CONTENT WARNING: Pet Cancer

We’ve had sled dogs for the past twenty years. We use them for pulling and carrying to fulfill their needs but keep them as family pets. At most, we’ve had five dogs. Now we only have one left: Gamlemor. She’s turning thirteen this March. As responsible pet owners, we visit our veterinarian at least once a year — twice a year after they turn ten.

Being a senior dog, Gamlemor is starting to get some “extra” issues as most beings do when getting old. Off to the vet we go, same as always. We’ve used this practice for eighteen years now, and we adore our veterinarian.

He’s got a good size office, with many employees with this very same type of dedication.

I take “Gamlemor” in for itchy ears and a lump on her chest. I think she needs an ear flush for the itch and the lump is just “another lump of fat”. (She’s had a few over the years.)

However, this time, her ear has some deformation and the lump is cancerous. And checking her ears, they notice that a few of her teeth need to come out, as well.

I am very emotional at the moment, so there are probably some variations to the wording. Here’s approximately how this conversation went.

Vet: “The tumor is out, and we are quite sure we got all of it plus some good margins. But she’s an old girl, so belly rubs need to happen every day and you need to be thorough.”

Me: “She already gets them. I just can’t believe we missed this.”

Vet: “Thorough?”

Me: *Through sobs* “Obviously not.”

Vet: “Now, I’ve booked a date for removing the bad teeth, but I’m more concerned about her inner ear. And we need to be clear about what to expect. This is calcification or cancer. This is serious. A CT will tell us more about where it is, but there’s not a lot to do about it.”

Me: “Okay. Is she in pain? What options are there?”

Vet: “It’s not what you want to hear, but Gamlemor is not comfortable. She’s not showing it, but her teeth alone would cause a bit of pain and the ear makes her itchy and dizzy. I’d recommend managing her condition depending on the CT. And there’s an option to remove the inner ear, but it’s extremely painful.”

Me: “Okay!” *Sobs* “What does ‘managing’ mean? Why not operate? The pain is temporary, right? How much is it? Can you do it?”

Vet: “‘Managing’ is medication. I’ll tell you the price for dental care. But… it’s my job to inform you that there are options. I can do the operation, but I won’t. I won’t subject Gamlemor to this at her age. It’s a lot of pain for two to four weeks, and there’s a chance it won’t heal well or at all. And with her age and sensitivity, it’s not an option in my opinion. There are other practices that will take care of this if you absolutely have to, but try to ask why before doing anything. Is it for Gamlemor or yourself?”

Me: *Ugly crying* “You’re such an a**hole, sometimes. You know that?”

Vet: “Yes, but you know this, too: I do business with you because you pay your dues. I like you because you listen and you care about your animals. But I love Gamlemor. Here, take this.” *Hands me a tissue* “And take a moment. I’ll print your appointment and put together an invoice for dental care.”

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why we keep coming back. This vet is autistic. He’s not great with people. But he’s honest, direct, and hard-working. And he loves his job because he loves animals. When we show up with our pets, this practice is their voice of reason when we’re upset or not thinking straight.

When we visit, they greet our pets the way their personalities preferred it, and then they greet us. “Do you want something to drink? Great, I’ll bring your human something, too.”

A veterinarian nurse said on our second visit, “You’re the wallet; this is the patient,” while rubbing Oscar’s belly with both hands.

Gamlemor is now on medication for arthritis, inflammation, and pain relief. She’s comfortable, playful, and happy. We might be able to keep her around for a few months still, a year if we’re lucky. She’s on follow-ups every two months — something we asked for, so Gamlemor has her advocate when it’s time for her to go, but forever.

In Norway, we have something called the “russ celebration”. It’s to celebrate when we graduate high school and is generally just a bunch of young adults partying and behaving wildly.

While the celebrations have escalated wildly over the last couple of decades, costing enormous sums of money for decorated vehicles, stereo sets, and going to festivals, one of the longest-running traditions is that the “russ” have to participate in our Seventeenth of May parade; that’s our Constitution Day. That also means that, traditionally, the night before is the biggest party night. For our American readers, this whole thing kind of becomes like spring break and the Fourth of July all rolled up in one.

When I was a “russ”, I wasn’t drinking much; I was one of the people organizing the parties rather than getting hammered all the time. (The legal drinking age in Norway is eighteen.) Some of the guys teased me a bit over this, but I felt like I didn’t really need to be on the sauce all the time. Therefore, while we partied all through the night on the sixteenth of May, I stayed relatively sober while my classmates got drunker and drunker. At this point, some of them really started teasing, saying ironically how much of a shame it was that I had to organize things and leave the drinking to them.

