. She’s merely stating a fact. “Make sure. Because once you snip it, it’s going to be very hard to put back together if you’re wrong.”

I am sure. But just to be safe, I have her validate.

“Correct,” she says.

I note she doesn’t say something like “Good call,” as that would be too vague and there could be a misunderstanding.

Then she reverts to being my sister. “Go for it.”

The second one, the dog’s right tube, isn’t any easier to find. It’s a little too high and then a little too deep from the spot where it should have been. By the time I find it, sweat is rolling down my back.

“The problem is, adipose tissue tends to wrap around what you’re looking for. I know you don’t like to think about tearing the tissue or doing any more damage, but you do have to find it. Go back toward the uterus and go from there.”

I try. Then all of a sudden, there’s a bright pink swollen mound: the ovary.

“Okay, follow it down,” she says. In another second, it’s done. I’m elated to make the cut and finish. “Good job. That’s tough. It’s never easy on a heavy dog.”

We disinfect and she lets me stitch up both layers of skin.

“You’re pretty tidy,” she says. “Nice stitching. Remember, though, this isn’t plastic surgery. You don’t have to worry about leaving a scar.”

Oh my God.

“Don’t sigh like that. A bunch of tight little stitches could make the animal itchy and sore. But I think you did a good job.”

I remove the mask from the dog’s face and turn the anesthesia off, and the sound of the air exchange in the background stops. We take off our gloves and toss them into the biohazard bin. The office is eerily quiet.

Claire tucks strands of blonde hair behind her ear. “You don’t need to be scared of me.”