Angels to Animals
Driving through narrow roads, over rolling hills with softly lit farm houses, past large expanses of fields waiting to be sewn with corn and soybean, towards the distant blue-gray mountains with the setting sun splashing a muted rainbow of colors in the slowly darkening evening sky with flocks of birds flying to the trees to rest for the night, one will eventually come to a break in the tree line with a large stone and beige sign brightly lighting the deep red letters announcing the entrance to the rocky road lined with solar backlit boulders leading to the Sunbury Animal Hospital.
Upon arriving at the large stone facility, one immediately notices it's impressive size and castle-like appearance with a modern flare. A wide tower and impressive large-animal barn connected to the main hospital provides treatment and care options that few other facilities nearby offer. A large glass wall running the expanse of one side of the building surrounds the large red double-doors leading into the lobby and reception area.
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Entering the lobby, the grandeur of the reception area is breathtaking, with it's high ceilings and dark stained wooden moldings on the light mint colored walls, as an informational veterinary care channel plays softly from a television hung from the top of a glass column displaying an array of antique tools and syringes to the public, adjacent from the large fish tank filled with brightly colored rocks and even more vividly colored fish, lazily floating around their spacious environment. The soft meow's and purrs of cats from the adoption area drift through the air, along with the clicking of the keyboards and the cacophony of ringing telephones, accompanied by the constant shuffling of papers and laughter-strewn conversations of the receptionists.
The soft electronic beep of the lock opening is followed by a strong scent of cetylcide and various cleansers and animals as the door opens to the treatment area. Dogs barking, cats crying out, clinking of steel instruments, and the hum and beep of medication dispensers attached to the catheters of caged patients are heard alongside the directions and conversations of doctors and technicians as treatment options are discussed and future endeavors are planned. One of the voices collaborating with a tech belongs to a short, proud woman with mid-length brunette hair tucked inside a light blue surgical cap.
Laura Kielbasa, the most recent Doctor of Veterinary Medicine to join the staff, graduated from Temple University in 2009 and Tufts Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine in 2014, practicing both large and small animals, with interests in ultrasound and small animal dermatology. She never considered veterinary medicine until she was able to witness a few operations and realize she had a strong interest in the subject, and said to herself "Laura, you can do this!"
As she finished her conversation and prepared for her last few surgeries of the day, she donned new gloves, prepped the surgery table, and began her work, anxious for her final task before the day ended: a necropsy on an alpaca.
Earlier that morning, Bucky's progressively worsening health drastically declined, and when he laid down, he made it quite clear to everyone that he was not only losing his ongoing battle with whatever ailed him, but also his desire to live. His refusal to stand back up left the large animal technicians no choice but to give him a few more hours to decide if he was going to remain with us, or if intervention was necessary and he would be released to "the Big Barn in the Sky."
After surgeries were finished, when Dr. Kielbasa conversed and contemplated with the technicians about his future, they decided that euthanasia and a necropsy were the best options, especially since they were not sure about his condition. She prepared herself for the task ahead, her syringe at the ready and the dental room prepped for the necropsy.
Once the alpaca had been put to sleep and the sad feelings had gone away, the only thing left to do was to move him from the barn into the surgery room. With a gurney close by, Bucky was carefully lifted and moved to the other room, where he was placed belly-up on the slotted table. Not wasting any time, and with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, the first incision was made, running the length of the abdomen from the pelvis to the base of his neck. Working her large yellow knife in between the rear legs, muscles and fat were being severed, eventually allowing her to pop the head of the femur from it's joint and bending the right hind leg out of the way. Repeating this process, she was able to displace the front right, allowing her an unobstructed view of the abdominal region.
With a swift run of the knife, she had a clear view of the first compartment of his stomach and all of his organs not within the rib cage. As she began her search for anything unusual, she began to say that the most difficult aspect of her occupation was that she had a horrible time trying to balance her social life with her work. "My husband was expecting me home over an hour ago, but this alpaca has to be examined in case we're dealing with a viral infection that could be easily spread from animal to animal." As her story continued, she began to collect segments of organs to be sent to the lab to be tested.
