Hammy the hamster

I have spent my life working with animals, mostly dogs. However, occasionally a story from the past comes to mind, and this is one of my favourites. So please forgive me as I indulge myself by relating this tale.

It doesn’t involve a dog, but instead, a hamster, his very young schoolboy owner, an exceptionally talented veterinary surgeon, a dedicated team of veterinary nurses and some responsible parents determined that their son learn that in life, we will all face challenges that have to be faced along with the cost.

This all took place in the ‘60s when I was working as a veterinary nurse.

Eight-year-old Jonathon arrived at Saturday morning surgery along with his parents and Hammy, the hamster. The problem was obvious. An exercise wheel had been fitted to his cage, but unfortunately, it had a design fault. Fortunately, this particular one was withdrawn soon after the event, but Hammy suffered the consequence. A broken leg. It stuck out at an oblique angle and would require surgery.

The veterinary surgeon that day was one Norman Naysmith. He was a tall man, kindly, with a big bushy beard. As the diagnosis was given, we all exchanged glances. In those days, the usual way to anaesthetize hamsters was to put them in a jam jar with a piece of cotton wool soaked in ether. Very effective to induce sleep, but unfortunately, survival was a bit of a hit-or-miss affair. The whole procedure was primitive and decidedly unscientific, but in the absence of any alternative, little choice was available.

A tricky operation

It was explained to Jonathon and his parents that this would be extremely difficult, but if they left Hammy with us, “we would do the best we could.”

A tearful Jonathon and his mother left, but the father held back. The conversation went something along these lines.

Father. “I am well aware that there may be a negative outcome to this, am I correct?”

Vet “You are correct, sir, but I assure you we will do our best.”

Father. “We will prepare our son Jonathan for what is likely to happen, and we will cover any costs incurred.”

Vet. “We will ring you later with any news.”

With morning surgery over, the problem of what to do with Hammy the hamster needed to be addressed. Norman, like all veterinary surgeons at the time, hated having to anesthetise small animals like rabbits, guinea pigs and hamsters as those jars of varying sizes that lay in a cupboard were viewed with distaste as whilst most small animals survived, the mortality rate was high.

On duty that day was head nurse Jenny and me. As it happened, our colleague Sally had dropped in to arrange a girls’ night out with Jenny.

I was sent to the cupboard to select the appropriate size jar, and on my return to the operating room, the following conversation was taking place.

“Jenny, we both know that this may not have a happy ending if we do the “ether in the jar” routine. However, we do have this new anaesthetic machine, and I was wondering whether we can calibrate the thing so we can use it for other things apart from cats and dogs.”

Jenny was a qualified Registered Animal Nursing Auxiliary (RANA), highly experienced and was a calming influence on all of us.

The practice was always busy as we were the first port of call for the RSPCA when cruelty cases needed the opinion of a veterinary surgeon and the police when accidents occurred, and a head nurse with an unflustered approach was essential. Jenny always appeared to take two or three seconds to absorb the consequences of a decision. At first, I thought it was hesitancy, but I rapidly realised that this momentary delay was her way of thinking ahead so any action didn’t result in an adverse outcome for the patient.

Decision time

She stood there for a moment, weighing up the feasibility of the proposal.

“Well, it’s possible, I guess, but do we have time? That leg needs to come off.”

Norman, the veterinary surgeon and Jenny, the head nurse, stared at each other for another couple of seconds. Jenny nodded imperceptibly, Norman grinned, and the decision was made.

Now it should be understood, and I have confessed before that my boss, the redoubtable Josephine Rickards BVM MRCVS, didn’t employ me for my academic ability; in fact, she was heard to say that I was decidedly challenged in that department. However, she qualified that statement with the extremely complementary comment of – “if it has hair and four legs, Ray can handle it.” So when it came to the workings of the anaesthetic machine, I was never going to be involved, but the need for something to be used as a face mask was given to me.

I scoured the drug cupboard for something that could be hurriedly adapted as a face mask and finally spotted an antibiotic powder dispenser. It was concertina in shape and was used for sending antibiotic powder directly into wounds. So I cut off the end with a scalpel so that it fitted snugly over Hammy’s face, and ran a long narrow strip of electrical rape over the pipe that delivered the powder so that it fitted into the tube that delivered the anaesthetic from the machine.

While I did this, Norman and Jenny, ably assisted by Sally, worked out the technicalities of reducing the machine’s output.

Finally, we were ready.

After the preparations, the actual operation was carried out at lightning speed. The damaged leg was removed, and the stump cauterized.

As we waited for Hammy to recover, Norman sat and was deep in thought.

“Problem,” I asked.

“Well,” he said

“Think on it. One vet, three vet nurses, the use of a very expensive anaesthetic machine, the entire contents of a whole antibiotic dispenser thrown away and the use of a cauterising machine. All for a hamster. What price do I put on this? Hell, they could go and buy a shop full of hamsters for this sort of money.”

I nodded my assent, but we agreed that a shop full of hamsters wouldn’t replace Hammy the hamster.

“You see, if this was some kid from a council estate, we would do it for free, but I can’t justify a free one here. Their car alone would take my salary for the next two years, and I am sure the family wouldn’t expect it.”

Sally’s contribution was, “Well, I’m off duty, so I’m free!”

Thinking back on it, even a consultation was 10 shillings.

Payment required

I left Norman to wrestle with his financial conundrum, rang the parents of Jonathon and informed them that Hammy the hamster had come through his operation successfully and they could collect him in an hour or so.

Having informed them that in accordance with the established practice at the time, they would receive an account at the end of the month, the boy’s father requested to speak to the veterinary surgeon who had carried out the procedure.

Norman informed us that Jonathon would be coming into the surgery by himself to collect Hammy the hamster and would “pay for the operation” with his pocket money!

Sure enough, at the appointed hour, Jonathon was ushered into the surgery and was presented with a rather lively Hammy who showed no sign of distress from his recent escapade. Having received very detailed instructions as to how Hammy the hamster was to be cared for both in the short and long term, the subject of payment arose. I should at this point out that decades later, I still have no idea what the bill was that Jonathon’s parents finally received, but it was their intention that their son grew up knowing that despite their obvious wealth, he understood the value of money and paid his way.

Norman leaned across the table and spoke to Jonathon.

“Well, young man, I believe that you are paying for this operation.”

“Yes, sir”

“And how much have you brought?”

“All my pocket money that I have saved, sir”

“And how much is that?”

“Three shillings and four pence, sir.”

I waited with bated breath as I recalled Norman’s words.

One veterinary surgeon, three nurses, one very expensive brand-new operating machine, an entire antibiotic dispenser and one cauterising machine. What price do I put on this?

“I’m sure you appreciate that this was a very complex operation, young man?”

“Yes, sir”

“That will be one shilling and eleven pence!!”