The very best complimentWhen making my SICU evening rounds, I always plan to spend a little more time with the patient in bed 13. She has a tracheostomy and can't talk, but she communicates (albeit slowly) by writing cursive in her notebook. I like her -- she's a peppy old lady, a former veterinarian who worked with one of the 2007 Nobel Laureates in Physiology or Medicine. We discussed her medical progress, her physical therapy sessions, her anticoagulation, and her continued dependence for frequent respiratory therapy. She wrote her notebook: I enjoy talking with you. You take the time to listen to me. "Well, thank you. I try my best. It's sort of what doctors are supposed to do." Not all M.D.'s like to listen to us D.V.M. 'horse doctors.' "Really? I hadn't really thought of that before. I have all the respect in the world for you horse doctors, especially after the Barbaro thing." Barbaro, very publicized. But once horse get laminitis, you have to put it down. "Uh...yeah. I'm not really sure what laminitis is, but I'm pretty I didn't learn about it in med school, so I don't think it's a human thing." Laminitis -- only in hoofed animals. "Ahh, OK. Hmm, I learn something new every day." We D.V.M.'s have treatment modality that M.D.'s don't have. Then she drew an arrow from her final sentence to the phrase she had written previously: "Put it down." I chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you're not a hoofed animal. And I'm glad you don't have laminitis. Otherwise, I'm told, I'd have to put you down." | 
