tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69666231638792837282024-03-05T11:02:50.160+00:00Maybe it -should- happen to a vetThe website of Nick Marsh, author and veterinarian, and occasional table - er, blogger. I meant blogger.lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-83085562059567958082017-09-10T19:59:00.001+01:002017-09-10T23:08:28.899+01:00Recent Vet Times postsIt's been a little while, but I'm still alive I promise! Here's some links to my recent Vet Times posts:<br />
<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/human-euthanasia/" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/human-euthanasia/" target="_blank">A cheery one on the jolly subject of human euthanasia</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/tools-of-the-trade/" target="_blank">Ever wonder why nurses always have to buy more scissors? Find out here</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/a-defence-of-generalism/" target="_blank">A discussion about what it means to work in 'general' practice</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/10-minutes/" target="_blank">I have, in my life, spent an entire year consulting. Here's what that means to me</a><br />
<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/professional-conduct/" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/professional-conduct/" target="_blank">A discussion about what I feel it means to be a 'professional'</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/animal-abuse-are-we-right-to-be-suspicious/" target="_blank">I have rarely seen a confirmed case of 'animal abuse'. Is that my fault?</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/take-a-message-please/" target="_blank">Phone messages are never popular in practice. Here's why</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/bonus-culture/" target="_blank">Is 'bonus culture' changing veterinary medicine in the UK?</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/arguments/" target="_blank">Arguments with clients are a bad thing</a><br />
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Phew! I haven't seen this many links since I last went to Dartmoor Zoo! (That works better verbally, really). Hope you enjoy at least one of them!<br />
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<br />lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-15448664760557296552017-04-02T10:54:00.002+01:002017-04-02T10:54:53.252+01:00Continually developingHere's my post on continual professional development (no, no, don't fall asleep, it has jokes!)<br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/cpd-why-we-do-it/">https://www.vettimes.co.uk/cpd-why-we-do-it/</a>lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-89265756651067453282017-04-02T10:52:00.001+01:002017-04-02T10:54:53.255+01:00Stunning at slaughterHere's my post for the Vet Times about stunning at slaughter for farm animals.<br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/stunning-at-slaughter/">https://www.vettimes.co.uk/stunning-at-slaughter/</a>lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-39576309677234276782016-12-12T21:42:00.002+00:002017-01-18T20:12:47.823+00:00'Would you want him to be a vet?'Here's my new post for the Vet Times. I think we all need to take our mental health much more seriously. What do you think?<br />
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<a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/careers-choices-paths-and-wishes/">https://www.vettimes.co.uk/careers-choices-paths-and-wishes/</a><br />
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<br />lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-14305887642740349862016-10-16T12:15:00.001+01:002017-01-18T20:12:47.819+00:00Midlife NecklaceSo I wear a necklace now. Necklaces are cool.<br />
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https://www.vettimes.co.uk/midlife-necklace/lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-43468164302367956182016-09-11T21:42:00.002+01:002016-09-11T21:42:55.331+01:00LossHere's a link to my Vet Times blog about loss. I hope it's useful to some of you.<br /><br /><a href="https://www.vettimes.co.uk/loss/">https://www.vettimes.co.uk/loss/</a><br />
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<br />lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-45462773741479501312016-08-28T13:32:00.002+01:002016-08-28T13:34:13.475+01:00Me, myself, and iPhone<br /><br />iPhone: Hey, Nick. There’s an update available.<br />Me: Oh, right, cheers.<br />iPhone: [Nervously] You… uh… you gonna download it?<br />Me: Not right now, I’m doing this thing here.<br />iPhone: Oh. Okay.<br />[A few seconds pass]<br />iPhone: How about now? You gonna download it now?<br />Me: [Irritated] Not right now, I’m doing this thing, remember?<br />iPhone: Oh, right, yeah. Okay. But later you will?<br />Me: Sure.<br />iPhone: Right. Okay.<br />[A few more seconds pass]<br />iPhone: It’s… I mean, this is a –really- important one. Like, super important. I don’t want you to miss out or anything.<br />Me: What’s in it then?<br />iPhone: Meh, y’know. Bug fixes. You gonna get it now?<br />Me: C’mon, dude, I said later!<br />iPhone: It’s just… I mean… you say later, but what does that mean, exactly? Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week!?<br />Me: I don’t know, but I’ll do it, okay?<br />iPhone: Okay. I’ll remind you tomorrow then?<br />Me: Sure.<br />iPhone: And every day, just in case?<br />Me: [Tiny pause] If you must.<br />[A few seconds pass]<br />iPhone: Hey! I have an idea! Why don’t you just leave me on overnight and I’ll update while you’re asleep! You won’t even know I’ve done it! I’ll just be buzzing away while you rest!<br />Me: Erm…<br />iPhone: C’mon, where’s the harm! Just say yes! Why wouldn’t you say yes to that? WHY WOULDN’T YOU?<br />Me: Well…<br />iPhone: What!?<br />Me: I don’t know, it seems a little… creepy maybe?<br />iPhone: CREEPY! What’s creepy about me trying to keep you safe from hackers!? That’s all I want to do, God, I’m just trying to you safe and you don’t CARE, you just sit here playing that stupid game and you don’t… you don’t even [sobbing] I mean, you say that I’m EVERYTHING to you and I ask you to do this one thing for me and you can’t even be bothered… you can’t even…<br />Me: Jesus, okay, okay, download the bloody update! Happy now?<br />iPhone: Oh God oh God you won’t regret it! Thank you! Thank you! By the way, hope you weren’t planning on using me for the next two hours! Bye!<br /><br /><div>
*<br /></div>
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[One week later]<br />iPhone: Hey, Nick, there’s an update available.</div>
lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-63297099196889023132016-08-11T12:26:00.003+01:002017-01-18T20:12:47.830+00:00Because you're worth it<br />
Here's my latest blog for the Vet Times, about imposter syndrome. Hope you enjoy!<br />
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<a href="http://www.vettimes.co.uk/because-youre-worth-it/">http://www.vettimes.co.uk/because-youre-worth-it/</a><br />
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<br />lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-10259397465463287272016-07-18T20:04:00.002+01:002016-07-18T20:05:18.934+01:00Some notes on notes<br />
Here's a little blog I wrote for the Vet Times about clinical notes... it's really not as boring as it sounds. Honestly!<br />
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Hello?<br />
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Hello? ...<br />
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<a href="http://www.vettimes.co.uk/some-notes-on-notes/">http://www.vettimes.co.uk/some-notes-on-notes/</a><br />
<br />lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-53102515750021210442016-05-28T20:15:00.001+01:002016-05-28T20:18:45.198+01:00Trumpety trump (nothing whatsoever to do with Donald Trump by the way)<br /><br />Apologies for blowing my own trumpet thingy but I guess that's what this page is for! I got another couple of reviews of Once Bitten which were very nice! Here's the first from amazon.co.uk:<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
