Call the Vet

‘If you could, that would be great.’

‘What size?’ she asks and I tell her ‘2–0’, a size I feel comfortable with.

‘Thank you so much. I’m Jeremy and this is Mr Fogle,’ the rider says to the nurse.

‘Hi, I’m Nicole,’ she replies with such cute dimples in such rosy, soft cheeks that I forget about Euripides. I hadn’t been on a date since I started working at Pont Street. My last date was with an American girl whom I met while working at the zoo. She’d come over to talk while I was examining a rhea, a South American ostrich-like bird that had a lolly stick stuck in its mouth, and asked me out. When she kissed me goodbye the following morning she said, ‘You’re cute. You’re fun, but you need to be more assertive. If you don’t ask, you don’t get.’ (But I did get, I thought at the time.)

Minutes later, desirable, shiny-haired, well-formed Nicole is back.

‘This is what we use,’ she says, and hands me a packet labelled ‘Dexon’. ‘It’s absorbable, with swaged needles.’†

Nicole strips open the outer packaging and inside is further packaging. When I tear this open there is twelve inches of suture material, with a small, attached needle. I grasp the needle with my needle holders and push it through the horse’s skin. It feels like putting a warm knife in soft butter – no resistance at all, and Euripides doesn’t flinch. Using mattress sutures, each package of Dexon stitches no more than three inches, but Nicole is there, smiling, radiating hormone, peeling open the outer packaging each time she sees I need more material.

‘If it’s okay with you, I’m going to remove that little pellet of skin at the edge of the tear,’ I tell Jeremy. ‘I think it’s a skin melanoma.’

‘That sound’s bad!’ he says.

‘Not as bad as they are in us. Melanomas are pretty common in grey horses as they get older. Usually around the bum. If you see one and it’s easy to remove, it’s best to remove it.’

‘Would you like some formalin?’ Nicole asks.

‘Yes, please, if you have any,’ and she asks one of the other nurses to get some while she continues to hand me more Dexon. Her hands are perfection. I continue to tidy the edges of the wound and place tension-bearing mattress sutures.

‘Under the circumstances, your horse has a good name,’ I comment to Jeremy as I place more stitches.

‘Why is that?’ he asks.

‘Well, your horse gets back to his stables, the Italian groom goes over to sponge him down, looks at his shoulder and says, “Euripides?”’

I’m still the smart alec.

‘Rather good that,’ Jeremy replies.

In less than fifteen minutes, the wound is closed and Euripides looks rather good too. And my lungs are still clear.

‘That’s wonderful suture material,’ I say to Nicole as I pack away my instruments. ‘I’ll tell my boss about it.’

‘The surgeons here are always opening the outers but not using it,’ she says. ‘I’m supposed to throw it out, but that’s such a waste so I keep it. The material is still sterile inside the inner packaging. I’ve got hundreds of packets. Do you want some?’

I want to say, ‘I want some of you.’ But instead I say, ‘Yes, please,’ and Nicole disappears through the emergency entrance to St George’s. I decide that when she returns, I’ll ask her out.

‘That was excellent work, Bruce. I very much appreciate what you have done for Euripides. Will you walk with us back to the stables?’

‘Yes, but the nurse is getting something,’ and as I speak, delectable Nicole returns through the hospital door with a shopping bag bulging with Dexon packets.

‘Nicole, I don’t know how I could have managed without you,’ chirps Jeremy. ‘You are Euripides’ guardian angel. If you are free this evening, would you like to join me for a glass of champagne at the Grenadier?’

Before I can say anything, Nicole accepts smooth Jeremy’s invitation. I envy his utter ease with women. After a few more thank yous to those who had helped, Jeremy, Euripides and I walk up the mews by the side of the hospital to the stables.

‘Jeremy, I’ve learned something today,’ I say as we arrive and one of the stable cats comes over to greet us.

What I want to say is, ‘What I’ve learned is that my last date was right. I have to be more assertive, like you,’ but I find that too difficult. I find talking about feelings or emotions too difficult. I still do. That might be why I feel so comfortable with animals. We intuitively understand each other’s feelings without having to put them into words.

‘What I’ve learned,’ I say, ‘is that I’m allergic to horses in their stables but seem to cope pretty well if they’re in fresh air.’

‘Why not go riding, then?’ Jeremy suggests. ‘You might get less sensitive to them. Miss Blum charges £2 an hour, and now that you know him you can ride Euripides if you like.’

‘I might just do that,’ I reply.

And do something about my appearance too, I think but don’t say.

* A brand of povidone-iodine.

† A swaged needle is attached to suture material without the need of an eye to thread the suture material through. It can also be called an atraumatic needle.

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