My patients do not speak. Or rather, my patients do not speak using words. Instead, they have taught me the art of body language—of noises, expressions and postures.
I read the movement of ears, the way pupils dilate or constrict. Watch for the tremors, for the hunch of a spine, for the described bows or stretches that could indicate abdominal spasm. Search for the hint of a leg being favored, for the inaudible signs of pain. Wait for tongues darting over lips. Offer food that may be sniffed at or turned away from. I’ve learned to respond to fear with gentleness, to preempt the sharpness of tooth or claw with slow movements.
When I first became a vet, I thought that I’d be an animal doctor, but most days I feel more like a detective, unearthing the truth in my patients’ lab results and mumbled clues. My many years as an introvert—lonely years of listening more than talking—serve me well: I do not fear my patients’ lack of words. I understand that language can look like a lot of things. But my patients’ owners are sometimes skeptical of my translations …
Continue reading: The Difference by Melissa Sussens
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