27. How Many Fucking Shoes Are There?
CHAPTER
HOW MANY FUCKING SHOES ARE THERE?
ROSIE
Clarity has
a funny way of making you feel like you’ve been tied to a bundle of helium balloons, floating above the skies with the sharpest view of your world, where all the answers lie before you like an open book.
The type of clarity that comes with pausing, taking the time to reflect on your priorities so you can choose your future with certainty.
Connor is my everything. He’s my past, my present, and my future. But Adam, he’s our
future. That’s the type of knowledge clarity has brought me, had me Googling Vancouver Vipers training camp dates
, and Vancouver Vipers preseason game schedule
last night. Google told me he leaves tomorrow for his first preseason game in Edmonton, so if I want to talk to him—and I do—it has to be today.
That has to be why I’ve been floating through my morning emergency rotation with a smile on my face, not an ounce of tension in my shoulders.
All right, I have to credit the extra shot of espresso I added to my iced vanilla latte this morning.
And okay, it also helps that the emergencies have been nonexistent so far.
We’ve spent the morning looking at old X-rays and their corresponding clinical notes and telling Dr. Holmes what we think was going on with the animals.
I’ve nailed all of them so far, so I float a little higher as I head to reception to file the records away.
“It’s hard to believe after days like Friday,” Dr. Holmes says, “but we do have good days around here. Enjoy them when they come.”
My mind wanders back to a warm summer night when I crept out the front door, determined to triple-check on the baby bunny we’d returned to its empty nest in the park, to make sure its mom really did come back.
My dad caught me at the end of the driveway, and we walked over together.
That was the first time I told him I wanted to be a vet like him, and he told me the same thing Dr. Holmes did: that despite all the hard days, where all I’d do was cry and want to quit, there would be so many good days too.
The good days weren’t always the easy days
, he’d said. And he was right. Sometimes, they were the days you felt like you were hanging by a thread, where you wondered why you chose something that could be so painful, only to watch a furry friend open its eyes when you weren’t sure they’d open again, when the arms of their human came around you without warning, hugging you so tight as they thanked you.
The days where you can look back and know you made a difference
, he’d said. Those are the days that make it all worth it.
I know the days will be hard. I want to be someone who takes the pain of somebody’s hardest day and makes it a little easier to carry.
An engine roars close by, followed by the squeal of tires in the parking lot. Murmured chatter erupts around me as my colleagues gather by the front windows to watch our first emergency unfold.
“Sorry to cut our easy day short, everyone,” Dr. Holmes says. Her eyes come to mine. “Ready?”
I nod, pulling my stethoscope from my pocket, hanging it around my neck. My legs carry me quickly toward the doors, and I nearly trip over my feet when a dark blue pickup truck skids to a stop out front. When the passenger door opens, my heart stops.
“Is that Adam Lockwood?” someone wonders out loud, and when Adam jumps down from the passenger seat, his one-hundred-and-forty-pound dog limp in his arms, I’m already pushing through the door, running toward him.
“Rosie!” Adam screams as professionals and students alike surround him, reaching for Bear. “I need Rosie!” He clutches Bear to his heaving chest, his eyes tearing through the parking lot, sliding right over me. “No! You can’t take him. Only Rosie can touch him!”
I shove my way through, grabbing Adam’s face and pulling his tortured gaze to mine. “Breathe, Adam. Breathe, baby. I’m right here.”
Sapphire eyes settle on mine, red-rimmed and panicked. “They can’t take him,” he whispers. “I don’t trust them. I-I-I…I trust you.”
I cover Adam’s trembling hand, his fingers tangled in Bear’s fur. “I’m going to look at Bear, okay? But you can trust everyone here, I promise you. They want to help.”
“You’re gonna look at him?” Hopeful eyes bounce between mine. “You? Because he knows you. He-he…he loves you.”
“And I love him too. Very much.”
A handsome, broad man with deep brown skin climbs out of the driver’s seat of Adam’s truck, coming to stand behind him, squeezing his shoulder.
I know this man from the happy photos lining Adam’s staircase, but what I didn’t know about him until Google told me is that Deacon Lockwood, Adam’s father, is a retired NFL player.
A quarterback, to be specific, and I guess that’s kind of a big deal.
Among the worry, his gaze shines with kindness. “Hi, Rosie.”
“Hi, Mr. Lockwood.” We share a soft smile before I run my fingers through Adam’s mussed curls, cupping his cheek. “We need to take Bear inside so we can look at him right away, okay?”
