Noelnadesan's Blog

It was a bright, sunny day in Melbourne. My veterinary clinic was quiet. My receptionist was on her lunch break while I read a veterinary magazine.

Suddenly, the doorbell broke the silence, and I saw a tense, Mediterranean-looking man in his 40s at the door. I welcomed him inside.

He arrived with his dog, an aged, rugged male Australian terrier, and introduced himself as Paul. He mentioned that his dog had a tumour on the tail and expressed concern about it. I started recording his details: surname, address, and phone number, then directed him to the consulting room, where I prepared to examine the dog’s tumour.

After thoroughly examining his dog, I discovered a swelling at the base of the tail that was not a tumour. I reassured the owner that it was not cancer and explained that the issue was flea-related. The dog was biting his tail, irritated by fleas, resulting in swelling and a lump. I advised that a monthly flea treatment is the only effective way to address the swelling.

He then mentioned that his dog was suffering from arthritis and had trouble during morning walks. I examined the hip, knee, and back areas and told him I couldn’t make a definitive diagnosis without further tests like an X-ray. I recommended returning in a week and fasting his dog the morning before the X-rays. I also informed him that general anaesthesia would be required.

Paul opened up and talked nonstop about his daily struggles, including sleep deprivation, long work hours, and the stress of commuting during rush hour. I couldn’t stay indifferent and asked about his issues. He mentioned getting little sleep after work and caring for two young children during the day—one and a half and six months old—both of whom needed his constant attention.

I was often hesitant to delve into my clients’ personal lives, avoiding eye contact and steering conversations away. Paul, however, was very forthcoming, sharing numerous stories of hardship and deliberately recounting his difficulties. Unfortunately, he also spoke about his young wife, who was battling cancer and had been hospitalised at Monash Hospital. He was juggling the care of their young children and supporting his wife. As I offered my sympathies, we both exited the consulting room. He settled his consultation fee with a cheque before leaving the clinic.

Two weeks later, I received a letter from the Bank along with Paul’s cheque, stating the account did not exist. I showed the notice to my receptionist and asked her to contact the client to clarify why the cheque bounced. I left it to her and went for lunch.

When I returned, my receptionist quickly relayed the results of her inquiry. I was stunned to hear that when she called the client, his wife informed her he had died from a heart attack a few days earlier. According to banking regulations, his bank account was closed because there is no profit in handling accounts of the deceased.

My receptionist offered her deepest sympathies to the widow, then hung up.

I know that some of my clients face many misfortunes. I’ve also read about such cases in books. Yet, when death comes on top of these misfortunes, you may begin to wonder whether it brought him relief or whether he would have preferred to soldier on with no end in sight for his condition.

As he approached the end of his life, his story concluded tragically, serving as a reminder of life’s impermanence and the closing of his chapter.

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