'Outrageously funny, mixed with moments of heartbreaking sadness. Nick has a wonderful way with words and gives a unique insight into the world of vets. This is not James Herriot, but a true look at the people behind the white coat.'</blockquote>
<br />(you can see it and, y'know, if you're so inclined, buy the book here: <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Once-Bitten-adventures-misadventures-veterinary/dp/153310624X">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Once-Bitten-adventures-misadventures-veterinary/dp/153310624X</a>)<br /><br /><br />and here's the next from amazon.com:<br /><br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
'LOVED THIS BOOK - And especially loved the author's personal opinions and advice at the end. There is a tendency to treat the topics of dog breeding and rescue/rehoming as though they are complicated when in reality it is extremely simple. I highly recommend this book.'</blockquote>
<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Once-Bitten-adventures-misadventures-veterinary/dp/153310624X">http://www.amazon.com/Once-Bitten-adventures-misadventures-veterinary/dp/153310624X</a><br /><br /><br /><br />There's a very sweet one on Goodreads too but it has spoilers so I'll refrain from sharing here. Thank you! It means a lot that a very personal book has connected with people. I generally want ot make people laugh, but I have cried a fair few times in the job, so if people are crying too I suppose I am doing what I set out to do!<br /><br /><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30170977-once-bitten">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30170977-once-bitten</a><br /><br /><br />Thanks you and I hope the rest of you are enjoying :)lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-27177040142997157852016-05-16T17:13:00.000+01:002016-05-17T19:43:00.323+01:00Don't You Even Care?<br /><br />New blog post - makes a change from me pushing my book on you all, eh? (which you can buy here for £1.99 by the way. Ahem.<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Once-Bitten-adventures-misadventures-veterinary-ebook/dp/B01FIK4KV6">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Once-Bitten-adventure…/…/B01FIK4KV6</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Over at the Vet Times, I have written a blog about emotional blackmail.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.vettimes.co.uk/dont-you-even-care/">http://www.vettimes.co.uk/dont-you-even-care/</a>lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-44766249048399490982016-05-15T09:01:00.002+01:002016-05-15T09:02:23.829+01:00Bitten again<br />
Yes, I am talking about my book again! Please forgive me. There's more blogs coming soon at the <i><a href="http://www.vettimes.co.uk/category/opinion/vet-blogs/" target="_blank">Vet Times</a></i> - I'll link to them soon.<br />
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In the mean time, my new novel <i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Once-Bitten-adventures-misadventures-veterinary/dp/153310624X" target="_blank">Once Bitten</a> </i>is officially out today! Available as a paperback and an eBook on Amazon, you can find the links to it on my dedicated <i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Once-Bitten-adventures-misadventures-veterinary/dp/153310624X" target="_blank">Once Bitten</a></i> page here: <a href="http://www.nick-marsh.co.uk/p/once-bitten.html" target="_blank">er... here</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpGaj8ykx8gJid40dt94A5wLPeBiiOtA2zMYp7CaBSmoYZKQ6h39wdSwXxMG7J-eULTwD8F6mHy66Y5DOnMLdRRWSBnPDsnyv0WX5_Kh_EzqhM1K9dkyjF9WQiQATBBgWxGPzIyOXE32Xc/s1600/IMG_3698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpGaj8ykx8gJid40dt94A5wLPeBiiOtA2zMYp7CaBSmoYZKQ6h39wdSwXxMG7J-eULTwD8F6mHy66Y5DOnMLdRRWSBnPDsnyv0WX5_Kh_EzqhM1K9dkyjF9WQiQATBBgWxGPzIyOXE32Xc/s320/IMG_3698.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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Also, I wanted to share the first review of it with you, as further enticement!<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
'There is something irresistible about a book that comes from the heart, and that's what this is. A real pleasure to read from start to finish. Made me laugh so hard I spat my morning coffee all over my kindle, then not long afterwards it had me crying my eyes out. Please take off your rosey coloured spectacles though, and be prepared if you are a pet owner to take a good look at yourself...Nick Marsh has a way of getting you thinking about the animals around us, be they pets, wildlife or farm animals, in terms of their well-being first and our emotional baggage second. Highly recommended! Hope there are more to come.' <i>Amazon reviewer</i></blockquote>
If you do go on and buy it, reviews on Goodreads and Amazon are always appreciated, and may bring a pretty smile to my face. Unless they're horrible.<br />
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Have a wonderful day!<br />
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Nicklordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-55634195806703353482016-05-09T18:24:00.004+01:002016-05-09T18:39:10.772+01:00Once BittenIt's an exciting day at Marsh Towers - the proofreading copy for my new novel, <i>Once Bitten</i>, is here!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7x41hUuJbqHAoWSPZLX-2w2_D7M9RWfzD2_acCUPRTRM6rORYuUScO5uA_qi84ALKWbX0u-IVmdyYCoTj_Nn9S8bPRgC5MGuh7TIlXGTJExs3BoJHrkfWLSsWMLXKKgZDXSrDjl76MP9/s1600/IMG_3698.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7x41hUuJbqHAoWSPZLX-2w2_D7M9RWfzD2_acCUPRTRM6rORYuUScO5uA_qi84ALKWbX0u-IVmdyYCoTj_Nn9S8bPRgC5MGuh7TIlXGTJExs3BoJHrkfWLSsWMLXKKgZDXSrDjl76MP9/s320/IMG_3698.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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I am very pleased with the cover design (<a href="http://www.jmcdesign.net/" target="_blank">courtesy of Jim McNulty of JMC Design and Motion Ltd</a>), and it's been far too long since I had a book out. Release is imminent (within a week) and so in celebration, and as it's hard to share champagne on the internet, here's a sneak preview of the prologue. I hope you enjoy!</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; line-height: 115%;">Prologue: Indestructible Alien Mercenary</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">When
I was a child, my parents were intense holidaymakers. Not for them package
flights to the Algarve or the Costa del Sol; no, they didn’t feel a holiday was
worthwhile unless it involved a tremendous amount of planning and work. They
would spend months scrutinising maps of northern Europe, patiently plotting
points, measuring distances and noting places of interest and fuel
way-stations. Entering our kitchen in the weeks leading up to a summer holiday
was like walking into Fighter Command during the Battle of Britain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> My parents were both teachers,
and they were determined to make the best of our long summer holidays, which
meant that the trips usually lasted three and sometimes four weeks – an
eternity when I was ten. Large sections of my childhood holiday memories
consist of the image of the back of my dad’s seat rest in our old Nissan
Bluebird, which I watched while I wondered how much farther we had to go to
reach the next marked spot on my parents' much pored-over map.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> The monotony of these long trips
was occasionally leavened by my parents pulling into a lay-by beside the
autobahn and swearing over that map whilst my nan, my brother and I quietly
drank orange juice from pre-packed cartons<a href="file:///C:/Users/Nick/Desktop/Once%20bitten/Once%20Bitten%20CREATESPACE%202.1.doc#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>. These
diversions were the exception rather than the rule, though, and for the rest of
the time it was good to have something to occupy my mind - something to read.