When the time came for her to reach the vital organs, she had to open the rib cage. Using a pair of hoof trimmers as makeshift rib crackers, she slowly detached each rib, revealing more and more with every cut, minutes passing before she finally peeled back her last rib, showing the diseased lungs and the large heart.
"Knowledge is the main goal of this experience. The more I can learn from this, the more I'll be able to help other animals and their people. What really bothers me is when I'm faced with a situation and I have no idea what to do, I feel so helpless and stressed that I'm ignorant to whatever the issue is, so I make it my job to learn as much as I possibly can to avoid that situation."
As Dr. Kielbasa cut out diseased sections of the lungs to be sent for testing, she speculates that Bucky has tuberculosis from the growths on his lungs. Large blisters and bumps cover his right lung, and the smell from the few that ruptured were thankfully dulled by the thick surgical masks.
After she collected everything that she needed, she began to place all of his organs back inside the abdominal cavity and re-close the incision. With a little help, Bucky was then bagged and sent to the morgue in case further tests were required.
The scent of cleanser and blood filled the hospital as Dr. Kielbasa scrubbed the surgical table, and the soft mutters of disgust from the techs rose with each passing minute. After everything was cleaned and sterilized, she took off her blood stained surgical gown and immediately placed it in the washer. Three hours later than when she originally planned to leave, she packed her instruments, donned her coat, said her goodbye's and left.
Leaving the hospital, the soft glow of the setting sun turned into the bright pale face of the moon and the thousands of twinkling stars seen above the tree line. With the scent of cetylcide still lingering on every surface, the castle-like building recedes in the background with every passing minute. The lights shimmer behind the rocks, and the memory of Bucky remains as strong and vivid as it replays over and over, each detail as if it were still happening.
Driving through narrow roads, over rolling hills with softly lit farm houses, past large expanses of fields waiting to be sewn with corn and soybean, towards the distant blue-gray mountains with the setting sun splashing a muted rainbow of colors in the slowly darkening evening sky with flocks of birds flying to the trees to rest for the night, one will eventually come to a break in the tree line with a large stone and beige sign brightly lighting the deep red letters announcing the entrance to the rocky road lined with solar backlit boulders leading to the Sunbury Animal Hospital.
Upon arriving at the large stone facility, one immediately notices it's impressive size and castle-like appearance with a modern flare. A wide tower and impressive large-animal barn connected to the main hospital provides treatment and care options that few other facilities nearby offer. A large glass wall running the expanse of one side of the building surrounds the large red double-doors leading into the lobby and reception area.
Entering the lobby, the grandeur of the reception area is breathtaking, with it's high ceilings and dark stained wooden moldings on the light mint colored walls, as an informational veterinary care channel plays softly from a television hung from the top of a glass column displaying an array of antique tools and syringes to the public, adjacent from the large fish tank filled with brightly colored rocks and even more vividly colored fish, lazily floating around their spacious environment. The soft meow's and purrs of cats from the adoption area drift through the air, along with the clicking of the keyboards and the cacophony of ringing telephones, accompanied by the constant shuffling of papers and laughter-strewn conversations of the receptionists.
The soft electronic beep of the lock opening is followed by a strong scent of cetylcide and various cleansers and animals as the door opens to the treatment area. Dogs barking, cats crying out, clinking of steel instruments, and the hum and beep of medication dispensers attached to the catheters of caged patients are heard alongside the directions and conversations of doctors and technicians as treatment options are discussed and future endeavors are planned. One of the voices collaborating with a tech belongs to a short, proud woman with mid-length brunette hair tucked inside a light blue surgical cap.
