Dr. Whiteley.com "Monkeys"

One winter afternoon in New Orleans, I met Judy, a patient I'll never forget. The staff at the veterinary clinic that day consisted of Richard, the kennel man; Hiram, a 12-year-old helper, and me. The waiting room was empty, and the telephone had not rung in over an hour; we decided to have a cola break in the comfortable chairs of the waiting room.

Judy: An Unforgettable Patient

    Suddenly, with a gust of wind, the door opened and a chubby, middle-aged woman with red, curly hair entered. She was carrying a medium-sized brown monkey dressed in yellow corduroy rompers. The monkey was July; her owner, Mrs. Mullins.
     The sight of me in a white coat and Hiram leaning against the wall with a strawberry soda apparently was too much for Judy. She reached up and grabbed Mrs. Mullins' red wig and threw it to the floor. She then leaped from Mrs. Mullins' arms and halfway across the room, jumped to the magazine rack and yanked the soda from Hiram--whose eyes seemed to fill at least half of his face.
     Hiram retreated behind the reception desk, while Judy drank one swallow from the soda and poured with rest on the floor. Richard and I stood by silently, uncertain what to do. Mrs. Mullins took Judy by the hand and scolded her. Then she turned to me to explain that Judy had been sick for several days.
     I opened the door to the exam room and followed Mrs. Mullins and Judy into the room. I was careful to leave the door open as an avenue of escape for me and Richard. Hiram had not moved from behind the reception desk. I nervously watched the dewigged Mrs. Mullins as she let go of Judy's hand to tuck her escaping brown hair into her hair net.
     "What seems to be the trouble?" I asked her.
     "Judy's been depressed, inactive, and just not herself lately."
     "Why don't you put her on the exam table," I suggested.
     As Mrs. Mullins reached down to pick up Judy, Judy pulled away, jumped to the counter top, and threw all the instruments and drugs to the floor. She paused then to look at us.
     "Poor baby, she just hates doctors' offices. Come here, baby," Mrs. Mullins coaxed.
     Mrs. Mullins finally enticed Judy down into her arms and settled her on the stainless steel exam table. I glanced toward Richard but he had moved to the safety of the waiting room door where he and Hiram stood looking in, poised for flight.
     I apprehensively approached. Judy snapped her childlike teeth at me. At that point, cowardice or good sense overcame me. I stopped in my tracks and asked, "Uh, what makes you think Judy is depressed, Mrs. Mullins?"
     "Well, she won't play with any of her toys, and she's congested at night."
     "She doesn't appear seriously ill to me. I suggest a cough syrup with a decongestant and perhaps a new toy. Why don't you take her home and keep her warm for the rest of the afternoon."
     With relief we watched Mrs. Mullins and Judy get into the car. Then I noticed that Mrs. Mullins' red wig still lay on the waiting room floor. I appealed to Richard and Hiram, but their expressions said,"No way!" So, I ran outside and to the window of the car and handed the wig to Mrs. Mullins.
     I saw Judy several times, and I can't honestly remember having laid a hand on her. Judy's ailments were of a minor nature, and I could usually dispense medication or reassure Mrs. Mullins over the telephone. "I hate for you to cross the Huey P. Long Bridge with Judy when she has a minor cold, Mrs. Mullins. Let me phone in a prescription."
     Then Mrs. Mullins called to tell me that Judy had been hit by a car while playing ball one afternoon. She had been killed instantly. With a lump in my throat, I expressed sympathy to Mrs. Mullins. I knew that Judy had been the substitute child Mrs. Mullins had never had.
     Several months later, Mrs. Mullins arrived at the clinic with two small squirrel monkeys dressed in matching pink and blue coveralls. She told me their names, and, with tears in her eyes, said, "Of course, there will never be another Judy."
     I could certainly agree with her.
This article was published in the Sentinel on September 23, 1982. The incident with Judy took place at the Kenner Animal Hospital in 1971 or '72. I saw quite a few monkeys in that practice because my husband (now ex-husband) was the consulting veterinarian for the Audubon Park Zoo in New Orleans; nonhuman primates were referred to me by mistake, I suppose. I don't think I received any training for zoo animals in veterinary school in the '60s, but I certainly learned to improvise. New Orleans is a port city and all kinds of monkeys, even rare species, showed up in the hands of people who had no concept of their care or needs.

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