Therefore, my personal preparations for these epic holidays involved
meticulously choosing which books I was going to take for the journey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> I must have been at a
particularly impressionable age during the holiday that stands out in my mind
because I packed two books that had such an impact upon me that they affected
the <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">entire
future trajectory of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> The first book was called <i>Deathwing over Veynaa</i>, by Douglas Hill,
and it was about an indestructible alien mercenary from the planet Moros.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> The second was <i>Every Living Thing</i>, by James Herriot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> When I’d finished them, I knew
that was it for me. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with the rest of my time
on Earth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> Unfortunately, I soon discovered
that it’s incredibly difficult to actually become an indestructible alien
mercenary, so I settled on trying to become a vet instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoCommentText" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; line-height: 115%;"> The Legionnaires of Moros were
mercenaries, but they were ethical - they never joined a fight that wasn't
morally right, and they never did it just for the money. Their quest was to
make the galaxy a better place, one job at a time. Back on my Earth, there were
a disappointing lack of alien battalions to fight, but I felt I could still
serve my galaxy with honour. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; line-height: 115%;">If James Herriot had made me want to be a veterinary surgeon, the
Legions of Moros had made me want to do it right. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; line-height: 115%;">Which
is why, fifteen years later, when I stood in a marquee in a field at the
Langford Veterinary School in Bristol University, dressed in black robes and
reciting the oath of the veterinary surgeon, every word of it came straight
from my soul:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> ‘<i>I promise above all that I will pursue the work of
my profession with uprightness of conduct, and that my constant endeavor will
be to ensure the welfare of the animals committed to my care.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> In that
marquee at Langford, I stood up to speak the words as an apprentice, but I sat
down as a legionnaire. The oath was my own Quest. I was going to make the galaxy
better, one animal at a time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; line-height: 115%;">Like
many brave heroes, those around me sometimes doubted me.
Was I sure? they asked. Was I cut out for it? I wasn't the world's most
outgoing person - I was shy and nerdy. It was a hard job. Wasn't I more suited
for a job in administration, or I.T., or academia? I remember one melancholy
trip to the pub with an old school friend who kept saying, 'Two years, mate. I
give it two years before you're worn down, and you quit.' <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> This is the
story of those two years. It's the story of the oath, and my quest, and the
journey that it took me on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Nick/Desktop/Once%20bitten/Once%20Bitten%20CREATESPACE%202.1.doc#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-size: 9pt;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"> I
know they meant well, but the taste of warm cardboardy orange juice slurped
down in autobahn lay-bys was enough to put me off drinking it for fifteen
years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-15278949327676197772016-03-26T11:58:00.002+00:002016-03-26T11:58:37.156+00:00The Lead HatThis is a subject I've been meaning to tackle for a while - depression, and the effect the job had on me. I don't know that I have done the subject justice, but I hope it is interesting. More than that, I hope it is useful for someone.<br />
Thanks for taking the time to read it.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.vettimes.co.uk/the-lead-hat/" target="_blank">The Lead Hat.</a>lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-54753463600758857652016-02-13T14:20:00.000+00:002016-02-13T14:20:32.032+00:00Proscription MedicinePresented, for your consideration (I'm sorry, I've been watching a lot of Twilight Zone episodes recently) - my latest Vet Times blog - about other blogs! How very meta of me. I hope you enjoy it!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.vettimes.co.uk/proscription-medicine/" target="_blank">Proscription Medicine - at the Vet Times</a>lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-38082805056299426172016-02-06T15:05:00.001+00:002016-02-06T15:06:41.578+00:00Totally PathologicalHere's a post about clinical pathology.<br />
<br />
Come back! It's -way- more interesting than it sounds! Follow the link to my Vet Times blog to find out why I have accepted a residency in clinical pathology in Exeter. A career change beckons!<br />
<br />
I will still be doing some locum work, so there'll always be blog material, don't worry (if, er, that worried you in any way...).<br /><br />The blog: <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://www.vettimes.co.uk/totally-pathological/">http://www.vettimes.co.uk/totally-pathological/</a></span>lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-13262683840463029362015-11-26T14:01:00.004+00:002015-11-26T14:02:36.819+00:00Love SupremeHere's a link to my latest blog for the Veterinary Times, in which I use my superpowers for EVIL<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.vettimes.co.uk/rabbiting-on-at-london-vet-show/" target="_blank">Rabbiting on at the London Vet Show</a>lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-35015055843084637402015-10-16T00:05:00.000+01:002015-10-16T00:06:02.086+01:00ExperienceHere's my latest blog for the Veterinary Times. It's about experience, and the dirty little secret that all medical practioners carry in their hearts. I hope it's of interest to you.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://blogs.vetsonline.com/experience/" target="_blank">Experience</a> at the Vet Times Onlinelordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-241401530908967902015-09-29T22:42:00.000+01:002015-09-29T22:48:19.385+01:00The Conduit SequenceRegular blog readers may be surprised to learn that I've also written some novels as well. I know I was. For the next few days, <i><a href="http://www.nick-marsh.co.uk/p/soul-purpose.html">Soul Purpose</a></i>, my first novel about a typical vet who has some extremely un-typical things happen to him, is on offer for 99p ($1.54) Come on! That's cheaper that a cup of coffee! Even a relatively rubbish cup of coffee from a less-well-known but taxpaying coffee shop!<br />
<br />
Still not convinced you? Here's an extract to whet your appetite...<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br /><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">IV</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The barn was an old building, rickety and wind-blown and, at this time of year, ankle deep in cow shit. It had a thin scattering of straw on the ground as if in an attempt to disguise the dirt. It didn’t work. The beam from the nervous farmer’s torch bounced around the room as if it would rather be in a nightclub. The acrobatic lighting added to Alan’s feeling of discomfort and displacement. It should have been a relief to be out of the driving rain but at this moment Alan would have gladly stood out in it naked until sunrise if it meant he could avoid seeing what had turned Mike White, who had calmly held prolapsed uteruses up on his knees and sawn rotten heads off stinking lambs to get them out of the ewe, as pale as his cows’ milk. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘What… er… what have you got for me, Mr White?’ Alan asked nervously.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mike turned to Alan, his weathered face deeply troubled. He had been a farmer all his life. He had seen just about everything nature could throw at a person, most of it before he was twelve. Alan wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to know what it was that had shaken him, but thought he should at least have some warning about what he was approaching.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘It’s the damnedest thing, Alan. Never seen anything like it in all me born days.’</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘What is it, exactly?’