On the morning of the seventeenth, just before the big parade was due to start, most of the guys were hungover, probably still drunk. Then, it occurred to them that in order to drive their special vehicles in the parade, they’d have to be sober!

Suddenly, the light drinker was very much sought-after as I could fulfil the role of stand-in designated driver.

My daughter is twenty-two years old. She has autism and is diagnosed with Asperger’s. She’s high-functioning, but she has some tics which give her away. She gave me permission to share this story.

She’s trying to work on her social skills and become less sensitive about her surroundings, so she has joined a group on social media where they invite people out who might struggle with the great “outdoors”. During and after their outing, they discuss thoughts and bring out suggestions on how to improve and be more comfortable.

One day, they sit down at a café. There are more people around than usual. It’s more than my daughter can handle, and she starts stimming — rocking gently from side to side while folding and unfolding her hands. It’s a behavior she uses to help calm herself.

From nowhere, a couple of women approach, asking another member of the group what’s going on with “this”. The group leader speaks up, trying to be sensitive about his group.

Lead: “I’m not sure what you mean, miss.”

My daughter, however, doesn’t care what others think and wants these women gone.

Daughter: “I have Asperger’s. I don’t like crowds. I’m here with these people trying to work on this.”

The women speak to her with fake enthusiasm in their voices, with a tone usually used when talking to pets.

Women: “Oooooh. Okay, sweetie. Can we just ask you a quick question? Are you vaccinated?”

Having had this question asked before and knowing how this might turn out, my daughter is quick to respond.

Daughter: “Just recently! My idiot parents didn’t vaccinate me or my brother.” *Not true* “We both caught a neuro-comolious disease.” *Not a real thing* “That gave me autism and my brother ADHD.” *Not true* “We both got vaccinated once we moved out, but it’s too late now. We’re r****ded for life and it’s their fault!”

There’s nothing else said. The two women simply walk away with confused expressions. 

[Daughter] comes home and shares a little bit of this event. I give the group lead a quick call. With my daughter right next to me, I put him on speaker.

Not only does he fill in some extra details, but he happily praises my daughter for speaking more than usual and not getting worked up by the situation. He isn’t happy she lied, but he does support my daughter’s logic. 

Daughter: “I’ve been asked about vaccines a lot. If they can make things up, why can’t I? If I tell the truth, they lie to themselves. So, I thought next time, I would lie first.”

She’d had this planned out, even the name of the condition. She said she wouldn’t do it again, and for her routine and sanity, I agree. But I can’t help thinking to myself, “Why not?”

I was working in a quite large retail chain, and a customer approached me at the checkout. I scanned his products and asked if he needed a bag.

Customer: “Yes, a large one, please.”

Through this conversation, the shift leader was working the checkout next to me.

I gave the customer a bag and bagged his items as we are supposed to before he started the craziest rant I’ve ever heard.

What was it about? Plastic bags.

He said a lot, including that our bags couldn’t be used more than once (they could) and were hopeless as garbage bags (we use grocery and retail bags for garbage in Norway) because of their handles. It lasted maybe two minutes while the shift leader was helping another customer.

After the customer finally left, the other customer just sighed and looked at me in clear dismay over the Bag Professor.

Shift Leader: “Well done. That is the exact type of situation where you just say, ‘mhmm,’ until he goes away.”

I was studying biology at university and we were in the laboratory, working with bacteria samples. It was mostly for practice before the more serious lab work later on in the year.

It was clear that some of the students had little experience working in a lab. My lab partner was one of these, and since I already had some experience, I let him do the actual work while I assisted.

My partner was getting ready to place a sample onto a petri dish with growth medium on it. Before the sample could be placed, the equipment needed to be sterilized in order to ensure that the samples weren’t contaminated.

He started out by dipping an inoculation loop in ethanol, and then he was going to move it through a blue flame to make it completely sterile. As he was moving it through the flame, the spirit on it caught fire as planned and started burning off. The beaker of ethanol was still placed on the desk.

Me: “Okay, now, just hold still, and take care not to spill the—”

[Lab Partner] knocked the beaker over, spilling ethanol all over the bench.

Me: “Whoa! Okay, don’t panic. Just make sure you don’t move the flame too close to—”

Then, [Lab Partner] clumsily lowered the burning instrument too close to the pool of ethanol, causing it to catch fire and spread across the desk.

The teaching assistant rushed over and threw a fire blanket over the desk. The fire had reached an expensive microscope and started to melt part of the plastic on its base, but thankfully, it wasn’t properly ruined.

I took care of the sterilization protocol myself after that.