In anatomy, we have the ongoing debate about whether we need to use the anatomical names for bones or the “common” equivalent. Though we are examined only on the anatomical terms, how important is it to be aware of the others?
Credit: Owain Davies
“In the distal limb, we have the third metacarpal bone, proximal, middle and distal phalanges and the proximal and distal sesamoids.”
Imagine saying that to a horsey client. You’d probably receive a blank look.
Horsey translation: “Cannon bone, long pastern bone, short pastern bone, pedal bone, navicular bone and sesamoids.”
Now the client more than likely has a rough idea of what you’re going on about.
The importance of being able to relate the different terms is not only essential to the client-vet relationship, but also to your credibility. If someone were to ask about swelling around the cannon bone, and you only know it as the third metacarpal, things become somewhat awkward.
Perhaps it comes down to experience. Those of us from horsey backgrounds take things like that for granted. But it’s not just names of bones. I’m sure during our clinical years, we will learn about equine exertional rhabdomyolysis. Again, a horse owner probably won’t have a clue what that is. Mention azoturia, tying up or Monday morning disease, and you’re now on the same page.
Although anatomical names are “correct”, I feel that the importance of common names is paramount, and this should be emphasised more to us as students.
As vet students, welfare is always being rammed down our throats – and rightly so (even after only two weeks of first year). As future veterinary professionals it will be part of our job to ensure the welfare of the animals entrusted to our care.
Deciding what is “the right thing” to do can often be tricky, as there is never a straight black and white answer. Knowing whether an animal’s welfare is at risk is often down to individual opinion and, therefore, relies on experience.
There is a famous quotation: “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”
I believe this applies to evaluating welfare. Often, from the outside, without understanding the reasons behind particular procedures or practices, it’s easy to think from a first impression that something is cruel or unnecessary. But, in reality, there is usually a good reason for these practices, particularly in the production industry.
In one welfare lecture, we were made to believe that keeping sows in farrowing crates was cruel. The sow has little room to lie down, she can’t turn round and may bite the bars of the crate in frustration, resulting in mouth sores. But what about the piglets she is about to farrow? It is their welfare that is protected by keeping her in the crate. The crate prevents her rolling on them, allowing them to suckle without the danger of getting squashed. What good is giving a sow more room if it results in half a litter of dead piglets?
A humane twitch: a useful aid for difficult horses, especially when clipping around horse’s head and performing other ‘frightening’ tasks.
On the same note, coming from a pig farming background, I have seen pigs kept in pens of about five, instead of staying in the open pen, opting themselves to lie in the feeding crates if they’ve been left open (not at feeding time). Confining a pig to a small space may seem cruel from the outside, but is it really, when the pigs will lie in feeding crates out of choice, probably to keep cool and avoid fighting with the others in the pen?
Another example of a misunderstood practice is twitching a horse. Twitches may be made of rope or metal, and can look horrific when being used, since they are twisted tightly around the horse’s muzzle.
An outsider would not understand that the twitch is designed to pinpoint a pressure point that induces release of endorphins. Consequently, this calms the horse and is a very useful technique when the horse is being difficult to handle during clipping or other veterinary procedures, and avoids the use of sedatives.
Assessment of welfare is very much based on individual opinion. Personally, I have had little experience with dairy farming so might at first think that some procedures are cruel when I set out on EMS in the summer. But it’s important to remember to stand back and understand the reasoning behind the actions of those who handle the animals every day before prejudging an establishment based on what you see or think you are seeing to begin with.
I think it’s fair to say I have a less than conventional pre-veterinary school story. In early 2011, after years of working hard at school, gathering experience at different animal establishments and doing regular work experience at a nearby practice, I finally received an offer for veterinary school.
Student blogger Jordan Sinclair.
All I had to do was get the right grades in my final A-Level exams that summer. Or so I thought. In March, a horse I’d been exercising had other ideas.
One moment I was mounting in a car park at a showjumping competition; the next thing I knew, I was waking up in hospital 10 days later.
Involuntary gap year
Despite 12 broken ribs, a punctured lung, a collapsed lung, a broken clavicle and nerve damage, I was still determined to go to the University of Glasgow that year. After a month, I came out of hospital and soon realised I couldn’t fight the sleepy side effects of the morphine long enough to pick up a book, let alone try to catch up with the schoolwork I’d missed.
Glasgow were fantastic – I remember mum being on the phone trying to explain the situation, while I tried to gauge the response from half the conversation. They would not only allow me to defer, but told her I needed to, in order to guarantee full physical fitness for the start of the course.
So what did I do with my involuntary gap year? I spent quite a lot of it recovering. The Air Ambulance Service saved my life by operating at the scene of the accident, and since it is a charity, I started volunteering and fund-raising for it.
When I was well enough, I rode again. Over Christmas, I visited family in Australia and, while I wasn’t allowed to scuba dive due to the previously collapsed lung, nothing was stopping me snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef. I then returned to school to finish my A-Levels.
The long journey begins
Finally, after seeing my friends go through it the previous year, results day came. And so began the mad rush to kit up for veterinary school; books, wellies, overalls and goodness knows what else were gathered up and rammed into the car. Unfortunately, my horse wouldn’t fit in the boot, and I heard cats weren’t permitted in halls. So, petless and not knowing what to expect, I started the long journey north.
I thought A-levels were hard; veterinary school is a whole new ball game. You know it’s not going to be easy when even working out your timetable is almost impossible. It was equally daunting to see the proportions of internationals and postgraduates who all seemed to know everything compared to us Brits, who were fresh(ish) out of school.
One moment I was at a showjumping competition, the next I was waking up in hospital.
Anatomy was like learning a new language, with hundreds of obscure words being thrown at you in one lecture; in a whole sentence, the only recognisable words could be “the” or “and”.
Dissections took some getting used to, when you’ve only ever observed surgery and never actually made contact with a cadaver before. However, after a couple of weeks you can actually visualise where everything is and things start to slot into place.
A whole new world
For those not from farming backgrounds (I’m not sure what I consider myself – my horses were kept on a pig farm), husbandry was a whole new world. We all have varying degrees of experience in some area of farming or animal care, otherwise we wouldn’t be here, but trying to learn a lifetimes worth of experience in keeping sheep from someone in six hours seemed crazy. Now, it’s easy to see the importance of preclinical EMS – you can’t learn everything from a book. Though it is good to take a break from bookwork and head out to the uni farm for handling sessions every so often.
After my riding accident, I was given a CD with all of my radiographs and CT scan pictures on. Although the idea of having my own x-rays was novel, aside from seeing the obvious snap in the collar bone, they meant very little. After being shown an example of a radiograph showing the collapsed lung in a dog in the first couple of weeks at Glasgow, I went back to my stashed away x-rays. To my delight, I could see things more clearly, although did find it odd being able to understand how smashed up my insides had been. So far, the CT pictures still remain a mystery though.
I’m not sure if the beginning of vet school is what I expected or not. In some respects, it seems very real now, with professionalism being drummed into us from the outset. And in others, it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel from here.