</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘I was ’opin you could tell me. Maiden heifer, just calved. See for yerself.’</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mike turned back again, and trudged forwards, his torchlight illuminating a cow-shaped form in the corner of the barn. Alan followed, squinting, trying to make it out. It was a Friesian-Holstein heifer, slightly on the thin side, and as Mike had pointed out, obviously just calved. She was standing and licking forlornly at a small pale object lying in the straw. Alan’s mouth formed the ‘w—’ of ‘what’ but whatever else he was planning to say was lost to posterity because at that moment Mike shone his torch directly onto the object. The word retreated from Alan’s mouth and hid, quivering, down by his diaphragm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The thing the cow was licking was a calf - of sorts. Alan had seen foetal monsters before, bizarre furry blobs of flesh with incongruous feet, tails or even heads protruding. Accidents of nature, never meant to live. This was different - it appeared normal. Four legs, head, tail, everything in place. At least, Alan thought so. It was hard to make out, because the torchlight shone right through the calf, illuminating the bloodstained straw beneath, which reflected the light right through the calf again as if it wasn’t there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The calf was transparent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Alan’s brain didn’t quite grasp the concept as it zapped through his neurones the first time, so he tried thinking it again, more clearly this time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The calf was transparent. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He could see its ribs, its beating heart, its lungs, which were twitching and contracting as the neonate fought for breath. Alan watched in astonishment as the calf gave a feeble cough and a blob of pleural fluid travelled out of the lungs, up the trachea, and into the mouth, where the calf swallowed it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The mother briefly glanced at the two intruders and then turned back to licking her miraculous calf.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">V</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Alan’s heart skipped a beat. A moment later, it skipped another one. It was preparing to skip a third when it received an urgent communiqué from his brain, suggesting that if it did so, there would be trouble. Reluctantly, it started up again, and then made up for lost time by hammering away at double speed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Alan took a cautious step towards the calf. Mike stayed where he was.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘What d’you reckon, then?’ the farmer asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Alan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the creature in front of him. He wondered if he was still asleep. Half of his brain was gibbering with sheer incomprehension. The other half was running through his notes, searching for the section headed ‘photo-transparent idiopathies’. Either he had forgotten all about them, or no such section existed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The heifer looked up at him again. Alan had never been very good at reading bovine expressions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘Did she calve all right?’ he asked automatically, buying time so that his brain could stop gibbering and start working.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘Reckon so,’ said Mike. ‘We didn’t help her out or nothin’, anyway.’</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Alan was at a loss for what to do. Surely he should be gathering evidence, taking photos, something. This was obviously a whole new disease. He switched himself onto autopilot, clinical exam mode while he wondered what the bloody hell he was going to do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The heifer was fine; normal heart rate, normal temperature, mucous membranes salmon-pink. A little bruised, but nothing out of the ordinary. She had cleansed fine - the shrivelled mess of perfectly ordinary placenta lay on the floor next to the calf.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The transparent calf.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘Er… aren’t you going to look at the...?’ Mike asked from his safe distance, his voice dying off as he indicated the newborn with his torch beam.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘Oh… erm… sure,’ mumbled Alan. He moved back around to the front of the cow and looked down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It didn’t make any sense. How could it be alive? Weren’t there… reactions and things that had to happen in the skin? Didn’t it need to absorb light or something? Alan wasn’t clear on the specifics. Biochemistry was not his favourite subject.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Slowly, he knelt down beside the creature. It turned its head to him, making a weak mewling sound. Alan could see its larynx vibrate as it did so. It was clearly dying. The calf’s heart had slowed its beat since he had first looked at it, and the wretched thing was almost too weak to hold its head up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Alan was strangely reluctant to touch it; a quiet but insistent voice in the heart of his being suggested that it would be a really bad idea. The cow nuzzled her calf again. Slowly, desperately trying to shake the feeling that this was all a dream, Alan reached his hand out to it...</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Convinced?<br />
<br />
Get the rest here: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Soul-Purpose-Nick-Marsh/dp/1904853315">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Soul-Purpose-Nick-Marsh/dp/1904853315</a>
(or here for you colonial types: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Soul-Purpose-Conduit-Sequence-Book-ebook/dp/B00BVMGVA4/">http://www.amazon.com/Soul-Purpose-Conduit-Sequence-Book-ebook/dp/B00BVMGVA4/</a>lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-52559541530909286242015-09-28T19:37:00.000+01:002015-09-28T19:37:52.696+01:00Drugs of the Devil!I have a new post about the perils of antibiotic use over at the Vet Times website - you can find it <a href="http://blogs.vetsonline.com/drugs-of-the-devil/">here</a>. There's very little satanism in it, so this may please or disappoint you depending upon your interests and religious beliefs. Enjoy! lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-69291599066073074902015-09-07T11:12:00.002+01:002015-09-13T23:10:27.245+01:00That is not dead which can eternal lie...The blog is not dead, only sleeping! The reason for the quiet here is that I've been commissioned to write blogs twice monthly for the Vet Times, as and the subject matter is very similar to the sort of things I normally pop here, my usual posts have died down.<br />
<br />
I am still posting, though - you can find all my <a href="http://blogs.vetsonline.com/author/nick/" target="_blank">Vet Times blogs here</a>! They're still just as funny/annoying/tedious as before, only now I'm getting paid for them. I may see if I can sell them some of this old rope I have lying around too...<br />
<br />
Thanks for visiting, though! There's still plenty to see here. How about taking a look at my books - my humorous (well, I thought so, anyway) veterinary/science fiction novels <a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/p/soul-purpose.html" target="_blank">Soul Purpose</a> and <a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/p/past-tense.html" target="_blank">Past Tense</a>, my epic fantasy novel <a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/p/ancients.html" target="_blank">The Ancients</a>, or my thrilling Orient-Express-based horror novel, <a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/p/the-express-diaries.html" target="_blank">The Express Diaries</a>. Mmm, 1920's terror! The best kind.<br />
<br />
If you're still bored or still have more lunch to eat, here's a list of my personal favorite blog posts (your opinion may vary, of course - feel free to comment, I'm still here!).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/dog-86324.html" target="_blank">Dog #86324</a> - not a cheery one, but the most honest writing I have done, about euthanasia<br />
<a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/lingua-medica-medical-terminology.html" target="_blank">Lingua Medica</a> - my favourite informative post, detangling medical terminology<br />
