My Take Tuesday: The Dinner Guest

“Hey Doc, we would love to have you over for dinner on Sunday. We will be having some ribeye steaks and banana cream pie.”

Hearing two of my favorite foods in the same sentence excites me. Who could turn down such an invitation? John and Laura were very loyal clients and were a pleasure to be around.

“I would love to!”, I excitedly responded.

“Great! We will eat at 7”, John instructed, “you can come a little early and have some root beer and see that new shed I am building.”

“I’ll be there”, I promised.

On Sunday evening I pulled into the driveway at exactly 6:45. John was waiting for me at the gate. He held a large frosted mug of root beer in his hand.

“Here it is Doc, fresh made.”

I grabbed the mug and took a sip. The sweet vanilla taste satiated my senses.

“Now, that is good!”, I exclaimed.

John then proceeded to show me around the yard. Most of my time with John and Laura was spent on the ranch. It was a nice break to be able to see their home. The yard was perfectly manicured, as is expected from a master farmer and crop producer. The smell of the blooming purple lilacs reminded me just how beautiful this time of year is.

“Come on in Doc,” Laura continued, “dinner is on the table.”

As I entered the kitchen, the table was covered in a smorgasbord of deliciousness. Fresh potatoes, olives, bread, ribeye steak and banana cream pie awaited.

We sat down and began to eat. We laughed and joked as we finished the delicious meal.

“Hey Doc, there is another piece of steak here, would you like some more?”, John asked.

“I sure would,” I replied as I began cutting the fresh ribeye.

“Do you like it Doc?”, John inquisitively asked.

“Yes sir!” I replied

“Good. You remember that old cow that had mastitis and was prolapsed? You said we couldn’t sell her so we butchered her instead.”

News like this is never good to receive between bites.

Instantly, my voracious appetite disappeared.

All I could think in about was that nasty prolapsed cow. That cow that was now in my stomach.

“Can I have another glass of root beer?”, I politely asked, as I finished the steak.

After all, John and Laura are salt of the earth people.

However, this is the only time I will ever eat steak at their house.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Thanksgiving Dinner in Emery, Utah

The sense of smell is closely linked with memory, probably more so than any of our other senses. Those with full olfactory function may be able to think of smells that evoke particular memories; for me, the smell of turkey in the oven takes me back to Thanksgivings of long ago. As this homeward journey begins, I find myself seated at a table in my grandparents house in Emery, UT.

Grandma makes the best food! The fresh baked rolls, the stuffing, the potatoes, roasted butternut squash – each dish renders a unique and enticing smell. With the ever-more ready turkey roasting in the oven, these combine, creating a signature fragrance greeting guests the moment they step through the front door. We salivate as we anxiously await the assortment of generations of family recipes cooked to perfection

I remember exactly where I sat at the table, facing south, sitting across from my siblings and cousins. The sounds of the adults in the kitchen enjoying a home cooked meal as the delectable smells, good conversation, and the comfortable atmosphere make me feel at peace. As I close my eyes, I readily am able to conjure a significant mental image of Thanksgiving dinners at the home of Hugh and Shonna Peterson.

The joyous bustle and the incessant hum of conversation combine to create a warm atmosphere. The stokermatic furnace in the living room, with its gentle smell of burning coal, adds to the homey ambiance. As we reminisce and laugh, we give our diets a hall pass, stuffing ourselves in a way we would never dream of the other 364 days of the year. But more than the food we savor, it is the scent of the feast that we love and the constancy of family that makes us so complete.

After eating, I usually end up sitting with my cousins around the TV, watching a football game or laughing hysterically at the Farley Family Reunion VHS.

Later on, I return to the warm glow of the kitchen, Just in time to hear my grandpa telling a story from his younger days. I have never met anyone that can tell a story like Hugh Peterson. His excellent memory weaves a tapestry of nostalgia. With each word we move closer to the edge of our seats. With a smile on his face, and just a tad of embellishment, he tells a story like a boss. He makes us all literally laugh until we cry.

I will forever cherish these memories and conversations around the dinner table in Emery, Utah. They will forever remain a refreshing change from the chaos of everyday life. I will always remember the Peterson Family Thanksgivings as one of my most precious memories.

