Free It's a Vet's Life: by Cathy Woodman Page B

treatment-wise?’
    ‘It will mean daily insulin injections, and a strict diet and exercise regime, but you have a vet nurse to do all of that for you, and we’re just around the corner if you need any help or advice.’
    ‘Thanks, Maz.’ Bridget pauses. ‘Shannon’s been telling me that you’re getting married. I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, but I’d be more than happy to talk flowers with you – even if you don’t choose to order them from me. I can advise you about winter blooms and foliage, and give you an idea of whether or not you’re getting a good deal. You’ve been so kind to Shannon … and Daisy. It would be a pleasure.’
    ‘Actually, I haven’t thought about flowers yet,’ I admit. ‘I’m not terribly organised. Emma and Frances have already decided what I should have, but I’d prefer to make my own choices. Do I have to book an appointment, or just drop in?’
    ‘Why don’t you drop in one night after work when I’m not busy in the shop. Come in for a glass of wine and nibbles.’
    ‘Thanks. That would be great.’ That will be something else to tick off the list.
    ‘Tonight then?’
    ‘A day next week would suit me better, if that’s all right.’
    ‘We’re back,’ Shannon interrupts, Daisy’s claws tapping along the floor behind her. ‘Success!’ She waves a pot of dog wee at me – with the lid on, I hasten to add. I test it quickly for glucose. It’s positive.
    ‘So, Daisy has diabetes,’ says Shannon.
    ‘We’ll run the blood through the lab to check there’s nothing else going on,’ I say. ‘You can get that done before you go home, can’t you, Shannon? Then I suggest we book Daisy in for a twenty-minute appointment first thing tomorrow morning. If my nine o’clock is booked already, come in for twenty to.’ I hesitate. ‘I’m not planning to give Daisy anything now – we need to get her into a routine. She’s going to have to come in every day until we get her condition stabilised.’
    ‘What about Sunday?’ says Shannon. ‘We don’t have a surgery on a Sunday?’
    ‘Will can see her. He’ll arrange a mutually convenient time.’
    ‘But …’ Shannon hesitates. I know what she’s thinking. Does Will know what he’s doing?
    ‘I’ll have a word with him and let him know where we’re at.’
    ‘Thanks, Maz,’ Shannon says, apparently reassured.
    ‘Um, what are the signs of diabetes?’ says Bridget.
    ‘Polydipsia – that’s drinking lots,’ says Shannon, ‘along with weeing lots and eating lots.’ She smiles. ‘You see, I have been revising. I do know something.’
    ‘So, it’s the same in dogs as it is in humans?’ says Bridget.
    ‘Pretty much so,’ I say.
    ‘It sounds … What happens if you don’t do anything about it?’
    ‘You die,’ I say, putting it bluntly. ‘Eventually, the blood sugar level goes up so high that the body can no longer cope. The uncontrolled diabetic collapses, has fits, then goes into a coma, and that’s it.’
    ‘You are going to let Maz treat her, aren’t you, Mum?’ Shannon says, wide-eyed with concern. ‘You aren’t going to let her die?’
    ‘I shan’t let her die,’ Bridget sighs. ‘I’d better make that appointment.’
    ‘I wish you’d look after yourself like you do the dogs,’ Shannon says quietly. ‘I can bring Daisy in tomorrow morning so you can see the doctor before you open the shop.’
    Bridget doesn’t respond. From her expression, I don’t think she’s being difficult. I think she’s scared.
    ‘Please, Mum,’ Shannon says. ‘For me?’
    ‘Oh, all right. For you,’ Bridget says eventually. ‘Yes, I’ll have a chat with Dr Mackie.’ Shannon glances at me, her face etched with relief.
    Bridget has the last word though. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with me.’
     
    When I picture the fairy-tale dress, it is a blurry silhouette of off-white silk. I really don’t know what I’m looking for. I hope Emma has a better idea than I do. She gave me some