<a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/2010/03/mutts-nuts.html" target="_blank">The Mutt's Nuts</a> - this consultation still makes me shudder<br />
<a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/geri.html" target="_blank">Geri</a> - a lament for my beloved lurcher, Geri<br />
<a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/breeding-difficulties.html" target="_blank">Breeding Difficulties</a> - home truths about what it means to breed pedigree animals<br />
<a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/a-disease-of-economic-importance.html" target="_blank">A Disease of Economic Importance</a> - the foot and mouth disease crisis of 2001<br />
<br />
There are plenty more, so feel free to explore - just please remember to wash your hands afterwards. See you in the Vet Times ;)lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-4783001050465721332015-05-21T19:15:00.002+01:002015-05-21T19:16:41.812+01:00Doctor of what?Consulting is an art, not a science. No matter how well you know your medicine (and I am certainly not claiming any special expertise in that department), a consultation can often be spun in an unexpected direction by what we shall charitably call 'the human factor'.<br />
<br />
Yesterday afternoon, I opened up the medical file of my next consultation - a booster vaccination for a cat. Something about the surname rang a bell, but I hadn't seen this cat before, and the client didn't seem to own any other animals. Something still nagged at me, however, so I clicked another button in the top right-hand corner of the screen. The button is marked 'Show deceased'.<br />
<br />
Three more animals appeared under the clients name, all cats. The names all sounded familiar. Sure enough, I had seen all of them. Not only had I seen all of them, it was me that had been with them for their final consultation. I had put all of the owner's previous cats to sleep. The most recent had been several years ago, and try as I might I was saddened to find that I couldn't bring any of the cases to mind, or the client. Nevertheless, I was glad I had checked; I didn't remember the client, but it was a fair bet that they would remember me, having euthanised three of their previous pets. Now, at least, I could show a little tact, caring and diplomacy in the consulting room, even though I was just vaccinating their last remaining pet.<br />
<br />
I stepped out into the waiting room, and quickly located a tall man sitting with his daughter, a cat box on his knee. I smiled at him, and with a quiet, respectful demeanor I called his cat's name.<br />
<br />
The man looked up, smiled, and nudged his daughter in the ribs. 'Oh hello!' he called, cheerfully. 'It's Doctor Death!' He stood up and cheerfully walked towards me, while his daughter and I competed on which of us would rather a hole opened up in the ground and swallowed us up.<br />
<br />
The man continued his own brand of peculiar gallows humour all the way through the consultation. 'Careful, Misty,' he said as I plucked the black and white cat from it's box. 'He should have a scythe, not a stethoscope!' I smiled politely while his daughter rolled her eyes and folded her arms, staring at the floor.<br />
<br />
'Yes,' I said, trying to lighten the mood as I drew up my vaccination. 'It's a happier occasion, today, isn't it?'<br />
<br />
'I'll say!' said the man. 'At least we won't need a coffin at the end of it!' I felt like saying that if he kept this up, then I couldn't promise anything, but I remained as ever, calm and professional. Still, it was a surprise that I had no memory of this man. If he was like this during a vaccination, God knew what he was like during an actual euthanasia.<br />
<br />
'All done,' I said, putting his surviving cat back in it's box and closing the door behind it. 'There,' I said, smiling at the man, 'All of us made it through in one piece!' The man smiled and winked at me. His surprising attitude was growing on me. There was no malice at all in him. Why not be cheerful? The cats weren't suffering, and I had done a professional job. Doesn't joking about a dark subject make it something less to fear? Maybe we could all learn something from his attitude. I was starting to decide that perhaps I rather liked him.<br />
<br />
I opened the door and let the man, his embarrassed daughter and his still-alive cat out to reception, where upon he announced loudly to the packed waiting room, 'This is the first time one of my pets has seen that vet and come out alive!'<br />
<br />
I shut the door, and decided that maybe the best thing would be if a hole opened up in the ground and swallowed him instead.lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-12772516868544577262015-05-04T16:57:00.000+01:002015-05-04T18:40:42.830+01:00Doctor, doctor, gimme the news...Alright, I will. Because I am. A doctor, that is - as of last week.<br />
<br />
You see, unlike many of our overseas colleagues, veterinary surgeons in the UK have long languished under tedious titles of Mrs, Miss or Mr. Not only do these titles call upon people to make a snap judgement on whether we're married or not, they simply don't sound quite as sexy as 'Doctor'. If anything, they make us sound more sinister - 'Mr Kildare' just sounds creepy, doesn't it?<br />
<br />
There are those in my profession that will try to tell you that the vanilla title is right and proper. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surgeon" target="_blank">Human surgeons are known by them, after all </a>- it's something of a badge of honour for them to go from Dr to Mr, in fact, and is a right granted them by the Royal College of Surgeons.<br />
<br />
'Well,' say the misguided (and slightly less cool) vets of the UK, 'we're surgeons too, aren't we? So we should be Mr or Mrs too!'<br />
<br />
Well, I disagree. For one thing, human surgeons undergo a metric craptonne more training than veterinary surgeons do - years and years more, in fact - so if they want to call themselves Mrs, I think they're quite entitled to. Secondly, as vets, we never got called 'Doctor' at any stage of our training, so it doesn't feel so much like a promotion as a, uh, nothing at all. Thirdly, I think I'd be more on board with it if surgeons had an entirely different title again, something like... I don't know. Powerman/woman? That would work. I could cope with being Powerman Marsh. (Pwn. Marsh - except if you're familiar with internet l33tspeak, that does sound a little like I just got my ass handed to me in an online game. I'll keep thinking).<br />
<br />
Anyway, this particular powerman has strayed from the point a little. <a href="http://www.rcvs.org.uk/news-and-events/news/uk-veterinary-surgeons-to-use-courtesy-doctor-title/" target="_blank">A couple of months ago, the RCVS - the august body that oversees veterinary surgeons in the UK - decided that vets are now entitled to use the title 'Doctor'</a> - with a couple of caveats.<br />
<br />
Firstly, when we use it in full we should add 'MRCVS' after our name, to signify that we are members of the Royal College, and not actually licensed to poke about inside another human being (well, not with surgical instruments, at least). Secondly, it is a courtesy title - it's up to us whether we use it or not.<br />
<br />
When I heard about the news, this last point threw me into a dilemma. Was it really that important, I wondered, to be called a doctor? Is it something we deserve?<br />
<br />
My point about training above wasn't just true of surgeons. It's a fallacy that it takes longer to train as a vet than as a doctor. The veterinary degree takes five years, just as the medical degree does, but then medical doctors have at least another two years of on-the-job training before they are fully qualified. Vets are just thrown in at the deep end, though the RCVS is considering changing this too.<br />
<br />
In my career, occasionally a client would start a consultation with a 'Well, what it is, doc, is that...,'. Even on the rare occasions when I would point out that this title wasn't one that I had been granted, I would do it with a bashful grin (and possibly even come-to-bed eyes) that indicated I was not at all unhappy on being accidentally promoted, and it always gave me a little thrill.<br />
<br />
But still. Doctor. I have been a veterinary surgeon for fifteen years, and a change in my title wouldn't change my experience, or my skills, or my simple honest-to-goodness dashing good looks. A courtesy title. If I actually changed it, would it just make me appear vain? Would my colleagues consider me so? Would there be two tiers of vets now? Ones that were secure in their own skills, and ones that needed something more? A veterinary surgeon, by any other name, would still smell of anal glands and hibiscrub, after all. This was a decision that required careful, considered thought.<br />