Laura Kielbasa, the most recent Doctor of Veterinary Medicine to join the staff, graduated from Temple University in 2009 and Tufts Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine in 2014, practicing both large and small animals, with interests in ultrasound and small animal dermatology. She never considered veterinary medicine until she was able to witness a few operations and realize she had a strong interest in the subject, and said to herself "Laura, you can do this!"
As she finished her conversation and prepared for her last few surgeries of the day, she donned new gloves, prepped the surgery table, and began her work, anxious for her final task before the day ended: a necropsy on an alpaca.
Earlier that morning, Bucky's progressively worsening health drastically declined, and when he laid down, he made it quite clear to everyone that he was not only losing his ongoing battle with whatever ailed him, but also his desire to live. His refusal to stand back up left the large animal technicians no choice but to give him a few more hours to decide if he was going to remain with us, or if intervention was necessary and he would be released to "the Big Barn in the Sky."
After surgeries were finished, when Dr. Kielbasa conversed and contemplated with the technicians about his future, they decided that euthanasia and a necropsy were the best options, especially since they were not sure about his condition. She prepared herself for the task ahead, her syringe at the ready and the dental room prepped for the necropsy.
Once the alpaca had been put to sleep and the sad feelings had gone away, the only thing left to do was to move him from the barn into the surgery room. With a gurney close by, Bucky was carefully lifted and moved to the other room, where he was placed belly-up on the slotted table. Not wasting any time, and with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, the first incision was made, running the length of the abdomen from the pelvis to the base of his neck. Working her large yellow knife in between the rear legs, muscles and fat were being severed, eventually allowing her to pop the head of the femur from it's joint and bending the right hind leg out of the way. Repeating this process, she was able to displace the front right, allowing her an unobstructed view of the abdominal region.
With a swift run of the knife, she had a clear view of the first compartment of his stomach and all of his organs not within the rib cage. As she began her search for anything unusual, she began to say that the most difficult aspect of her occupation was that she had a horrible time trying to balance her social life with her work. "My husband was expecting me home over an hour ago, but this alpaca has to be examined in case we're dealing with a viral infection that could be easily spread from animal to animal." As her story continued, she began to collect segments of organs to be sent to the lab to be tested.
When the time came for her to reach the vital organs, she had to open the rib cage. Using a pair of hoof trimmers as makeshift rib crackers, she slowly detached each rib, revealing more and more with every cut, minutes passing before she finally peeled back her last rib, showing the diseased lungs and the large heart.
"Knowledge is the main goal of this experience. The more I can learn from this, the more I'll be able to help other animals and their people. What really bothers me is when I'm faced with a situation and I have no idea what to do, I feel so helpless and stressed that I'm ignorant to whatever the issue is, so I make it my job to learn as much as I possibly can to avoid that situation."
As Dr. Kielbasa cut out diseased sections of the lungs to be sent for testing, she speculates that Bucky has tuberculosis from the growths on his lungs. Large blisters and bumps cover his right lung, and the smell from the few that ruptured were thankfully dulled by the thick surgical masks.
After she collected everything that she needed, she began to place all of his organs back inside the abdominal cavity and re-close the incision. With a little help, Bucky was then bagged and sent to the morgue in case further tests were required.
The scent of cleanser and blood filled the hospital as Dr. Kielbasa scrubbed the surgical table, and the soft mutters of disgust from the techs rose with each passing minute. After everything was cleaned and sterilized, she took off her blood stained surgical gown and immediately placed it in the washer. Three hours later than when she originally planned to leave, she packed her instruments, donned her coat, said her goodbye's and left.
Leaving the hospital, the soft glow of the setting sun turned into the bright pale face of the moon and the thousands of twinkling stars seen above the tree line. With the scent of cetylcide still lingering on every surface, the castle-like building recedes in the background with every passing minute. The lights shimmer behind the rocks, and the memory of Bucky remains as strong and vivid as it replays over and over, each detail as if it were still happening.
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