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AN ONCOLOGY patientCTQMHAQMHARVCQMHAQMHARVCQMHAYour browser does not support the element. lies face down, surrounded by an expert team, as they edge him into a state-of-the-art scanner. In the intensive-care unit a ventilated patient lies under an inflatable warming blanket, receiving one-to-one care from a specialist nurse; watching on is an anaemia sufferer wearing an unseasonal Christmas jumper. There is an emergency room but this afternoon it is empty, says Vicky Lipscomb, a soft-tissue surgeon and the hospital’s clinical director. Welcome to the Queen Mother Hospital for Animals () in Hertfordshire.Britain is a country that is mad about animals. Sweden aside, no other nation has a higher uptake of pet insurance. According to Co-op Legal Services, one in every eight people who inquire about a will want to leave something to their animals. As pets become more like family members, it follows that owners want to give them the best health care possible. With humans waiting longer for treatment on the National Health Service and the quality of pet care advancing in leaps and bounds, the gap between species is closing.The , whose 100 vets and 300 nurses saw around 19,000 cases last year, is at the luxury end of the scale. Its dedicated cat ward plays relaxing classical music; its underwater treadmill allows for timely post-surgical rehab. Around half of the patients who are admitted for the hospital’s pioneering mitral-valve replacements, a form of open-heart surgery, fly in from America, says Professor Lipscomb. The Royal Veterinary College (), which runs the hospital, tops the global rankings for veterinary schools; a fifth of its students are American, too.None of this comes cheap. The was a pioneer in hypophysectomies, a procedure to remove the pituitary gland, particularly in cats with diabetes. Once the diagnostics and a lengthy stay in hospital are factored in, the cost of a hypophysectomy can easily reach £10,000 ($13,000). But veterinary procedures in Britain do not have to be cutting-edge to be costly. At a vet’s practice in London, one owner pays £900 to have her dachshund’s stomach pumped after he swallowed chewing gum but shudders to think how much more she would have paid had she agreed to the “hourly blood tests”. Concerns about rising prices, transparency over fees, and potential lack of competition have prompted the Competition and Markets Authority, a regulator, to launch an investigation into the veterinary market.If costs are one concern, ethical dilemmas are another. Much as clinicians must think about the risks of over-treating a human at the end of life, “there’s always a question about whether or not we should do things”, says Lynne James of the People's Dispensary for Sick Animals, a veterinary charity.Staff at the agree. “We don’t do chemotherapy to the point where their hair falls out, since they can’t consent,” says Andy Yale, an oncologist at the hospital. In the blood-transfusion centre, pets are rewarded with tins of premium food and an “I’m a life saver” bandanna if they donate, though consent is considered to be withdrawn if a dog or cat does not lie still (you’re not allowed to sedate a blood donor and “quite rightly”, says Professor Lipscomb). This is far removed from practices in America, notes David Church, the ’s deputy principal, where some hospitals will perform feline renal transplants on the condition that the owner agrees to adopt a stray cat as a kidney donor.For people who find pet-pampering baffling, one argument for state-of-the-art veterinary medicine is that it complements human health care. Studying the pituitary tumours of diabetic cats may help to understand why a similar syndrome happens in people, says Professor Church. At the University of Glasgow researchers are trying an epilepsy medication in dogs that may help humans in the future. But the simpler argument is that it makes owners happy. “They gave our fur baby girl’s sight back,” gushes one review after successful cataract surgery at the .