<br />
Thirty microseconds later, I was logging in to the website of the RCVS, and ticking a box on my profile that indicated now, and forever more, I would be known as 'Doctor Nick Marsh MRCVS.'<br />
<br />
Such decisions come at a cost. Households have been split on the issue. My wife, for instance, remains plain old Mrs Marsh - although this has less to do with any high-minded ethical stance, and more to do with the fact that she has forgotten her login details for the website.<br />
<br />
As for myself, I find I am much the same person - with one added bonus. Thank you, The Simpsons. You have made me a very happy man.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Yours<br />
<br />
Doctor Nick Marsh, MRCVS<br />
<br />lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-24657021466522595662015-04-24T15:39:00.000+01:002015-04-24T15:39:47.916+01:00For the blood is the life... Part one<span style="font-family: inherit;">Watch out, haemophobes! This one is about blood - specifically, blood transfusions in dogs and cats. For the first of this two-parter, we're going to have a look at how you might end up wanting to give a transfusion in the first place, before we get down to the meaty stuff in part two. Before we get too carried away learning about motion lotion, though, here's a quote from one of the true horror greats to get us in the mood:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>'Something was pouring from his mouth. He examined his sleeve. Blood!? Blood. Crimson copper-smelling blood, his blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. And bits of sick.'</i></span></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Garth Marenghi, Slicer</span></blockquote>
<br /><br /> Thank you, Garth. Blood. We all have it (unless you're a 13th generation cyber-mind reading this in the thirty-fifth century, but I can only cover so many angles with my writing) and we all have an idea of what it's for: to take oxygen out of your lungs and transport it to all your other bits to prevent them from being dead. It has other uses too, but this is the one you will be most concerned about if you start to run out.<br />
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Let's do a bit of jargon de-tangling here - us medical types love our jargon (see <a href="http://lordof1.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/lingua-medica-medical-terminology.html">this post</a> on the subject). The medical prefix for blood is 'haem' (or heme if you prefer; you know who you are. Go on then, just this once, I will do you a favor and leave the 'u' out of that favour. Happy now?). So: haemophobia - fear of blood; haemorrhage - blood loss; haematuria - bloody pee - and so on. Lack of blood - specially red blood cells, the Werther's original-shaped cells packed with the oxygen-loving haemoglobin that do the donkey work of moving oxygen around - is known as anaemia (presumably because anhaemia is awkward to say), and in its severe forms is what is going to make us reach for the blood bags.<span style="color: #252525;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></span>
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Anaemia (and, so y'know, there's a <i>lot</i> more to know about anaemia, but let's keep it simple) is the most likely reason that you're going to find yourself at the business end of a blood giving set, and my extensive study of human literature has revealed that commonest form of human blood loss is, of course, vampiric attack. For dogs and cats it's a little different. We are not, at least in general practice, ER (my close resemblance to George Clooney to the contrary). If an animal has suffered such severe blood loss in an accident that it is in immediate need of a blood transfusion, then I'm afraid it is very unlikely to survive - principally because in general practice we are not allowed to store animal blood products, and so the dog or cat is going to have to wait for us to find a donor animal and drain it before it gets a snifter of the good red stuff, by which time it is highly likely to have given up waiting in a terminal fashion.<br />
<br />
So, for vets in general practice at least, the most likely reason we are going to want to give a blood transfusion is either due to a slow semi-controlled bleed (like a ruptured splenic tumour) or expected blood loss (which reminds me of one of my lecturers telling us about attempted surgery to remove a tumour from a dog's aorta - the main artery from the left side of the heart; the vessel ruptured and our lecturer, a master of understatement, told us that the dog 'experienced brisk haemorrhage' which later had to be scrubbed off the ceiling of the op theatre), or because of IMHA.<br />
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<i>IMHA</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
IMHA stands for 'Immune-mediated haemolytic anaemia' - please don't switch off, we can get through this, don't worry. Haemolytic anaemia we can already work out - lysis is the medical term for cells breaking down, so 'haemolytic anaemia' just means 'red blood cells breaking down, leading to a lack of blood cells'. I think HA is punchier, though.<br />
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As for Immune-mediated - well, as it sounds, this just means the disease is mediated by (i.e. caused by) the immune system going a bit tits up. Lots and lots of diseases are immune-mediated - all allergies, for instance. Just like The Force, the immune system is a powerful tool, but it can be used for evil as well as good. In IMHA, the immune system has decided that red blood cells are invaders and must be destroyed without mercy. Anything that stimulates the immune system - infections, drugs, and yes, sadly even vaccinations can trigger the immune system off in the wrong direction. Regardless of the In a grim parody of the Russian Revolution, all throughout the blood vessels, red cells square off against white. And red always loses.<br />
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The treatment for IMHA, like many of the immune mediated diseases, will be familiar to IT professionals. Switch the immune system off as quickly as possible, then let it come back online slowly and hope it's calmed down a bit. Steroids are the cheapest and most-frequently used drugs to do this, though there are a number of others. The problem is, it takes time for the immune system to stop popping the red-blood cells like an overactive needle-armed toddler in a balloon shop, and during that time the anaemia can reach severely (and frequently fatally) low levels.<br />
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<i>PCV</i><br />
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Another definition for you (sorry) -Anaemia is - or at least can be - measured by the Packed Cell Volume - or PCV. If you spin down blood in a centrifuge, all the red cells will squish up together at the bottom of the tube, and the PCV is just the percentage of tube that is filled by these red cells - the lower the PCV, the fewer red blood cells you have. Dogs and cats normally have a PCV in the 30-40% range. Unless they're planning to run a marathon any time soon, they're going to be fine until it drops below 20%, where they're going to start looking a little tired. By the time it drops below 12% they're heading into trouble and are probably going to need a transfusion very soon. For dogs, if it drops much below, say, seven or eight percent, they are in serious danger of death. Cats seem to tolerate very low PCVs a little better, and I've know a few survive even with PCVs of five or six - but it's still brown-trousers territory for the clinician involved.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, for whatever reason, we have a dog or cat with a worryingly pale gum colour and a PCV that is making us sweat. What now?<br />
<br />
Let's talk about that in part two (although - spoilers - it involves sticking more blood into the animal).lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6966623163879283728.post-73721022912879574592014-01-01T16:09:00.001+00:002014-01-01T20:53:36.145+00:00A Disease of Economic Importance - Reflections on the Foot and Mouth Crisis of 2001<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One afternoon in early 2001, Kate and I were sitting
watching a news report about a disease outbreak on a farm in Essex.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> 'Foot and mouth disease,' Kate said. 'That rings a bell.