Since yesterdays are gone, and tomorrows are never promised, lets make this Thanksgiving count. Spend time with family and friends. Let us love and laugh and live in the moment. Be sure to spend time with the people in your life who want you to be in theirs. Cherish the people in your life who accept you for who you are, support you in the things you chose to do and, no matter what, are there for you.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

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Times of severe stress, injury or fear can trigger the reflex: your blood pressure drops, your heart rate slows. This reaction is primeval stuff, buried deep within our brains. Medically, it goes by the name “vasovagal syncope.” Common folk like me simply call it fainting.

Being a veterinarian is not for the faint of heart. On any given day, I will treat a myriad of infirmities. The sight of blood, pus, maggots and trauma are part of a normal day at the clinic. I, fortunately, am not affected by this. I am able to reason and think clearly in situations like this and am able to immediately go about trying to fix the problem. I’ve seen some nasty stuff, but not once have I ever felt light headed with animal blood.

Human blood is a different story. Ironically, I cannot deal with human blood. The sight of it makes me queasy. I have fainted on a couple of occasions at the sight of my own blood. I find it strange that I am fine with animal blood but so unstable when it comes to people.

As luck would have it, on a number of occasions, clients have experienced medical emergencies as I worked on their pets. During one of these situations, I overheard a radio exchange between emergency responders and dispatch.

“He is with a veterinarian,” the dispatcher said.

“Oh good,” the emergency responder replied.

Upon hearing this, I exclaimed, “No, it’s not good! I don’t do human blood! You had better hurry up and get here!”

Keeping it together in such situations is difficult for me. Luckily, no one has died in these situations. However, I did experience a very close call a few years back.

Sheldon was a nice man. His gentle smile and blue eyes were reflective of his kind nature. He raised beautiful Charolais cattle. The pure white bulls he hauled into the clinic on this particular day were no exception. The massive 2000+ pound animals were there to be semen tested before the breeding season.

Sheldon walked with his cane along the side of the alley that led to the squeeze chute. He gently nudged the first bull as I closed the hydronic chute. He opened the side gate and stood directly behind the bull.

I asked about his farm and about the drive down to the clinic. He seemed happy and excited about the coming spring.

As I proceeded to work on the bull, I turned my back to reach for some supplies.

I then asked, “Sheldon, can you help me hold this?”

There was no reply.

“Sheldon,” I continued.

Still no response. I peered into the chute where he was standing just moments before and he was nowhere to be found. As I stood up and entered the side gate, I found Sheldon lying in the alley. His head was lying just inches from the back feet of a bull. Any sudden movements and the bull could easily crush his skull. My blood pressure skyrocketed!

Instinctively, I picked him up and carried him out the side gate. He was non-responsive. I grabbed my stethoscope and listened to his heart. The rate and rhythm were irregular. He was clearly having a heart attack. I shouted for an assistant in the clinic. I asked her to dial 911 and get an ambulance there as soon as possible. I elevated his head and began the first aid I had been taught many times.

I sat with Sheldon until the ambulance arrived. His vitals continued to be irregular, but he continued to breath. As the EMTs arrived, they loaded him in the ambulance. As they pulled out of the clinic, despite having the light on and the sirens blaring, a car nearly side swiped the ambulance.

I stood there in awe. My body trembled as the stress finally caught up. I paced around the parking lot for nearly a half an hour until my nerves were under control and I was able to return to work.

Somehow Sheldon survived the ordeal. I visited him that night in the Payson hospital. He was his normal self as we joked about how bad he had scared me.

He thanked me for helping him.

“It is a good thing you knew what to do,” he continued, “I am lucky you were there.”

If he only knew how uncomfortable I am in situations like this. It took several days for me to be able to return to normal life. The thought of seeing him in the alley with such large animals on either side of him still haunts me to this day.

Fortunately, no other heart attacks have occurred on my watch since that day.