His chin quivers, tears clinging to his dark lashes. When he blinks, they run down his cheeks. “I can’t lose him, Rosie. I-I-I can’t. He’s my best friend.”
“We’re going to do everything we can for him. I promise.”
“Mr. Lockwood, I’m Dr. Holmes, Rosie’s professor and the head of emergency surgery here.” She guides Adam and his dad inside. “Let’s walk and talk so we can get caught up on Bear and get him stabilized right away. Can you tell us what happened?”
“I don’t know.” Adam sets Bear down on the exam table.
“He was fine last night. He was playing with his friend in the backyard, and he took up the whole bed at nighttime like he likes to, Rosie, you know? And then this morning, he wouldn’t eat breakfast, and you know how much he likes his food.
Then he just…fell. He was walking, and he just collapsed. ”
I smile down at the heavily panting dog, lifting his burly front paw as I press my stethoscope to his chest. “Did he vomit at all?”
Adam squeezes his eyes shut, his forehead creasing. “I can’t…I can’t remember.” He looks to his dad. “Dad?”
“Yes,” Deacon answers for him. “Bear vomited three times in the backyard.”
“Hi, Bear,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along Bear’s snout.
“I missed you. What are you doing not eating your breakfast, huh? You never pass up food.” My big, burly guy whimpers, nuzzling my hand.
The weak throb of his pulse in my ears squeezes at my throat.
“I’m going to help you breathe a little easier, okay, big guy?
” I tell him, fitting him with an oxygen mask.
My palms slide along his rib cage, moving gently over his belly.
Dread claws its way up my chest when I feel the swelling there, and the look I share with Dr. Holmes says she knows exactly what I’ve found.
This can’t be happening, not again, not this soon, and not to our Bear.
I wipe my forehead on my wrist before curling my fingers into my palms, nails biting in to still my panic. “I’d like to start Bear on an IV right away. He’s in shock, and this will help to stabilize him. I’d also like to do an X-ray.”
“What for? Do you think he broke something?”
“The X-ray will give us more information. His stomach is bloated, and there’s a chance it might have twisted.”
“What does that mean? How do you untwist it?”
I squeeze his forearm, and his shoulders drift away from his ears as he leans into my touch.
“Let’s take a look inside and see what’s going on first. You and your dad can stay with him during the X-ray, and then Dr. Holmes and I will discuss what we see, and we’ll come back to talk to you about a plan of action. Does that sound okay?”
Adam agrees, and once Bear has an IV in and is stabilized, an X-ray tech comes to wheel him to another room.
Adam’s hand comes down over Bear’s belly, panicked eyes shooting to mine. “Rosie? I want you to do it.”
Warmth rushes through me when I cover his hand with mine, like my body has missed this, comes alive just for him. “This is Maribel’s job, and she’s really amazing at it. She has a Tibetan Mastiff at home, too, did you know that?”
Maribel smiles. “Even bigger than Bear, if you can believe it.”
He looks down at Bear, and I squeeze his hand, bringing his eyes back to mine. “I can’t wait for you to see how gentle Maribel is with him. He’s going to love her. Maybe even more than he loves me.”
His gaze flickers with something like disbelief. “That’s not possible,” he murmurs before giving Maribel a weak smile. “Okay. We’re ready.”
I tell myself I’m not jumping to any conclusions. I tell Dr. Holmes that I’m hopeful, that the X-rays will show the stomach still in proper position, so we’ll be able to remove any gas quickly and easily.
I tell myself everything is fine, but when those X-ray pictures land in my hands fifteen minutes later, showing me the damning evidence, they fall right to the ground, Dr. Holmes’s eyes following.
“Bear’s stomach is twisted. He has GDV.”
* * *
“I don’t understand.” Adam’s quiet, lost voice punctures my chest as he stares down at Bear, his head resting against his torso. “Is it something I did? Is it my fault?”
“GDV doesn’t have much of a rhyme or reason,” I repeat the same information I gave to Mrs. Greene just three days ago, only this time, I can’t swallow the heartache.
“Bigger breeds with a deep chest, like Bear, are at a higher risk, though it can happen to any dog, and even cats. GDV happens when the stomach expands with gas and then rotates, or twists, blocking the entrance and the exit.”
“So the gas has nowhere to go,” he murmurs, a protective palm sliding over Bear’s belly. “How common is it?”
“The chance a dog Bear’s size contracts GDV is about twenty-one to twenty-four percent.”
“Fuck. Have you ever treated a dog with GDV?”
I look to Dr. Holmes, and she nods, gesturing for me to continue. “This past Friday we diagnosed a St. Bernard with GDV.”
“What happened?”