The Operation

Today I took Sage for the big operation. I don't really know if Ghanaians know the word "spay," so I just stick to "operation." That's what they usually say anyway.

So the vet tells me to be at the clinic at 8:00am. I arrive around 8:04. Surprise, surprise the veterinary clinic is locked and empty. Around 8:15 I call the vet to make sure I am at the right place at the right time. Yes, he will be there in "a few minutes." Slowly, the clinic employees trickle in. The vet arrives around 8:45 and we are still waiting for more people. Apparently this operation is a multi-personnel event.

The vet, Sage, and I are relaxing on a veranda when his Nicaraguan wife appears, who is apparently also a vet. She helps him with the Saturday morning spayings. They go inside to prepare and when the vet man comes out he has a syringe full of something. He says to me, "Do we need to muzzle her for an injection?" I say, "I don't know...I don't think so..." Muzzles sound scary. So he says, "Ok, hold her front legs." When I said that she didn't need a muzzle, I was assuming that I would not be involved in the injection process. As he's sticking the needle into her thigh Sage girl is struggling, crying, even half-heartedly trying to bite my hands away.

So then she is drugged. She stumbles around like a drunk person who can't keep her balance. I keep trying to get her to lay down or something, but she's not cooperating. The vet man just stands by, watching. I feel like I should be receiving some advice or assistance, but no. I just stay on the floor with Sage until the assistants have prepped the outdoor, wooden table where she will be shaved.

I guess they forgot soap and water because after the vet man begins shaving Sage he asks an assistant to fetch some. Sage does not like this. Especially the soap and water part. She is moaning, yelping, and crying. I am standing maybe two feet away, trying not to cry. It was distressing!

So she's shaved. They pick her up under her armpits and lug her into the "operating room." (Operating room?) Apparently Sage girl is as stubborn as her mother and will not go under the anesthetics. They keep giving her more and more but she stays awake. And to make it worse, she is increasingly confused and irritated by the people holding her down on the table. She momentarily lifts her head to make deranged, drugged howling sounds. It's kind of heart breaking. The vet man and assistants keep tapping her eyes to see if she is out or not. She's not, clearly.

Finally the vet man decides that a different anesthesia is necessary. Unfortunately the large bottle which they keep in storage is "finished." The Nicaraguan wife has to drive somewhere (maybe their home) to retrieve more. Meanwhile Sage is beginning to come out from under her drugged state. She thrashes and groans more. One of the assistants is called elsewhere so it becomes my job to hold her front paws down.

Sage girl is finally out! Of course they have to administer another round of local anesthesia since the original one wore out after such a long time. I decide it's a good idea to hang around and watch what happens. The vet man cuts open her lower abdomen and begins. He starts by pulling out her bladder and exclaiming on how full it is! Lovely. I circle around the table trying to find the best angle.

Things seem to be going smoothly. Using some forceps he removes the uterus, I think. There's a lot of blood. It even smells like blood in the room. I feel pretty good about the situation, except for the disconcerting glances exchanged between the vet man and wife. What are these looks about? Do they know something that I don't? After all, there is a LOT of blood. And organs just hanging out there. It's understandable that these secretive glances could cause concern.

I guess everything turned out alright. Except towards the end. The vet man pauses in his work and leans back against the wall. He lets out a big sigh. "Is everything ok??" I exclaim. "Oh, my back! It is paining me! You see, we should have a table which can move up and down." I sort of feel better, but would also prefer if he would just put my dog's organs back on the inside. Then the assistant swings open a window. Vet man says, "Oh, I can't see because I am getting old, that is why you opened the window." Please sir, don't disclose your lapses in vision to me at any point during a surgery. Lastly, as he is stitching up the wound and explaining the importance of doing it well, he comments on his shaking hands. "See how my hands shake? Oh, the coffee." What??

Afterwards they swab her off a bit and carry her gingerly back to the veranda. I ask, "So what will you do with the uterus, just throw it away?" "Oh no! We will bury it!"

Poor uterus-less Sage girl rests lifelessly on the veranda. I sit down next to her, not really sure what to do. The wife offers me a ride back to the Peace Corps office, which I gladly accept. No one instructs me on how to move my limp, dead weight dog, so I just pick her up like I always do. I haul her to the car and put her in the backseat. When I look, I have blood all over the front of my shirt. How lovely.

So now we are back in the Peace Corps office. Apparently I was very wrong in thinking that I could take her back to the village as early as...tomorrow. Most of today she spent in a drugged, groggy stupor. When she finally emerged from it she could barely walk and started to bleed from her stitches. Of course I freaked out. I spent most of the evening sitting at her side, stroking her and trying to keep her from licking her stitches. Now I understand why American vets keep the dogs in custody for at least 24 hours after the operation.