Once upon a time, I was a happy little lab rat, doing experiments for the betterment of science. These regularly included using animal models. I was mostly accustomed to the procedures, knowing the necessity. Then, I left the Dark Side to become a pharmacist. I knew I had definitely picked the right field when I did my Ambulatory rotation in the field, and remembered why I had been so secretly glad to be rejected to Nursing School all those years ago (insufficiently empathetic, I think they said)--you don't have to deal with nearly as much pus as a pharmacist. Or other assorted excretia of any body (dogs, cats, goats, and alpacas included).
So, thank your lucky stars on those really rough days: It could be worse, you could be elbow-deep in a truly ugly wound, and need to scratch your nose.
And, when someone comes in and says, "Hey could you look at this..." and starts removing clothing, smile as you say, "That's not really my area of expertise, you might want to keep those pants on, thank you!"
This was all sparked by yet another bloody elbow wound on our border collie mix. In our house, the one with the most alphabet soup after their name gets to deal with anything icky. Pus, blood, nausea, and whining were involved. And then the darn dog ate her bandages off, again, so we get to start over tomorrow. (The dog is just fine, she's too ornery to let a little pyo get her down.)
Thank the heavens I get to go to work tomorrow, there's (usually) no blood there, barring another Deli accident. We still have Lysol:30 time, though, just in case.