Rolly Poly Doctor

I have almost outgrown my lab coats. Jen adapted the song from Tommy Boy (it was Tommy Boy, right?) at one point last year and I'm doing a lot of singing "Fat girl in a little coat," when I'm at work. Getting up and down from the floor with the big dogs is also becoming quite tricky. Thank the powers that be for exam room tables so that I haul myself off of the floor. That said, I have to admit that I'm getting a bit tired of the intact male caution dog over 100 pound emergencies that seem to be coming my way at least once a week. I'm pregnant. I can't bend. I can't move fast. I am as a rule our practice's biggest income generator (pretty good for having not performed surgery since September) and am valuable at least financially. Perhaps it might be best to refer the 5:45pm 130 pound intact male rottweiler that hasn't seen a vet (or a rabies vaccine) for 4 years and will bite the owner to the emergency clinic that opens in 15 minutes for his hip that luxated 2 days ago. That one was actually a hypothetical combination of several of these emergencies. Of course, once they walk in the door I don't have the ovarios (given that I'm pregnant I can't pretend to be ballsy) to say no because I feel bad about denying them some help. I'd like to establish some kind of a baseline rule, but given that I am the only doctor Thursday and Friday afternoons I'd feel bad. Fortunately, I've only gotten bitten once and that dog didn't break the skin. I have embraced sedation much more enthusiastically, though and was very pleased that this week's 112 pound intact male with porcupine quills in his face liked his sedative quite well. Generally, as worked up as I get knowing that these are coming in the door, I feel so much happier once everything has been dealt with and we all have our fingers, backs and general sanity intact. I think that I will establish those ground rules come next month, though, because I'm not getting any smaller any time soon.