Tell Me Where It Hurts: A Day of Humor, Healing, and Hope in My Life as an Animal Surgeon
It’s 2:47 a.m. when Dr. Nick Trout takes the phone call that starts another hectic day at the Angell Animal Medical Center. Sage, a ten-year old German shepherd, will die without emergency surgery for a serious stomach condition. Over the next twenty-four hours Dr. Trout fights for Sage’s life, battles disease in the operating room, unravels tricky diagnoses, reassures frantic pet parents, and reflects on the humor, heartache, and inspiration in his life as an animal surgeon. And he wants to take you along for the ride.…
From the front lines of modern medicine, Tell Me Where It Hurts is a fascinating insider portrait of a veterinarian, his furry patients, and the blend of old-fashioned instincts and cutting-edge technology that defines pet care in the twenty-first century. For anyone who’s ever wondered what goes on behind the scenes at your veterinarian’s office, Tell Me Where It Hurts offers a vicarious journey through twenty-four intimate, eye-opening, heartrending hours at the premier Angell Animal Medical Center in Boston.
You’ll learn about the amazing progress of modern animal medicine, where organ transplants, joint replacements, and state-of-the-art cancer treatments have become more and more common. With these technological advances come controversies and complexities that Dr. Trout thoughtfully explores, such as how long (and at what cost) treatments should be given, how the Internet has changed pet care, and the rise in cosmetic surgery.
You’ll also be inspired by the heartwarming stories of struggle and survival filling these pages. With a wry and winning tone, Dr. Trout offers up hilarious and delightful anecdotes about cuddly (or not-so-cuddly) pets and their variously zany, desperate, and demanding owners. In total, Tell Me Where It Hurts offers a fascinating portrait of the comedy and drama, complexities and rewards involved with loving and healing animals.
Part ER, part Dog Whisperer, and part House, this heartfelt and candid book shows that while the technology has changed since James Herriot’s day, the humanity and compassion remains unchanged. If you’ve ever had a pet or special place in your heart for furry friends, Dr. Trout’s irresistible book is for you.
it is designed to protect. But what astounds me lies beyond the accompanying report from a veterinary neurologist stating her diagnosis of Jester’s condition as wobbler’s disease. It is the string of numbers in the top left-hand corner of each sheet revealing both reports were written over six months ago. Even with the Emperor stripped of all clothing, it would appear the truth remains unacceptable. I keep my head down to buy a little time. Given the choice, if this were my dog, I would prefer
Aaron, it seemed fraught with problems. “I had to go to probate court, before a judge. He thought I was some kind of a freak, I can tell you.” I took a step back, finally able to see around the wallet and look at said freak—a pasty, jumpy man with a scruffy goatee and pores ready to release a torrent of anxious sweat. Part of me wanted to move along with the history and the examination, but Mr. Aaron’s declaration of devotion deserved more time. “Why not just get a tattoo?” He scoffed, as
experienced clinicians fail to recognize the booby trap in their midst as a colleague of mine discovered while selflessly working a few weeks of the summer stranded on an agreeable little island in the Atlantic called Nantucket. Hot off the last crop duster to land at Memorial Airport, Tanya and Steve, and their six-month-old terrier, Rocco, headed directly to Angell’s satellite clinic and Dr. Doug Brum. Tanya stood about five foot two in the high heels she wore with her traveling sweats, and
clearly with the emphasis on the friendlier of the two gestures. If this was Rex’s intent, then let me suggest that in his case I change the emphasis to that of a “snile.” From here on out I had my moves down pat like a highly trained commando. I would pretend to pull a pin out of the dry cheddar ball with my teeth before tossing said ball over-arm like a hand grenade into a far-flung corner of the kitchen. Next, with absolute faith in the power of my decoy, I would reach for the door handle,
and dogs. Joey has his back to me, his body squeezed up against a small examination table, and there are two female technicians packed tight, one on either side of him, with a large anesthesia machine opposite, sealing the quadrangle. Their three heads are angled down as if focused on a crystal ball. Joey may not be tall in his high-heeled, Tom Cruise–approved cowboy boots, but he has broad shoulders to ward off voyeurs, making me step in close to breach their circle. “Whatcha up to?” I say,