Personal Account: Sports injury of a guide-dog
2005; Elsevier BV; Volume: 366; Linguagem: Inglês
10.1016/s0140-6736(05)67859-2
ISSN1474-547X
Autores Tópico(s)Traumatic Ocular and Foreign Body Injuries
ResumoI cannot recall the moment that the injury occurred, although doubtless it was on that amazing summer afternoon spent tearing around the pebble beach at Pevensey Bay, on England's south coast. My master had taken me down there to meet his cycling friend and owner of Ruby, a ravishing collie crossbreed. I had met her before, but had forgotten what a feisty girl she was. We spent hours chasing each other and daring ourselves to run into the choppy and chilly waters of the English Channel. My master and I took an evening train back to London, and headed to a friend's party rather than going straight home (which I would have preferred, feeling tired and thirsty after the salty sea water). As I guided master off the train, I noticed some stiffness and soreness in my right front leg. Fortunately, master wanted a taxi, so I happily guided us to the rank outside the station. At the party, I dozed on a comfortable rug while master and his friends ate, drank, and became quite merry. Getting up on Sunday morning was a shock—my right front leg collapsed under my weight, so I had to hop around on three legs. My master's wife took me out for a morning walk and soon realised that something was badly wrong. To make matters worse, she and her sister were leaving on holiday that day, leaving master and my injured self alone. Our friendly Irish vet Rory examined me carefully the next morning and ordered master not to work me for the rest of the week; this pleased me enormously as the weather was quite hot and our journeys to work on the London Underground had been tough going since the awful bombings of July 7, 2005. Rory was fairly certain it was a sports injury—a pulled muscle or a joint strain—rather than something more serious. However, he told my master to give me a huge anti-inflammatory tablet every day for 5 days, and to come back in 2 days for an X-ray if I hadn't stopped limping. Rory also suggested that I might like to have the tablets wrapped up in lumps of cheese, which I thought sounded a very sensible idea. For a couple of days master and I were pretty stranded in the house; though our neighbours were very kind and checked we were alright, offering to help with any shopping and even taking me to the field to test out my poorly leg. I was limping quite badly on the concrete pavement, but felt okay on grass. Master said I had improved enough to not need another visit to see Rory, though he kept me at home. One day he went to work in a taxi and left me with my toys and the radio on for company; England were beating Australia in the cricket, which was worth listening to, since I understand it doesn't happen often. A week after those wild games on the beach, I returned to the office; I was glad to be back, having missed my friends at The Lancet, especially Helen who walks me on Fridays. I was fussed over a lot, which was great. A few days later I was back in Regent's Park, where I specialise in finding (but not retrieving) tennis balls, and have been known to interrupt the occasional game of football. Looking back, my injury could have been worse, though it was clear to my master and I that even a mild sports injury can be very disruptive for a working guide-dog. I'll still see Ruby and still play games on the beach, though maybe next time I'll curb my enthusiasm and even take the odd break to give my body a rest. I am only 5 and a half, the same age as my master in dog years, though he tells me that he is getting to the age where his own body is beginning to ache a bit. The two of us have agreed to slow down. I still have another 4 years before retirement, which means there is an awful lot of life in me yet.
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