Nicholas Trout - Love Is the Best Medicine: What Two Dogs Taught One Veterinarian about Hope, Humility, and Everyday Miracles

ALSO BY NICK TROUT

Tell Me Where It Hurts

For Sandi and Cleo, Helen and Eileen

Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man does with what happens to him.

ALDOUS HUXLEY

T HIRTY years ago, as a wide-eyed, dumbstruck teenager, I helped resuscitate a lifeless newborn puppy, rudely dispatched into this world via cesarean section. For me it was a pivotal event, an awakening, igniting a dream and ultimately a career as a veterinarian. Decades later, I can still be floored by the surge of excitement that struck me back then. Sometimes it can be brazen like the fist-pumping thrill of deciphering a mysterious ailment. Sometimes it can be subtle, hidden behind a secret smile as you watch a reunion between an old man and his four-legged companion from afar. No matter what form it takes, veterinary medicine casts a spell and I was hooked long ago. I love that whenever I least expect it, I will feel the familiar buzz that reminds me there is something magical about healing sick animals.

In the twenty-first century, veterinarians can offer our pets advances in healthcare no less than, and, in some instances, more cutting edge than our own. Forget about your garden-variety joint replacements and kidney transplants, Im talking about gene therapy, stem-cell treatment, and anti-cancer vaccines. This is happening right now and the scientific breakthroughs that make it all possible demand our understanding and respect.

At veterinary school we become indoctrinated in the church of the scientific method, accepting the gospel according to rational thought and proven data. There is always a logical explanation. Serendipity has no place in our daily skirmish between life and death. Like so many of my brethren, I drank the Kool-Aid, believed in this philosophy, but as soon as I graduated, I woke up in the real world of medical ambiguity, everyday miracles, everyday heartbreak, and the kind of life lessons that dont come with a lecture and a handout.

In my first book, Tell Me Where It Hurts, I tried to capture the pace, the rush, and the impact of all that is new in veterinary medicine, putting the reader on my side of the examination table, sharing the struggles and the joys of trying to heal animals. More importantly, I hoped to convey one simple and prevailing truth, that for all the fancy technology and medical advances, what endures and what will always matter most is the intensity of the relationship between human and animal. We can label the emotional connection between pet and owner with an inadequate and cold phrase like bond, but for those of us humbled by the awesome responsibility of trying to keep the connection alive, perhaps we should call it as we see it. Fundamentally, our professional goal is to repair and sustain mutual love.

Most of what follows is my attempt to document the undeniable strength of this love, to discover what makes it tick, and to reveal everything you will not find in veterinary textbooks, through my encounters with some extraordinary humans and animals over a two-year period. These pet owners were kind enough to take me beyond the dispassionate detail of a pertinent clinical history and reveal another side to their stories, helping me comprehend the intensity of the relationship they want me to restore. Their insight serves as a reminder that, for the most part, pet and owner come as a package deal and the privilege of rendering care for animals has consequences far beyond the physical limitations of an ailing body covered in fur, feathers, or scales.

At the heart of this book are the true stories of two animals, Helen and Cleo, and their remarkable humans. Read on and you will appreciate that I am not playing favorites. There have been many easier cases to recount, tougher diseases sent packing, and successes that had me smiling for days. But I dare you to search your memories, filter for what really lingers, and come up with anything other than the highest highs and the lowest lows. These stories intersect at one point. From entirely different worlds their paths crossed because, independently, they sought medical attention from one veterinarian who happened to be me. Thankfully, though I may be integral to the plot, mine is at most a supporting role. The real stars of the show are easy to spot.

Where possible, I have tried to maintain the chronology of the major events, my memory supplemented by medical records, interviews with colleagues, e-mails, letters, telephone and face-to-face conversations with owners. In many instances I describe pertinent background and events surrounding these stories based upon facts and the emotional circumstances as they were conveyed to me. This was never meant to be a commissioned biography and as such it is influenced by my interpretation, taking the liberty to make inferences, to fill in the gaps with educated guesses, to envisage unrecorded conversations, all the while striving to build a story true to the essence and integrity of my characters, those on two legs and on four. In some cases, the names of pets, owners, and veterinarians and any particular identifiers have been changed to ensure anonymity. In others, real identities remain.

If lifes journey is a continuous education and everything happens for a reason then this is my attempt to share some of what I have learned. Over the years I have come to appreciate how animals enter our lives prepared to teach and far from being burdened with an inability to speak, they have many different ways to communicate. It is up to us to listen more than hear, to look into more than past. What passes for understanding requires commitment, patience, and, granted, an occasional leap of faith, but every so often even the cynic can decipher our pets messages and appreciate a simple yet indelible message. For me, these particular cases spoke loud and clear, giving me an unforgettable lesson in hope, generosity, and the incredible capacity for humans and animals to open their hearts to each other.

I NSIDE the restaurant, they were just an ordinary couple, enjoying their dinner, comfortable with the lulls in conversation that define a successful relationship. Yet Ben was tuned in to everything unsaid, to the waves of distraction playing over Eileens face, her refuge in the safety of neutral topicshis latest commission, an upcoming exhibition in California, the antics of their beloved Newfoundland dog, Didi, patiently waiting for them to come home. He knew what was really on Eileens mind, but at this stage in their marriage he had learned his wife would talk about her troubles when the time was right.

Outside the restaurant, there was a creature waiting in the shadows. Historically, only certain humansthe kind with foodwere of any interest to this animal and like most of her species, she relied heavily on olfactory guidance to pick her targets. But on this bitter, cloudless night, refrigerated air would have forced her to trust to visual cues, searching for victims with a friendly, receptive demeanor and preferably carrying a doggy bag.