they’ve been filled with one face. One handsome face.
Chapter 6
Jessa
29 years old
“Dr. Crew, your next appointment is ready.”
I quickly finish typing my notes and then grab the chart from my assistant. She begins to brief me as we walk to the room.
“Two-year-old female, vomiting, diarrhea, lethargy, temp’s one-oh-four.” She pauses and releases a breath. “Intact.”
“Of course,” I mutter under my breath, already knowing what’s wrong with the dog.
I enter the room with a smile on my face and question the owners as I examine the dog, who’s clearly miserable. Her gums are a little tacky and pale, she yelps in pain when I palpate her abdomen, and when I lift her tail, the puss leaking out of her vulva is the final sign I need.
After explaining to her owners that their dog has pyometra, an infection of the uterus, and state that she needs emergency surgery, they stare at me in disbelief. When they ask the cost of the surgery, I tell them that Kristen will return with the price.
As Kristen is going over the cost with them, I stand outside the door, waiting for one of four possible answers. They’ll agree and want to do surgery right away. They’ll want to do it but not have the funds and beg for a payment plan. They’ll want to try to treat it at home with medication because they don’t have the money, which is impossible; the dog will die without the surgery. Or they’ll want to use what money they do have to euthanize her because they can’t afford the surgery.
When Kristen steps out, the look on her face tells me they chose option four, and my heart sinks. “Let me talk to them. Maybe they’ll surrender her.” I’ll take her then. It’s not the dog’s fault her people didn’t spay her.
After a lengthy conversation that puts all of my appointments behind for the last hour and a half that I’m open, the owners decide to sign her over to the clinic. I’ll perform the surgery, and then we’ll find a home for her.
While I rush through my appointments, my assistants do the bloodwork and prep the dog for surgery. I successfully perform an ovariohysterectomy and save the dog’s life. By the time the day is over, I’ve worked thirteen hours and am dead ass tired.
My shower and a bed sound orgasmic right now, and I click the button for my heated seat and wait for it to warm before I pull out of the parking lot. As I’m driving through a secluded part of town, my car shakes. “No, no, no, not tonight.” It straightens out, and I say a silent thank you to God that whatever it was went away.
Finally, I pull into my driveway and can hear my dogs barking already. No matter how rough of a day I’ve had, how shitty my schedule is, or how horrible some humans are, my dogs always make me feel better. They calm me when I get frantic and cheer me up when I’m sad.
I excitedly greet them and drop to my knees to give them just as much love as they’re giving me. The note from the dog walker said she fed them at five, so I take them out to the backyard and play with them for a little while.
“Sorry, guys, I’m beat. Let’s go to bed.”
They follow me inside, and by the time I’m out of the shower, all three of them are on my bed.
* * *
Instead of my prayer to God, I’m cursing him right now because I’m stuck on the side of the road, late for work in pouring down rain. I’ve already called a tow truck and am bouncing my knees up and down waiting for it to arrive. A car pulls up behind me at the same time as the tow truck stops in front. I hop out and meet the driver, signing the paper and then running back to Kristen’s car.
“Holy crap, it’s pouring!” I wipe some of the water from my face, and Kristen laughs.
“You’re soaked.”
“I know.”
“Good thing you have extra scrubs.”
She drives us to the clinic and the rest of the day goes off without a hitch. I get the call that my car is ready, and when our day is over, Kristen drops me off at the
Chapter 6
Jessa
29 years old
“Dr. Crew, your next appointment is ready.”
I quickly finish typing my notes and then grab the chart from my assistant. She begins to brief me as we walk to the room.
“Two-year-old female, vomiting, diarrhea, lethargy, temp’s one-oh-four.” She pauses and releases a breath. “Intact.”
“Of course,” I mutter under my breath, already knowing what’s wrong with the dog.
I enter the room with a smile on my face and question the owners as I examine the dog, who’s clearly miserable. Her gums are a little tacky and pale, she yelps in pain when I palpate her abdomen, and when I lift her tail, the puss leaking out of her vulva is the final sign I need.
After explaining to her owners that their dog has pyometra, an infection of the uterus, and state that she needs emergency surgery, they stare at me in disbelief. When they ask the cost of the surgery, I tell them that Kristen will return with the price.
As Kristen is going over the cost with them, I stand outside the door, waiting for one of four possible answers. They’ll agree and want to do surgery right away. They’ll want to do it but not have the funds and beg for a payment plan. They’ll want to try to treat it at home with medication because they don’t have the money, which is impossible; the dog will die without the surgery. Or they’ll want to use what money they do have to euthanize her because they can’t afford the surgery.
When Kristen steps out, the look on her face tells me they chose option four, and my heart sinks. “Let me talk to them. Maybe they’ll surrender her.” I’ll take her then. It’s not the dog’s fault her people didn’t spay her.
After a lengthy conversation that puts all of my appointments behind for the last hour and a half that I’m open, the owners decide to sign her over to the clinic. I’ll perform the surgery, and then we’ll find a home for her.
While I rush through my appointments, my assistants do the bloodwork and prep the dog for surgery. I successfully perform an ovariohysterectomy and save the dog’s life. By the time the day is over, I’ve worked thirteen hours and am dead ass tired.
My shower and a bed sound orgasmic right now, and I click the button for my heated seat and wait for it to warm before I pull out of the parking lot. As I’m driving through a secluded part of town, my car shakes. “No, no, no, not tonight.” It straightens out, and I say a silent thank you to God that whatever it was went away.
Finally, I pull into my driveway and can hear my dogs barking already. No matter how rough of a day I’ve had, how shitty my schedule is, or how horrible some humans are, my dogs always make me feel better. They calm me when I get frantic and cheer me up when I’m sad.
I excitedly greet them and drop to my knees to give them just as much love as they’re giving me. The note from the dog walker said she fed them at five, so I take them out to the backyard and play with them for a little while.
“Sorry, guys, I’m beat. Let’s go to bed.”
They follow me inside, and by the time I’m out of the shower, all three of them are on my bed.
* * *
Instead of my prayer to God, I’m cursing him right now because I’m stuck on the side of the road, late for work in pouring down rain. I’ve already called a tow truck and am bouncing my knees up and down waiting for it to arrive. A car pulls up behind me at the same time as the tow truck stops in front. I hop out and meet the driver, signing the paper and then running back to Kristen’s car.
“Holy crap, it’s pouring!” I wipe some of the water from my face, and Kristen laughs.
“You’re soaked.”
“I know.”
“Good thing you have extra scrubs.”
She drives us to the clinic and the rest of the day goes off without a hitch. I get the call that my car is ready, and when our day is over, Kristen drops me off at the
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