Vetted for Vengeance (In the Spotlight #4)
Chapter 1
Chapter one
Rhys
Consulting Room Five hasn’t felt like a veterinary clinic since the production team moved in.
Cables snake across the floor where owners usually stand.
A boom microphone hangs just out of frame.
Someone has taped bright markers on the linoleum, telling me exactly where to stand so the lights catch my face correctly.
I plant my feet squarely on my tape, draw a deep breath and turn fully towards the camera. The equipment hums around me, making the room feel cramped and crowded.
“Ready, Dr Calder, in three… two… one.”
I smile, not at the technician who had spoken, but directly at the camera facing me.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to another exciting episode of Follow the Vet, and here with me is Gladys Williams and her adorable pet, Poppy. Poppy is a fifteen-year-old Yorkshire Terrier who loves balls and sneaky morning cuddles.”
My eyes drop, my fingers easily finding the spot between Poppy's ears. Between me and the lenses is the examination table where the small terrier shakes nervously. She isn’t the most photogenic dog, and her owner lacks confidence, but the diagnosis is interesting.
That’s what makes this case perfect for my audience.
“Okay, Mrs. Williams, what brings Poppy here today?” I ask, speaking more to the audience beyond the camera. The thousands of viewers who tune in each week to see me save cute, fluffy animals.
In reality, I've already done the examination in the proper consulting room, already reviewed the results of all the tests; now it's just the scripted version.
The dog before me isn't cute or fluffy, but she is medically fascinating. Tumors are rarely neat and tidy, always knotted around an organ or blood vessels. That is what makes them so interesting. The body is remarkably predictable once you understand how the parts fit together.
Poppy is an old dog with about five remaining teeth. Her kidney function isn't great. If the camera wasn't here, I'd be telling the owner to let her go. But anything we film is funded by the broadcaster, which means an unlimited budget for treatment.
Gladys is elderly; she's slow and uses a stick. She moved into a nursing home five years ago that allows residents to bring existing pets, but she isn't allowed a new one now that she’s there.
My ethical decision is to let the dog pass. My moral one is to keep her alive until Gladys leaves this world.
Gladys has made it perfectly clear during the official examination that she wouldn't be able to live without Poppy.
This is the staged examination. The one where I go straight to the issue instead of fumbling to locate it.
That's how the film crew likes it. Neat and organized.
The first consultations are messy and mysterious.
We don't always find the right answer right away, often relying on tests to form a diagnosis.
Everyone selected for a TV consultation performs alongside me in a compressed, rehearsed version of the real appointment.
The reward is getting free treatment and their face plastered across the TV alongside mine.
Follow the Vet has gained nationwide interest since the series started four years ago.
“Poppy's drinking so much more than normal,” Gladys tells me for the tenth time. “Bending to fill her bowl is not… my back isn't what it used to be. A woman my age…”
I nod as though I'm listening as I check Poppy's gunky eyes and matted ears, but her words are really only needed for the audience who will love poor Gladys and share her desire not to lose her only companion.
“I can feel a swelling in the abdomen, quite low down near the bladder.” I tell the camera, making no mention of the X-ray I’ve already used to find the mass. “I will need an X-ray to determine more, but if it's down near the kidneys and bladder, it will explain Poppy's increased thirst.”
“Oh, thank you?” Gladys frowns, but she remembers not to bring up the fact we've done that part.
“We'll take an X-ray of the abdominal cavity, and then you can take Poppy home. I suggest plenty of rest for both of you. And get an indoor watering can so you can refill her bowl without bending.”
I smile, slipping easily into my practiced veterinary pose as the nurse lifts Poppy from the table and leads Gladys from the room.
“Well, folks, we have an interesting case today. Poppy's swelling and increased thirst suggests a mass or tumor near her bladder and kidney. She's an old dog, making surgery risky, but I think for Gladys’ sake, we need to do everything we can to help her. Let's wait and see what the X-ray shows.”
The director, Stanley Dawson, holds up 3 fingers, slowly counting them down while I turn to the computer as if to type up my notes.
“And we're done,” Stan calls. “Take five, everyone.”
Five minutes to take a pee, glug my coffee and make it look like twenty-four hours have passed.
When this is broadcast, there will be a scene here where the camera follows Gladys home, gives her the indoor watering can I mentioned and asks her about Poppy in her natural environment, but that bit hasn't been filmed yet.
“Two minutes,” my assistant calls. I stand, instantly stripping my green scrubs and replacing them with blue. Then I re-gel my hair so it sits slightly differently and head back to the film studio consulting room.
The X-ray is ready on the light box, and Tammy, my senior surgical nurse, is there, just so I have someone physical to talk to.
“Poppy's X-rays are back, so let's see what we're dealing with here.” I switch on the light box, illuminating Poppy's image.
For five minutes, I explain everything I'm seeing to Tammy and the camera just behind her.
She asks questions for the audience about some of the obvious bumps and bulges on a typical X-ray.
Poppy has a large mass on one kidney, which I spent an hour diagnosing before, so I had an instant diagnosis now.
“Gladys has a difficult choice ahead. She can either do nothing and allow Poppy to live as comfortably as she can for what time she has left, or we can remove the kidney and improve Poppy's life, potentially giving her many more years to come.”
“How risky is the surgery, Doctor?” Tammy asks the scripted question.
“For a dog of that age, there will be risks. There is a twenty percent chance she won't survive the operation, and a ten percent chance she won't tolerate life with just one kidney.”
I tell every owner there is a fifteen to twenty percent risk with an operation, from cat spays to full laparotomies, but Poppy will be a little riskier. However I have been suitably dramatic for the camera, making it all sound like life or death, something I would never say to the actual owner.
“And cut,” Stan calls. “Well, that's a wrap for today.”
And we're done.
It's not bad work, really. My veterinary hospital gets paid a regular consultation fee for all appointments, plus I earn my filming fee for any case the production team picks to focus on for the episode.
Now they will pack up here and go to visit Gladys.
Laura goes with them; she's a qualified veterinary nurse employed by the film crew to support the owners during home visits.
Laura will sit with Gladys to discuss the operation and the risks during the same visit as they walk around, but it will be shown separately.
I already know we are going to have the operation on Thursday.
We'll film five surgeries for the series on the same day. But for now, both my veterinary work and my acting time are over. By the time this actually airs in viewers’ living rooms, Poppy will be well on her road to recovery.
I find the behind-the-scenes side of filming fascinating. They can compress and stretch the perception of time as they wish, like rearranging organs in an abdomen to suit their narrative.