I can quickly fix even the most gruesome lacerations on an animal without a second thought, but when it comes to people, Doc Bott is not the person you want at your side.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: My First Surgery
I was raised on a small farm in Castle Dale, UT. We raised Guernsey milk cows, Suffolk sheep and many varieties of chickens and pheasants. My daily chores included feeding the chickens and gathering the eggs.
One day after school, I walked into the barn that housed the chickens. The barn was divided into three equal rooms. The first room is where we would store stacked straw bales. The second and third rooms were where the chickens and pheasants were kept.
On this particular day, I found our calico cat nestled with her newborn kittens. She was lying right next to the straw stack, on the ground near the chicken coop door. There were seven in all. As an 8 year old, and still to this day, new babies of any kind are an exciting experience. I dropped down and began counting the tiny kittens. I was so thrilled! As I handled the small kittens, I noticed that something wasn’t quite right. The umbilical cord from one of kittens was wrapped tightly around a leg of each of the kittens. If I picked one kitten up, the entire litter would follow as if they were chained together. I tried to remove the cord with my fingers, but it was far too tight. Even as a little kid, I knew that something had to be done.
In Castle Dale at this time, we did not have a veterinarian. The only veterinary services available were on Thursdays when a veterinarian would travel from Richfield. It was early afternoon, so my dad was not going to be home from work for a couple of hours. I had to figure something out for myself.
I reached in my pocket and pulled out my Swiss Army knife. It was one that had a myriad of blades, nearly all of them never used, and a tooth pick and small set of tweezers in the handle. I opened the smallest cutting blade and bent down. I very carefully cut the umbilical cords from each of the kittens. I used some iodine to keep the procedure as clean as possible.
The procedure was a success. All of the kittens survived.
Fortunately, I no longer use my Swiss Army knife for surgeries. Although my surgical skills have been refined and perfected, I still have the curiosity and passion that that 8 year old displayed. I love being a veterinarian. The satisfaction I felt that day long ago is repeated every time I am able to help save a life.
I look back on my first surgical experience with fondness. It was one of the important milestones in my path to becoming who I am today.
And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM
Pictured is Dr. Bott with kittens in 1988

Often “the question” comes up during a routine appointment. Curiosity is naturally sparked with my response.

The question is, succinctly put, “Doc, what breed of dog bites you the most?”

The answer is unequivocally the chihuahua. Of the dozens of bites that I have received, a vast majority came from chihuahuas.

Chihuahuas are comical, entertaining, and loyal little dogs, absolutely brimming with personality – often a quirky and eccentric personality unmatched by any other breed.
Some of my sweetest patients are chihuahuas. They are affectionate and loving.

But every once in a while, a mean one comes along.

While a bite from a Chihuahua isn’t going to inflict the same damage as a bite from a larger dog like a pit bull or boxer, it can still leave a painful wound that’s prone to infection. There’s an old myth that a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s mouth, but this isn’t a true. Whenever a pet bites, there is significant risk of infection.

While Chihuahuas are not naturally more aggressive than any other breed, they seem to be prone to react with aggression out of fear. Veterinarians are often the target of such aggression, simply because dogs are fearful of unfamiliar people and situations.

As a recent graduate, I was learning how to diagnose, treat and cure the routine cases that present daily. I had only been a veterinarian for about a month when I learned my lesson.

It was a routine appointment. Annual vaccinations and a wellness exam were needed. As I entered the room, Chispa, sat on the table glaring at me. As I reached down to auscult the heart and lungs, Chispa absolutely went ballistic. Within 5 seconds, she had peed and soiled all over the table top. Instinctively, I reached for a muzzle. As I attempted to place the muzzle on her, she absolutely lost it.

Just like a loud clap of thunder that follows a flash of lightning; when I am bit by a dog, imprecations are sure to follow.

Chispa sunk her needle like teeth into my right hand and bit me again and again.

Before I could even mutter the phrase, “Oh S#*!”, this little devil had bitten me three times.

Her only goal seemed to be to inflict as much damage as possible to the man in a white coat that was reaching for her.

Blood poured down my hand. I sat stunned. I have fast reflexes; after all, I dodge bites and scratches on a daily basis.

What was different about this experience? Perhaps it was in the name. “Chispa ” is a Spanish word meaning “spark”. Certainly, the fiery personality and name fit this small canine.

The rapidity of the attack taught me a lesson. I am much more careful now when dealing with seemingly innocent small pets. I do my best to reduce the fear and anxiety that accompanies a visit to the veterinarian.

And I am especially careful with pets that have incendiary names such as Diablo, Fuego, Demonio and, believe it or not, Fluffy.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

In late September of 2011, a major typhoon hit the Philippines. Torrential rainfall flooded the streets and sustained winds exceeding 120 mph decimated everything in the path of the storm. Typhoon Pedring taught me an important lesson regarding the perils that Mother Nature can present.

I sat watching the sheets of rain falling down from the window of a small laboratory. I had spent the morning freezing water buffalo semen, an extensive process that takes several hours to complete. I made the decision to hurry and finish the job before heading back to the hotel. The storm was set to hit just about 4:00, just about the time the project would be complete. I thought it was worth the risk to just hurry and get things finished up. Little did I know that the massive storm was fast approaching and already bearing down on the small village.

