Everybody Has a Story: Learned plenty with veterinarian for a day

An exciting announcement by our school counselor caused quite a stir: Career Day was coming!

It was 1977 and I was a 17-year-old junior at Fort Vancouver High School. I knew instantly where I wanted to go for Career Day: Andresen Animal Clinic, in the quaint, brick building on Fourth Plain Boulevard and Andresen Road. Many of the sweet, stray cats I rescued — well, lured, actually, with canned tuna and milk — that our mom reluctantly allowed to stay were cared for at this clinic by the kindly Dr. Arnold Andres.

Happy and confident about my career choice, I made a mental pro and con list for the hundredth time. I’d read and loved “All Creatures Great and Small” by James Herriot. I adored animals. I rescued abandoned cats and brought them home. I took excellent care of them, as if they were my own furry little children. (My mother meant it when she said they would be my responsibility.) Academically, I loved the sciences, and biology was my favorite class at Fort. My grades were solid. I knew Washington State University in Pullman had a respected veterinary medicine program.

The cons? Only one: overwhelming sadness for creatures who suffer from neglect or disease. Youthful optimism overrode this one.

Wanting to go with another animal-loving, like-minded student, I persuaded a friend from my Spanish class to go with me. I stopped by the veterinary clinic to ask permission to shadow the doctor. I had already decided I would be thrilled to observe anything: watching a well-pet exam, seeing a dog getting vaccines, even viewing how blood is drawn. Imagine my excitement when Dr. Andres asked if we’d like to come observe him perform a feline spay. I was elated!

My friend, Marcie, wasn’t quite as thrilled, but I persuaded her, reassuring her she could close her eyes if it got too gory.

Our big day came. Marcie, whose apprehension was clearly palpable, timidly followed me into the building. The clinic was small, neat and tidy, and the sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air. The furry patient was stretched out on her back on the metal examination table, her little mouth open as she was gently placed under anesthesia.

“She won’t be in pain, will she, Dr. Andres?” I quietly asked from the spot where he directed us to stand and observe.

“No, not at all,” he assured me.

Deftly he began the surgery, explaining to us what he was doing as if we were young veterinary interns. I watched with great interest, quietly observing, until I heard a low moan right behind me.

I turned and saw Marcie’s face. Her skin had turned ghostly white. Tiny beads of perspiration covered her upper lip. Her eyes were wide and glazed over, and she was absolutely frozen. I was horrified, afraid she might faint or lose her breakfast right there on that shiny, sterile floor.

Dr. Andres told me to pull a chair over so Marcie could sit down. I prayed she wouldn’t lose consciousness and fall, and wondered briefly if veterinarians were also trained to help revive young interns who got queasy at the sight of blood.

Thankfully, Marcie didn’t faint or throw up. Seated, she kept her eyes tightly closed as Dr. Andres finished the surgery and put in the sutures. Cheerfully removing his gloves to wash his hands at the nearby sink, he asked if we had any questions. I asked him, what was the best part of his work as a veterinarian?

He replied, “Helping animals back to good health, and saving their lives, when possible.”

Even at the young age of 17, I understood that “when possible” meant there would be times when it wouldn’t be. I began to realize that although I had remained strong and observed the procedure without fainting, my heart and emotions would be my downfall, causing me significant pain when innocent creatures were suffering and would need to be euthanized.

The gentle insight Dr. Andres offered that day guided me toward a different path. Instead of veterinary school, I became an elementary school teacher. It was the right decision for me.

The wisdom of high school administrators encouraging Career Day for students contemplating their life’s work is to be commended. Helping bright-eyed high-schoolers realize their strengths, and their areas of challenge, continues to be a worthy tradition.

I’m so thankful I had that important opportunity!

Dr. Andres passed away in 2016. I’m grateful he shared his gifts with me.

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