Telling the Bosses

When you work in a vets there are two quite intimidating factors you need to overcome when telling your boss that you are pregnant. The first is that, in general, you don’t just have one boss - in my case there were five. And the second, as statistics will reflect, is that the majority of these bosses are MEN! 

‘I should write them a letter, or perhaps i could pick one of them to speak to, but which one? Will I tell them now or wait until I get so big they have to ask me? Actually maybe I should just quit, yep that would be a hell of a lot easier!”

Anyway after lots of deliberation and having given all options serious consideration I decided in the end to do…. nothing! That’s right, I did absolutely nothing, and instead the following weekend rang my good friend and vet office manager Danielle and asked her to meet me for lunch. Just as she was about to tuck into her chipolata chicken fajitas, I hit her with it! 

“What?”  “Again?”  “I mean sorry, Congratulations!”

“Yes, I know, thanks, so how am I going to tell the bosses? “

“Mmm, I don’t know, I suppose your just going to have to tell them Louise”

“Yes I know that! But how?”

So every evening on my way home from work I would think about what I was going to say and convince myself that tomorrow was the day. But tomorrow came and tomorrow went, the weeks came and went. I managed to wriggle out of assisting with x-rays and the heats for the giant dog lift World Championships, and meanwhile, Danielle, who was sworn to secrecy, did her best to assign me bundles of paperwork. Meanwhile my colleagues were becoming increasingly suspicious of my new found need to carry a pocket sized Sterillium with me at all times, two squirts of which was a MUST if I so much as looked a cat poo. 

So basically instead of doing the logical thing by stepping up and taking control of the situation I let the situation take control of me. (FYI, that was not the best idea I’ve ever had).

It was a Friday afternoon, I know this because Friday was cake day, and Mr. Fitzsimons, one of our senior practice partners called me into the consult room as I was mid face-full of Victoria Sponge. 

“Louise, would you mind having Mrs. C sign Oscar’s consent for a pelvic x-ray, then meet me in the imaging suite.”

This my friends was what I like to refer to as, my “Oh Sh1t” moment!’

The practice was two nurses down and I was about to be asked to help with an X-Ray.

“Yes, not a problem,” I mumbled through the mouth full of cake, whilst trying to maintain some level of professionalism.

“I’m gonna get the sack! No, they can’t sack me, it’s illegal! Yeah, but they could find another reason to get rid of me, like they’re downsizing or some hogwash like that.”

“Do you have a pen dear?”

“Excuse me do you have a PEN?!” 

“Oh, Oh yes of course sorry!” I said.

Snap out of it Louise! I could feel my heart racing and some sort of odd ringing in my ear. 

“Will he have to stay in over night?” 

“Pardon?” I replied. 

“Will he get HOME today?” she repeated.

“Yes I should imagine so” realising as soon as I said it I actually hadn’t got a clue!

Then as if that wasn’t bad enough I committed the cardinal of all veterinary sins!

“Sorry what was his name again?” I asked sheepishly

“My name?” she replied 

“No sorry, the dogs name?”

“Oscar, it’s OSCAR!” with noted frustration presumably at my clear lack of attention. 

“And what a good boy you are Oscar” I said trying to redeem myself. 

“Ok, well Oscar can come with me now and Mr. Fitzsimons will ring you as soon as he has the results” and off she went, clearly of the opinion I wasn’t capable of being responsible for a teddy bear, never mind her four legged pride and joy.

‘Oh Oscar, why couldn’t you just be like every other Westie and have itchy skin or something?’ I asked as I picked him up. This was all my own doing; why hadn’t I plucked up the courage to sort this before now? The partners were genuinely nice people and great to work for; this being said, you would imagine it would make the prospect of telling them easier, but instead it had the complete opposite effect! I was coming up to 16 weeks now and still hadn’t said a word. 

As I carried Oscar down to imaging the feeling of guilt seemed to increase with every step, guilt that I hadn’t told them yet, guilt that they will have to once again organise maternity cover for me and guilt that I wasn’t able to give my job 100% as I have always tried to in the past. 

And in the midst of this guilt I felt a far greater more profound guilt towards my unborn baby, husband, and self for feeling guilty about being pregnant in the first place. It was the ultimate catch-22.

I was frantically trying to think what I should say. By the time we arrived at the bottom of the hall my face and Oscar’s coat were rather a similar shade of white.

“Okay, Oscar, let’s get you sorted” said Mr. Fitzsimons

Then it came…

“Louise can you give me a hand to X-Ray.”

“I cant!” 

I blurted out rather more loudly than I had intended, catching the attention of other nearby staff.

“What?” he said with a look of confusion.

“I mean, I’m sorry, but I have something I need to tell you.”