As I peered out into the pouring rain, water quickly began to run down the streets. It was clear that the storm had arrived and that I had better get back to the hotel as soon as possible. I worried that perhaps I had made a foolish choice by remaining at the lab.

I flagged down a motorcycle taxi and gave him the address of the hotel. These taxis are popular in the Philippines. This unique form of transportation has a motorcycle in the front and two wheels in the back with a compartment containing a small seat that will hold two average sized Filipinos. My 6’2″ frame does not fit well in these taxis. I have to crouch down and lift my knees up to just fitting the seat. The ground clearance of the cab portion is only around 10 inches. The ride proved to be most uncomfortable.

As we headed down the street, the water continued to rise. The engine began to squeal as the driver desperately tried to maneuver through the fast moving water. The water poured through the open door and across the floor of the compartment I was riding in. There was no way I could readjust my position, as my knees were nearly touching my chest. All of the sudden, the raging water picked up the motorcycle taxi and carried it swiftly down the street. The driver began to panic, the tires were no longer touching the ground and we were floating in the wrong direction and had absolutely no control of our direction of travel. I was stuck and was absolutely helpless.

The taxi slammed against a cement railing along the side of a very large bridge. We were just a few feet away from plunging over the edge to certain death. Thankfully, the driver was able to get traction and maneuver the taxi out of the precarious situation and we safely continued on to the hotel. I arrived, soaking wet, in shock and very much grateful to be alive. The rain continued to pour down for the remainder of the day. Over 24 inches fell within a 24 hour period.

As soon as the storm passed, I boarded a flight from Manila en route to Utah via Nagoya, Japan. As we cruised at 30,000 feet just north of the Philippine Islands, severe turbulence began to toss our plane around. An unassuming passenger that was unbuckled was thrust so hard from his seat that his head hit the baggage compartment. It was clear that something was not right.

In the chaos, the pilot announced the following, “We are approaching Typhoon Pedring and if we continue on this course, this storm will rip this plane apart.” People could be heard screaming following this announcement. I couldn’t believe that the pilot would even suggest that the plane was in danger of coming apart. Just when things couldn’t possibly get worst, a lightning strike hit the plane. The damage was minimal, thankfully, and the pilot was able to change course and get us safely to Nagoya and then on to the USA.

Looking back now, I am grateful that the experienced pilot had the wisdom to know his own limitations along with the capacity of the airplane. His judgement, undoubtedly saved the lives of all on board.

In today’s society, there seems to be a misconception that quitting is failing.

We grow up categorizing each situation we encounter as being either a success or a failure.

Believe me, I’ve spent years of my life unwilling to quit things. Those who are stubborn will often go far — too far — to ensure it’s not a failure. But that is not always a smart choice. I submit that truly successful professionals often find that there is a time to reassess readjust, and if needed correct the course they are on.

Truly incredible individuals can vouch for this with stories of perseverance, resilience and success. I have also found that if you believe failure is the easy way out, quitting can often be far more difficult than continuing.

I recently read a book titled No Shortcuts to the Top. The book was written by Ed Viesturs. Ed has climbed Mount Everest six times and is the only American to have climbed all 14 of the world’s highest mountain peaks without the use of supplemental oxygen. Each of these mountains tower at least 26,000 feet above sea level.

On one climb Ed actually had to climb one mountain twice. The first time, he was forced to turn back back just 300 feet from the top as he did not feel that he could honestly claim the summit. In the pages of his book, he vividly describes fatal errors in judgment made by his fellow climbers as well as a few of his own close calls and gallant rescues.

Nothing in life comes easily. Success requires hard work. This path to success if filled with difficult choices, triumphs and even devastating failure. However, these failures are opportunistic pathways that, if they are navigated carefully, will lead to future success.

As Hesiod, the Greek poet so eloquently put, ‘Badness you can get easily, in quantity: the road is smooth, and it lies close by. But in front of excellence the immortal gods have put sweat, and long and steep is the way to it, and rough at first. But when you come to the top, then it is easy, even though it is hard.”

I learned a lesson the hard way on a rainy day in the Philippines. Since then, if my instincts are telling me something, I know it is best to trust them and listen.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Pictured is a view of a street during the severe flooding during Typhoon Pedring in the Philippines