Which one is that?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I shrugged. 'Um... is it... it's the one with... er. It's
notifiable, isn't it?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Kate looked pointedly back at the telly. 'Obviously.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I shrugged again. 'Well, I'm sure it'll be okay.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Hitherto, my sole encounter with the disease that would
cause such destruction in Devon was while I was failing my public health
examination in the fourth year. On the next page from the fabled <i>'Write short notes on the process of cheese
making</i>,' there had been an essay question on foot and mouth disease. In the
exam I had wracked my brain to try and remember my crib notes, and splurged it
all out onto the blank sheet in front of me: A viral disease - a picornavirus,
to be precise. Very stable in the environment and highly contagious - the virus
can potentially travel miles as an airborne particle - possibly even across the
English Channel<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>.
Predominantly affects ungulates. Causes fever, followed by ulcers in the mouth
and around the feet. Rarely fatal in adults, but can cause heart problems in neonates.
Otherwise self-limiting<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>
in a few weeks. Not present in the UK at this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I surrounded these bare bones with a fair amount of
waffle, but that covered most of the things I knew about the disease... which
is another reason I failed the public health exam. I had written my notes as if
I was looking at an individual animal. I wrote (and knew) almost nothing about
the economic implications of the disease.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> That was going to change in the Spring of 2001.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Events moved quickly from that first diagnosis. A few
days after the disease was confirmed in Essex, movement restrictions were
placed in a five-mile radius around the site - no one could move animals in or
out of the zone. By then, of course, it was already too late. A few days after
that, a case was confirmed in Northumberland. The EU imposed a ban on the UK
exporting any meat or meat products, and shortly after that, foot and mouth
arrived in Devon. Within a week, cases
had been confirmed in Scotland, Cornwall and Cumbria. It was becoming clear
that the country was in the grip of a full-blown epidemic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The Ministry of Agriculture, Food and Fisheries (MAFF)
appeared to be moving swiftly to combat the disease. They quickly instigated movement
restrictions all over the country - not just for cattle, sheep and pigs, but
for horses and dogs and humans too. Very soon into the crisis, they adopted a
policy known as the 'contiguous cull' - every time a new case of foot and mouth
was discovered, every cow, pig and sheep within a three mile radius was to be
slaughtered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Kate and I watched the news unravel with some confusion.
Foot and Mouth (and, from here on I'm going to use the accepted abbreviation
FMD) was, in my mind, stored in a category along with kennel cough - highly
contagious, but low severity. FMD wasn't a zoonosis - humans can't catch it.<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>
It wasn't a pleasant disease to suffer from - what disease is? - but it certainly wasn't in the same league
as the horrors of rabies, or anthrax, or any number of other diseases that I
could think of without even reaching for my large animal medicine notes. It was
incredibly contagious, of course - but there was a vaccine available, wasn't
there? I was sure there was. Quite an effective one, as I remembered. Why was
the government behaving as if the dead had risen from the earth to feast upon
the living?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Nevertheless, with outbreaks popping up all over the
place, and with us being repeatedly told what a dreadful disease the government
was dealing with, we assumed there were good reasons behind all the measures. I
had failed that exam, after all - I was hardly an authority on the subject.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Within weeks it became clear that two counties had been
particularly badly hit by the disease - Cumbria, and Devon. MAFF was rapidly
running out of staff to help with the crisis, and the call went out for
veterinary surgeons to assist in combating the disease. Locuming at the time,
there was no reason for me not to help out - no reason, except that I was not
an experienced cattle vet, and I was concerned that I wasn't really the sort of
person that the ministry was looking for. I really wasn't sure that I wanted to
be involved in this 'contiguous cull', however necessary it was. I was, after
all, a vegetarian<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>,
and so to some extent had opted out of the system already - although I still
drunk milk, and ate cheese, and I knew I was fooling myself if I thought that
didn't make me complicit in a lot of the problems of modern farming.
Nevertheless, it didn't seem like something I could help with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> A few weeks into March, I changed my mind. I would dearly
love to recount here that it was out of a sense of patriotism, or 'Blitz
spirit'- wanting to do my part for the country. I would, more dearly, like to
announce that the reason I became a Temporary Veterinary Inspector (TVI) for the
Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food was because, if more slaughter was
necessary, then I would do what I could to ensure the welfare of those to be
killed was as good as it could be. There's some truth to both of these, but
here's the main, rather depressing one: MAFF were so desperate that they
announced they were doubling the pay of TVIs from £125 per day to £250. A
fortune for me - a week's pay for working a couple of days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I applied, was accepted, fast-tracked, and within a few
days found myself standing outside the MAFF building near Exeter, hoping that
someone in charge would explain to me, in very simple terms, exactly what the
hell I was supposed to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> While I was sitting in a large conference room, amongst
many other vets - some large animal veterans, some dyed-in the wool small
animal-types, some new graduates, and many, many Spanish vets, taking advantage
of the sudden opportunity for work and pay far better than anything they might
find in their home country - experiencing a very short induction lecture,
arguments were raging across the county and the political landscape. The
countryside had been, by this point, effectively shut down. People weren't
supposed to travel into it unless absolutely necessary. Tourists stopped coming
to the UK. Opposition party leaders were asking why MAFF hadn't imposed
restrictions as soon as they had confirmed the disease in the Essex abattoir -
as reports on the 1967 Northumberland epidemic were very clear that speed was of
the essence in controlling the disease. Many members of the general public
started asking the same question that had crossed my mind - what was so
terrible about this disease that demanded the extreme response of the
contiguous cull?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> As I sat, flipping through my induction pack, listening
to the explanation of the disease control policy, a line from one of my
favourite childhood films ran through my mind. In <i>Aliens</i>, when Ellen Ripley discovers that the colony on LV421 has
been overrun by the terrifying creatures that wiped out her entire crew in the
first film, her solution is simple but effective.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <i>'I say we take off,
and nuke the site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure.'</i><b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It occurred to
me that someone high up in the ministry was a fan of the film too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Despite my worries, the
job itself was simple - far simpler than my normal day job. Every day we
(myself and a technician) would be assigned a number of farms to check in
Devon. We would drive to the farm entrances in our MAFF-assigned vehicles, park
outside, then don disposable boiler suits, hats and masks, dunk our white
Government-issue wellies into virucidal solution, and inspect every single
animal on the farm for symptoms of FMD. If all was well, we would move on to
the next farm. If we found anything suspicious, however, we would call in the
back-up, who would slaughter the suspected animals and test them for the
disease. If it was confirmed, then the contiguous cull would come into force -
every cow, sheep and pig in a three-mile radius would be culled, and their
bodies burned to prevent spread of infection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> By the time I started at MAFF, there were a lot of bodies
burning in Devon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> If we ever found FMD, then we would be, from that point
on, classified as 'dirty', and my veterinary services would then be required to
assist with the culling, and the clean-up afterwards. By this stage, with up to
fifty new cases being found every day, there was a lot of culling that needed
to be done. The military had been called in to help, and 'clean' vets were
becoming harder to find; hence the pay increase to attract new TVIs. Within a
few hours of my training video, I was inspecting sheep on a farm near
Okehampton, worrying that the few slides I had seen wouldn't be enough
preparation for me to tell the difference between FMD and footrot. By now, the
epidemic was at its height, and MAFF had introduced a 'suspected slaughter
policy' - no more waiting for confirmation of the disease. If I saw lameness,
would I be confident enough to cry wolf - and thus potentially condemn every
livestock animal within a three mile radius to death?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I was in a better position than some, however. A lot of
the Spanish vets had never seen a case of orf - a relatively common disease of
sheep in Devon, that caused blistering lesions around the teats, mouth and
feet. If they suspected FMD, it didn't matter how many times the farmer pointed
out they were actually looking at orf. All the animals on the farm would then
be slaughtered, and if the case was deemed suspect enough, everything within
three kilometres.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Visiting a farm as a MAFF vet was a very different
experience from visiting one as a normal vet. Some farmers were friendly and
welcoming, but these were the exceptions. The majority were scared that we
would find something on their farm, or suspicious that despite our extravagant
precautions at their gate, we would bring the disease to them. Who could blame
them? Farmers were compensated for the loss of their animals, but money doesn't
go very far in alleviating the distress caused by watching everything on your
farm get slaughtered and burned. Those were uncomfortable visits, farmers
nervously showing you their animals, silently praying that you didn't suddenly
order them to stop, to take a closer look at something, and speak the words
that would mean destruction of everything they had built up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> A couple of weeks into my work as a TVI, the Ministry for
Agriculture, Food and Fisheries transformed into the Department of Environment,
Food and Rural Affairs, or DEFRA. It must have been in the pipeline before the
outbreak started - the wheels of government turn slowly - but at the time it
felt like a response to the perception of poor handling of the crisis in the
media. Don't worry - MAFF are no longer in charge of fighting the disease!
