Probably by now you've figured out that I don't have rabies. Or that at least my rabies hasn't appeared yet--they say it can incubate for years, and after clinical signs appear, there's no cure. So put simply, I am a potential walking vector for the Lyssavirus, a potential seething mass of replicating invisible killers, a potential Patient One for the rabies outbreak that will end the world.

Or not.

What I CERTAINLY am is very near the end of my first set of classes at San Juan, stressed out by the amount of written work I need to do, stressed out by the amount of practical work I have to do, and positively demented over the idea that the VTNE will grab me by my spleen and swing me over its head. (The VTNE is the test I have to pass to get my license, and it is very hard, which I know because I have some study guides, and even though I've been working on this forever, I can look at the questions and feel as though I'm back in 9th grade English class, staring at sentences to be diagrammed, and not giving a shit.) But this time, I give a HUGE shit! (Heh!) And I still feel like a deer in the headlights. And that's only glancing through the study guide! What'll it feel like when I sit down at a table with the test in front of me and no Wikipedia to turn to? I'll tell you what it'll feel like--it'll feel like a mouthful of farts, that's what. Not good.

The frustration inherent in learning new stuff is nuts. Last week, I drove IVs into dogs with one hand tied behind my back. Today? A chihuahua who screamed like a girl while I tried to place a catheter and a pug with skin like rhinoceros leather pounded me into the dirt like a bug. So I'm going back tomorrow to try three more times! And then on Friday to try three MORE times! Take THAT, skinny-armed, leather-skinned, catheter-burring lack of confidence!

So now all I have to do is cram about 6 weeks of practical stuff into a week and a half, and I'm all set! Sounds just like me, doesn't it? I will never change. Then again, my ability to procrastinate is a large part of my charm. (Isn't it?)

Rhino skin!

Rabies Watch, 2009

Today is Day 3 of a mandatory 10-day rabies quarantine for a sweet little stripey gray cat at our hospital. In Texas, any animal that bites somebody MUST be under rabies quarantine, regardless of vaccination history. This sweet little cat with the great big chew-marks on her back bit MY thumb on Friday afternoon.

Naturally, it was all my fault. One of the doctors asked me to get her from her cage to be examined. "No problemo!" I say in my head, along with some jaunty superhero music, and I go to the cage where she immediately sees me and starts growling and hissing. "Okay!" thinks the Big Superhero Tech! "I'll throw a towel over her!" Throwing a towel over a growling, hissing cat usually actually works--at least to get it picked up. The yowling/spitting/swiping keeps on going, but you're protected by a nice loopy layer of terrycloth. (!) Whoosh goes the towel and then I try to grab her, at which point she projected her jaws out of her mouth like the monster in Aliens and bit my thumb. And you know what? Cats have mouths full of GIANT NEEDLES! Giant, hot bacteria-laden, festering needles of the Apocalypse, and I think they may also be serrated. And hollow, to better relieve you of your life's blood. And two of them were in my thumb!

Shoving all thoughts and worries that my thumb was being amputated, I got the cat to the table, and then casually mentioned I'd been bitten. There was a little bit of blood, but I wasn't all that concerned about it, because even though I joke about my false bravado at the hospital, I really don't worry all that much about stuff like poop and vomit and anal gland leavings and blood. Even mine. (Blood, that is. If any of that other stuff was coming out of me at work, well. . . )

Ever see a movie or television show where one character says something, and everything around them just stops? As soon as I mentioned being bitten, there was the sound of a needle across a vinyl record (remember those?!) and everyone looks at me. Sheeeeeeeit.

To save a lot of explaining, in the end I found that cats basically have mouths like. . . like. . . what has a grosser and more disgusting mouth than a cat? Is there a shit- and toxic sludge- and maggot-eating member of the animal kingdom? Because a cat's mouth is worse than that. Up to 80% of all cat bites become infected, and that's because cats just might come from hell. (I can't be sure of that, but I have my suspicions.) I'm just sayin'.

So said cat is now incarcerated in our hospital, and I had to get a tetanus shot yesterday, which sort of hurt worse than the original bite. Oh, the needle going in didn't hurt at all--it was the lingering throbbing muscle pain I'm talking about. And really--CATS DON'T SPREAD TETANUS! Any time your skin gets broken and a doctor gets involved, there's a tetanus shot. Fell off your bike and skinned your knee? Tetanus shot! Cut your hand while fishing? Tetanus shot! Foaming butthole? Is there a bleeding fissure there? Tetanus shot!

This little cat, when I got there today, is possibly one of the sweetest cats I've met, and the reason she gnawed on my Friday was because she was in searing pain and then I went and tried to manhandle her. She warned me. Any worries I may have had about rabies are pretty much gone--this is not a rabid cat. Unless rabies makes cats purr and rub up their faces on your hand over and over and over. . . and if that's what it did, it wouldn't be that big a deal to get, would it?

So I'm pretty sure I don't have rabies. However! If, within the next three or four months you see me staggering around and foaming out of any orifice whatsoever? Run away.