I thoroughly enjoyed this light-hearted and humorous book written eloquently by animal surgeon Dr. Nick Trout. Not a chapter slipped by where I wasn’t giggling to myself over a witty analogy or characterization. I presumed this book would be more technically detailed, but instead it showcases the emotional feelings and personal bonds we feel towards our beloved pets. Tell Me Where It Hurts is a must read for all dog lovers and aspiring veterinarians. It is definitely one of my top five books read in 2009. Although long-winded, this is one of my favorite quotes stated by this amazing animal surgeon:
“So if I’m cornered, asked to put into words why it is I do what I do, I might try a different approach. I ask them to imagine a child walking into a classroom on their first day of elementary school, awkward, shy, prone to beet-red blushes and raindrop tears, alone, confused, and, most of all, scared. And now imagine there’s a kid in the class who’s different from his peers, of, say, a different ethnicity, unable to communicate because he’s unwilling or unable to speak the languange and, for one second, just imagine how you might feel as a parent, hovering, unnoticed, invisible, watching as your child is the one taking that bold step forward, introducing himself, making a friend and helping a stranger in a strange place. In an instant you can see both sides of the equation, balanced, simple, free from criticism and cynicism, a child innocently trying to help, a child relieved and reassured, grateful to be connected by a smile, a touch. It is precisely this kind of feeling that I as a veterinarian am trying to rekindle in my working life, in a classroom striving for a connection and collaboration between two completely different species, discovering an instinctual behavior of reaching out and trying to help a frightened, sick animal with their unequivocal acceptance of your intention that can still, even now, even when I’m tired and at my most jaded, catch me off guard, spin my emotional compass, and make me proud and grateful to be doing what I do. Naturally, brandishing a bright and shiny needle can leave you on the sharp end of a verbal (and sometimes physical) complaint, but, for the most part, unlike human medicine, this exchange transpires in respectful silence, in a world of tacit clueless tolerance. It is this dependence on a different kind of language, the quintessential allure of an absence of words, an absence that, as they say, makes the heart grow fonder.”
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Tell Me Where It Hurts
I thoroughly enjoyed this light-hearted and humorous book written eloquently by animal surgeon Dr. Nick Trout. Not a chapter slipped by where I wasn’t giggling to myself over a witty analogy or characterization. I presumed this book would be more technically detailed, but instead it showcases the emotional feelings and personal bonds we feel towards our beloved pets. Tell Me Where It Hurts is a must read for all dog lovers and aspiring veterinarians. It is definitely one of my top five books read in 2009. Although long-winded, this is one of my favorite quotes stated by this amazing animal surgeon:
“So if I’m cornered, asked to put into words why it is I do what I do, I might try a different approach. I ask them to imagine a child walking into a classroom on their first day of elementary school, awkward, shy, prone to beet-red blushes and raindrop tears, alone, confused, and, most of all, scared. And now imagine there’s a kid in the class who’s different from his peers, of, say, a different ethnicity, unable to communicate because he’s unwilling or unable to speak the languange and, for one second, just imagine how you might feel as a parent, hovering, unnoticed, invisible, watching as your child is the one taking that bold step forward, introducing himself, making a friend and helping a stranger in a strange place. In an instant you can see both sides of the equation, balanced, simple, free from criticism and cynicism, a child innocently trying to help, a child relieved and reassured, grateful to be connected by a smile, a touch. It is precisely this kind of feeling that I as a veterinarian am trying to rekindle in my working life, in a classroom striving for a connection and collaboration between two completely different species, discovering an instinctual behavior of reaching out and trying to help a frightened, sick animal with their unequivocal acceptance of your intention that can still, even now, even when I’m tired and at my most jaded, catch me off guard, spin my emotional compass, and make me proud and grateful to be doing what I do. Naturally, brandishing a bright and shiny needle can leave you on the sharp end of a verbal (and sometimes physical) complaint, but, for the most part, unlike human medicine, this exchange transpires in respectful silence, in a world of tacit clueless tolerance. It is this dependence on a different kind of language, the quintessential allure of an absence of words, an absence that, as they say, makes the heart grow fonder.”
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