comes up beside me. “She’s improving,” she says. “The new antibiotic has taken hold.”
I nod, and tears spring to my eyes. They’re tears of happiness, tears of relief. But they’re also tears of some unexplainable sadness.
At my final mask-making session, I still don’t know what kind of mask I want to wear. I leavethe wire framework of my mask lying unfinished on the table. I would like some more time to talk to Michaela, but my mother is right on time to pick me up, so there’s no chance to talk.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” I say to Mom as we drive home. “Promise you won’t be mad?”
She glances at me with a worried expression on her face. “I don’t like the sound of that, Sunita,” she says. “What’s happened?”
I tell her about how I freed the rats. “Oh, dear,” she says. “Sunita, how could you do such a thing? I suppose they fired you.”
“No. Julie was pretty nice about it, really. And we got the rats back. But I can’t do that kind of work. It’s not for me. I quit.”
My mother nods, keeping her eyes on the road.
We’re both quiet until I ask, “Would you tell Daddy for me?”
“We’ll do it together,” she says, which makes me feel a little better.
At home we find my father in his study. He looks up with a smile, but his smile fades when he sees our concerned expressions. “What is it?” he asks.
My mother and I sit in chairs by his desk. “Tell him, Sunita,” my mother says gently.
By the time I’m near the end of my story, my face is wet with tears. “I only did it because I thought it was right,” I say. “But I see now that it wasn’t.”
My father appears serious, but not that upset. “I’m proud that you followed your conscience,” he says. “But before you take a serious action like that, you must have all the facts. You can’t just jump in rashly, committing acts with serious consequences without considering all sides of the issue.”
“I know that now,” I say.
“Sunita has resigned from AVM,” my mother tells him.
“Clearly this work is too stressful for her,” he says. “So, at least we’ve learned that much.”
“Are you mad?” I ask.
He comes out from behind his desk and strokes my head. “Perhaps a little disappointed. But it’s your life. And these are the decisions you alone can make. No, I’m not mad. You’re growing up, Sunita.”
Chapter Eleven
A fter class the next day, I go to the clinic. “Mittens’ fever is back up a bit today,” Dr. Mac says as she tweezes a thorn from a puppy’s paw. “I just ran some blood tests on her. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning for the results.”
My shoulders sag with disappointment. “I thought she was finally getting better.”
“So did I. The tests should tell me what to do next,” she says. The dog in her lap squirms. “Hold him steady for me, please,” she requests.
I do as she asks. It’s as if I never left the clinic.
“Success,” Dr. Mac says happily as she holdsup the thorn in her tweezers. She looks at me intently. “How’s your internship at AVM coming?” she asks.
“It’s over,” I say, and I tell her about the white rats and how I had to go chase them down.
“It’s hard to know what’s right sometimes,” she says, swabbing the pup’s paw with alcohol.
Dr. Mac always seems so sure of herself. “Isn’t it clear to you?” I ask.
“Not always,” she admits. “When I was a veterinary intern, I wasn’t prepared for the fact that I would have to put some people’s pets to sleep. Oh, in my mind I understood that this would happen, but I wasn’t prepared for the way I’d feel emotionally. Still…I had to help owners make informed choices about relieving their pets’ suffering or continuing on with treatment that had little hope of success.”
“I guess that would be a hard choice,” I agree.
“Very hard.”
Then a frightening thought makes me cold all over. Did Dr. Mac just bring up the subject
I nod, and tears spring to my eyes. They’re tears of happiness, tears of relief. But they’re also tears of some unexplainable sadness.
At my final mask-making session, I still don’t know what kind of mask I want to wear. I leavethe wire framework of my mask lying unfinished on the table. I would like some more time to talk to Michaela, but my mother is right on time to pick me up, so there’s no chance to talk.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” I say to Mom as we drive home. “Promise you won’t be mad?”
She glances at me with a worried expression on her face. “I don’t like the sound of that, Sunita,” she says. “What’s happened?”
I tell her about how I freed the rats. “Oh, dear,” she says. “Sunita, how could you do such a thing? I suppose they fired you.”
“No. Julie was pretty nice about it, really. And we got the rats back. But I can’t do that kind of work. It’s not for me. I quit.”
My mother nods, keeping her eyes on the road.
We’re both quiet until I ask, “Would you tell Daddy for me?”
“We’ll do it together,” she says, which makes me feel a little better.
At home we find my father in his study. He looks up with a smile, but his smile fades when he sees our concerned expressions. “What is it?” he asks.
My mother and I sit in chairs by his desk. “Tell him, Sunita,” my mother says gently.
By the time I’m near the end of my story, my face is wet with tears. “I only did it because I thought it was right,” I say. “But I see now that it wasn’t.”
My father appears serious, but not that upset. “I’m proud that you followed your conscience,” he says. “But before you take a serious action like that, you must have all the facts. You can’t just jump in rashly, committing acts with serious consequences without considering all sides of the issue.”
“I know that now,” I say.
“Sunita has resigned from AVM,” my mother tells him.
“Clearly this work is too stressful for her,” he says. “So, at least we’ve learned that much.”
“Are you mad?” I ask.
He comes out from behind his desk and strokes my head. “Perhaps a little disappointed. But it’s your life. And these are the decisions you alone can make. No, I’m not mad. You’re growing up, Sunita.”
Chapter Eleven
A fter class the next day, I go to the clinic. “Mittens’ fever is back up a bit today,” Dr. Mac says as she tweezes a thorn from a puppy’s paw. “I just ran some blood tests on her. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning for the results.”
My shoulders sag with disappointment. “I thought she was finally getting better.”
“So did I. The tests should tell me what to do next,” she says. The dog in her lap squirms. “Hold him steady for me, please,” she requests.
I do as she asks. It’s as if I never left the clinic.
“Success,” Dr. Mac says happily as she holdsup the thorn in her tweezers. She looks at me intently. “How’s your internship at AVM coming?” she asks.
“It’s over,” I say, and I tell her about the white rats and how I had to go chase them down.
“It’s hard to know what’s right sometimes,” she says, swabbing the pup’s paw with alcohol.
Dr. Mac always seems so sure of herself. “Isn’t it clear to you?” I ask.
“Not always,” she admits. “When I was a veterinary intern, I wasn’t prepared for the fact that I would have to put some people’s pets to sleep. Oh, in my mind I understood that this would happen, but I wasn’t prepared for the way I’d feel emotionally. Still…I had to help owners make informed choices about relieving their pets’ suffering or continuing on with treatment that had little hope of success.”
“I guess that would be a hard choice,” I agree.
“Very hard.”
Then a frightening thought makes me cold all over. Did Dr. Mac just bring up the subject
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