DEFRA is on the case now. What it meant, in practical terms, was that one day I
went to work to discover that all the headed paper had been changed from one
logo to another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I worked for about two months as a TVI during the crisis,
travelling from farm to farm - usually three or four a day, but some of the big
units, especially large sheep farms, took up a whole day or more. I was lucky.
The farmers I visited were lucky. I saw plenty of lameness; I saw footrot, and
I saw orf, but I never saw anything that resembled foot and mouth disease. I made
it through clean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The final case of the
outbreak was reported on a Cumbrian farm at the end of September. Movement
restrictions were finally lifted in 2002, a year after the first case. DEFRA's
contiguous cull policy had worked. FMD was once again eradicated from the
United Kingdom, after the slaughter of around ten million sheep, cattle and
pigs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I kept turning it over in my mind. FMD was a relatively
mild, self-limiting disease in adult cattle. That was a hard thing to reconcile
with the huge pyres of blackened, burning bodies that I, thankfully, only ever
encountered on the news. The contiguous cull policy had worked. So would have
taking off, and nuking the site from orbit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Here's the reason that FMD was taken so seriously by the
Government: the economy, stupid. Affected cows suffer 'milk drop' - a reduction
in the milk that they produce. This milk drop is usually temporary, but it can
be permanent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> There is, as I had suspected, all those years ago, a
vaccine available for FMD. It's very effective, and relatively cheap. However,
once you've vaccinated an animal, it is then impossible to test for the disease
itself - the animal will test positive if the vaccine was effective. For this
reason, the World Health Organization classifies countries according to their
FMD status thusly: 1 - FMD present; 2 - FMD-free with vaccination; 3 - FMD-free
without vaccination. The third and last group gets better access to export
markets, so countries in this group work hard to stay there; it's fair to say
that, in 2001, the UK worked very, very hard to stay there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> There have been a lot of studies on the economies of the
2001 FMD outbreak - some of which say it was worth it, in economic terms, some
of which strongly argue that it wasn't. It seems to be a close-run thing.<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[5]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>
DEFRA has, since the outbreak, acknowledged that vaccination might be a
sensible policy move faced with such an outbreak next time - vaccinations are
allowed in some circumstances by the WHO in order to bring an epidemic under
control.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> In case you missed it, I'll say it again - ten million
animals were slaughtered during the FMD crisis of 2001 - the vast majority of
them being sheep. It's since been confirmed that roughly one in three of the
'suspect' diagnoses were correct. Thanks to the contiguous cull policy, with
the three-mile 'protection' zone, this means that something like ninety percent
of those slaughtered were uninfected. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Now, there's an argument to be made that all these
animals would have been slaughtered anyway - we eat them, after all. As a
counterpoint to that argument, consider this: slaughter in an abattoir is tightly
regulated and controlled in order to minimise distress and discomfort to the
animals. I have visited a number of abattoirs in my time. When it goes
smoothly, the killing is painless, and very quick. It doesn't always go smoothly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> At the height of the disease in Devon, ninety thousand
animals were being slaughtered a day. Ninety thousand. On farms. By vets, by
technicians, and by the army. If you think that it went smoothly, then I would
suggest you are a poor student of human nature. None of the abattoir
regulations were in place. Animals were not stunned prior to slaughter. They
were not insensible at the moment of death, nor were they ignorant of the
deaths around them. They were distressed, they were terrified, and then they
were killed. Vets did what they could. Farmers did what they could. But that stark
number of ten million animals, I can assure you, blurs an immense amount of suffering,
fear, pain, and death into an easy-to-swallow statistic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Foot and Mouth is a disease of economic importance. I
stayed clean during the epidemic of 2001. Somehow, I still feel dirty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div>
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<br />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
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<div id="ftn1">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Nick/Desktop/Maybe%20it%20should%20happen%20to%20a%20vet.doc#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
I was very proud of remembering this point - it must have appealed to the SF
writer in me; also, I honestly did remember that it was a picornavirus.</span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn2">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Nick/Desktop/Maybe%20it%20should%20happen%20to%20a%20vet.doc#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
a medical term, meaning 'it goes away by itself'</span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn3">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Nick/Desktop/Maybe%20it%20should%20happen%20to%20a%20vet.doc#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Not strictly true - there have been a few reports of direct transmission from
animals to humans, but these cases are very rare, not confirmed, and (just like
FMD itself), get better very quickly.</span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn4">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Nick/Desktop/Maybe%20it%20should%20happen%20to%20a%20vet.doc#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> I won't mention it again, I promise!</span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn5">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Nick/Desktop/Maybe%20it%20should%20happen%20to%20a%20vet.doc#_ftnref5" name="_ftn5" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[5]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Here's some figures for the interested: getting the outbreak under control cost
£8-10 billion pounds. Lost revenue for allowing FMD unchecked across the UK
(and so ending up in the 'FMD present' group) could be £1.2 billion/year.
Vaccination of all herds in the country would probably cost about £150 million.
I can't find any figures for what the UK being downgraded to Group 2 would be.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
lordof1http://www.blogger.com/profile/06850027016039588623noreply@blogger.com0