Chief of Staff Infections: Top Corner Rod Hockey

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Editor: I am really trying to find the story of the Misplaced Mississippi Rastas for my column but coming up short...I don't really intend for you to print this one, I'm not really sure if its consistent with the vibe of the zine and the image I'm trying to cultivate as COSI, you decide. I really just wrote this so I wouldn't ever forget this dog Bullet and thought you might want to hear it being a fellow connoisseur of dog drool. Its not an argument for or against euthanasia, its just an event that happened this morning... (actually that might just serve as a good intro!, maybe insert a link to an MP3 of the song referenced in the story too... Willie Nelson and Johhny Cash do a good version but the one referenced below was even older, more minimalist and pure).

Last week I received five thank you letters at my hospital. They weren't for curing the sick, or for finding homes for the abandoned, or for saving an animal's life: they were thank you letters for helping end the lives of peoples' suffering pets.

The one that I recall the clearest was a 7 year old male St. Bernard named Bullet. Bullet had a 24 hour history of acute onset hindlimb paralysis. An x-ray showed that he had a dramatic bone tumor along his vertebrae which was now impinging on his spinal cord and causing the painful loss of function in his legs. This was not a tumor that would respond to surgery or chemotherapy, it was a malignant cancer with a grave prognosis. The owner, a nurse, followed very clearly my discussion of the circumstances and limited treatment options. After several more dry-erase drawings of spinal cord anatomy and much deliberation she made a tough but compassionate decision: I would help end Bullet's life and suffering with an intravenous overdose of a potent barbiturate.

Bullet lay on his side nearly completely paralyzed from the waist down on a large comforter on my exam room floor. Nearly completely paralyzed because he still occasionally wagged his large tail as I placed the turnicate around his forearm and reassured him and his owner. These procedures are somewhat easier when dealing with owners who are in health professions or otherwise enlightened because they are relatively familiar with the concepts of intravenous injections, pharmacology, etc. I explained that we would take things a step at a time and my first objective was to locate an adequate vein on the forearm in which to administer the injection. Bullet's vein was clearly visible almost instantly (evidence of good blood pressure). The owner noticed this too and I said "He is still a strong boy with a strong heart " and this is when she really started to cry. I delicately entered the vein with my needle and quickly saw the hallmark flash of blood in the syringe indicating that I surely was in the vein.

Prior to beginning the procedure I had almost decided to turn off the public radio program which had been broadcasting really eclectic music all morning and what happened next made me glad that I hadn't. As I again reassured Bullet and his owner, the station played the coolest, most haunting old cowboy song "Ghost Riders on the Storm". I could sense that the owner was aware of the dramatic and visually stirring song filling the room which somehow seemed to get even louder as I began to administer Bullet's injection. She was really in tears at this point and I said "They are playing him a good song, this is a big boy's song, Bullet's a big boy- he's a good boy". Man I swear you could literally visualize a pack of wild horses riding into the clouds, their riders dead in a gunfight...and to this music Bullet took his long and final deep breath.

No superfluous staff in the room, no inexperienced and painful poking for a vein, no retracting the arm in fear as the odd feeling liquid enters the circulation, no underdosage or protracted effects; just a smooth, nobel, and very emotionally eventful passing from this life.

Who is Dr. Brad? Contact Dr. Brad.