HANDS up anyone who deliberately avoids walking under a ladder whilst walking down the street? Or steadfastly believes that an umbrella should never be opened indoors? Or simply touches wood to ward off evil spirits whilst daring to voice an optimistic thought or opinion?
Despite the fact that we live in an age where science and logic rule, many people will steadfastly believe that they should always pick a certain number every time they do the lottery, that they must always wear their lucky scarf whilst watching their football team play, or that they should never leave home without a special charm in their handbag or on their bracelet to keep them safe – even if they profess that such things are, of course, complete nonsense.
But whether or not we are superstitious, most of us in veterinary practice seem to subscribe to the belief that things always come in threes, whether it’s a triumvirate of nurses announcing they are pregnant, three cats hit by cars in the same week, or a trio of phone calls around midnight concerning ailing budgies; we’ve all experienced this pattern, and we tend to accept it as an immutable law of nature.
Indeed, so much is it an inbred belief that two cattle caesareans in an afternoon will invariably leave the duty vet glancing nervously at the phone for the rest of the evening, two pyometras presenting during morning surgery will ensure that every owner who enters the consulting room for the rest of the day with a bitch has the question, “Has she been spayed?” barked at them before we even know what the consultation is about.
And two euthanasias in a row will have the nursing staff ruminating aloud as to which of the patients on the practice’s “old crocks” list will be the next departing to the great pet basket in the sky.
Human nature is such that we will perversely believe in the rule of three, even when evidence shows there is no basis for it whatsoever and logic seems to have been thrown out of the window.
Now, whilst considering that our approach to life in general is not always rational, perhaps I can point out at this stage that, as the only male in a surgery that is otherwise totally staffed by vets, nurses and receptionists of the female gender, I can’t but help notice that I am never as popular as when a spider sets up home in the building and someone is required to eject it.
Measuring anything up to an inch or so in length, these benign eight-legged creatures are capable of inducing mass hysteria amongst my work colleagues quicker than one can say “arachnophobia”, and unless the said intruder is removed or exterminated – by myself, naturally – then no one seems able to settle back into the normal routine for the rest of the day.
But should I gently voice the opinion that no British spider is poisonous and that the creature will not hurt anyone, I am met by a barrage of hostile glares, collective tutting and a flurry of head tossing, accompanied by a chorus of “just get rid of the thing will you – NOW!”.
Rationality does not come into it, and Heaven help us should a client ever present at the front desk with a box containing a pet tarantula: the consequences really don’t bear consideration.
So given that a superstition is “an unfounded belief that an object, action, or circumstance not logically related to a sequence of events influences the outcome”, and a phobia may be defined as “an illogical, persistent and abnormal fear of a specific thing or situation”, one can suggest that the difference between superstitions and phobias is a small one, linked easily by the bridge that is irrationality.
Never far away
And many phobias, like superstitions, are never far away, even if we don’t know the scientific terms for some of them – such as astraphobia (the fear of thunder and lightning) and pteromerhanophobia (a fear of flying). But you’ll know that people can have irrational fears about the oddest of things, and this suspicion was confirmed the other day when I came across a website that listed what some may regard as the world’s weirdest phobias.
Know anyone who suffers from coulrophobia? This is a fear of clowns and, for some at least, a devastating problem. What, you may sneer, is so scary about strange men who wear orange wigs and suffer from severe dyspraxia?
Surely oversize floppy shoes, cars that fall to bits, and faces caked in inchthick make-up that’s been plastered on with a brick-layer’s trowel cannot induce a genuine phobia?
But psychologists who have studied coulrophobia reckon that not only is it real, in most cases the fear can be traced back to a traumatic experience during childhood.
Actually, come to think about it, perhaps sufferers have a point; I never did like clowns at the circus, and – perhaps not too far removed from this – I now recall that, as a very young child, I was horrified by the idea that a strange fat man in red clothes might try and sneak into my bedroom in the middle of the night towards the end of December. Perhaps from such trivial beginnings true phobias really can develop.
I started this discourse by mulling over the significance of the number three, so coming back to the idea of numbers and what they can do, how about triskaidekaphobia? That’s not one I made up: it’s the fear of the number 13. If you’re really afflicted by this, you probably also have the accompanying complaint, paraskavedekatriaphobia, which is fear of Friday the thirteenth.
Myth or not, a quick trawl through our appointment system confirms what airlines have known for years – this is generally a bad day for business, as many people don’t like taking risks on Friday 13th, whether that be travelling by air or taking your cat to be spayed.
Not that it helps, but apparently the whole idea of this day being unlucky is probably only about a hundred years old, and it’s not even a universal superstition; in Spain and Greece it’s Tuesday 13th which is considered to be particularly unlucky.
Despite all this, a quick tap on the keyboard brings me over 90,000 results when I type paraskavedekatria phobia into a search engine – many of them offering (for a price) to help me overcome my fear of this most wretched of days.
Less common, at least going by the Googleometer, but in fact probably more real, is pentheraphobia, or fear of the mother-in-law. Almost every married man will tell you that this is by no means an imaginary horror. The news that one’s spouse has arranged a weekend, a week or even longer with the in-laws is usually enough to cause every married man to mutter darkly and retire to his shed in dismay.
But it would seem that there are phobias about things that most of us can perhaps hardly conceive – such as catoptrophobia, which is a fear of mirrors – or matters that would seem incompatible with leading a normal everyday life – such as ambulophobia (which is a fear of walking), barophobia (which is being terrified of gravity) or cathisophobia (which is a dread of sitting down) – and if you suffer from one or more of these problems then I can only sympathise.
Such phobias are mildly diverting to most of us, although they must cause huge anguish for anyone who actually suffers from any of them, but the website seemed to be puzzlingly reticent about the most common phobias seen in veterinary practice – and I’m not talking about anything spider-related.
We regularly see owners who present their pet days, weeks or even months after the animal really should have been seen for its weight loss, bad skin or recurrent lameness, but when asked the question “Why didn’t you bring Tiddles/Fido to me before now?” the answer is invariably “I was afraid that there was something wrong.” The reply has to be “Well, yes, there is something wrong, but vets can usually help and as the owner you’ve a duty to care for your pet.”
The moaning client
In our practice we sometimes jokingly refer to this attitude as vetophobia but in fact a more scientific name may exist. Iatrophobia, which is a real phobia, is the fear of going to the doctor and may link to nosophobia, which is a fear of becoming ill, so by extension iatrophobia by proxy must surely be fear of going to the vets.
Then there’s the grumpy client who moans like anything if not seen as soon as he or she comes through the door of the surgery: presumably they have macrophobia, which is a fear of long waits. And of course we all know the client who seems to have what my nurses call cashophobia but is perhaps more accurately identified as chrometophobia – a fear of money.
This is usually identified in people who, despite sweeping into the practice car park in a brand new car, seem to be positively petrified at the idea of paying out any sizeable amount of cash for their pet; they certainly don’t want to reach into their purse or wallet at the reception desk and actually touch the notes that lie within.
Alternatively, of course, it may be that such people regard all vets as money-grasping evildoers, such owners suffering from harpaxophobia – the fear of being robbed.
I don’t think we have more of these clients than any other practice, but I have to say we have had two owners already today moaning like anything about the cost of their pet’s treatment, so needless to say we are confidently expecting the next person who comes in to do exactly the same.
