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Hate It or Love It: My First 6 Years After Vet School

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I used to HATE my life as a practicing veterinarian.

For three long years after graduating, I just knew I had messed up in my career choice.

What’s interesting is that I loved most parts of my job:

  • My boss
  • My coworkers
  • My hospital
  • The clients
  • The pets
  • The cases
  • The benefits
  • The competitive pay

The caseload – especially for a new grad – was a bit high: 25-35 cases/day, which led to longer than desirable after-hours experiences.

I was producing and performing well as a veterinarian, but I just wasn’t fulfilled, ya know?

Let’s not forget the personal struggles. I was gaining a lot of weight from the alcohol and excessive eating – I was literally ripping my pants in the exam room. I lost 3 uncles in a year and a half. My marriage was struggling. I thought life sucked!

While it was easy for me to blame the hospital, the caseload, other people, etc., I eventually learned that there was a HUGE “me” component that I was leaving out!

I explain in detail in, The Major Key to Your Veterinary Wellbeing is You!

I realized that it wasn’t the work environment alone that was making me miserable.

When I addressed the “me” component, my wellbeing changed for the better and in direct proportion to the effort I put forth in developing myself and pursuing wellbeing!

Long story short, I overcame my burnout in a very scientific and strategic way.

I learned some AMAZING life principles and acquired some highly effective life tools, and now, I feel that life and vet med are both pretty awesome! 

Overcoming Self-Shame

I really wanted to share my story of overcoming burnout, alcohol abuse, and suicidal ideation, but I was scared.

In 2017, I had an opportunity to share my story in front of a group who consisted of many of my veterinary mentors, veterinarians I went to school with, and students who looked up to me.

I was afraid of what people – my people – would think of my ultimate failure as a veterinarian. I was afraid of being judged as an alcohol abuser. I was mortified.

“Do you think I should tell them the full story?” I asked my wife, who is also a veterinarian and a 2013 graduate of Tuskegee’s CVM. She assured me I should!

I remembered the words of some wise person, “Screw it. Just do it!” And so I did. 

Embrace Your Struggle

I stood in front of the audience. I told my story. I was scared. But I shared my story along with some of the key principles, tools, and strategies I used to rid myself of burnout.

Surprisingly, people were moved and inspired!

One vet, who was in his 80s, told me that he wished he had heard my message 50 years ago.

Several students approached me afterward, said they could relate, and thanked me for being vulnerable. I am proud to say that 2 years after giving that first talk, I’ve now shared my story over 40 times at various veterinary conferences, pre-veterinary schools, veterinary schools, and even in veterinary hospitals!

Lesson learned: You don’t have to be ashamed of your past. Face your fears. Embrace your story. Learn from it. Grow from it!

I now view my struggle as one of my greatest life experiences. 

Don’t Just Love It, Be an Ambassador!

In truth, the veterinary profession is pretty awesome – even with its challenges!

As someone once said, “It’s done unto you, as you have believed.”

Whatever we fully believe with thought, emotion, and conviction eventually becomes our reality. Even if a thing isn’t factually true, our belief will make it so.

What is your core belief about vet med? Is your experience reflecting that belief?

I heartily endorse vet med to those who are interested. I explain the challenges to be expected: student loans, euthanasias, clients who sometimes slander, and clients who frequently can’t afford treatment. I also assure them that they can mitigate the chances of poor wellbeing by taking deliberate and massive action. 

I’m now a life-long ambassador of our great profession!

2 Powerful Tools to Help You Love It

Here are 2 (of the many) things that I believe can change any veterinary professional’s quality of life for the better: 

  1. Learn personal development 

If you’ve never gone on a personal development journey, you’ll find that it’s probably the simplest and most fun way to create the life you want for yourself.

“Growth is the great separator between those who succeed and those who do not. When I see a person beginning to separate themselves from the pack, it’s almost always due to personal growth.” – John C. Maxwell

  1. Learn mindfulness and meditation

They’re evidence-based, scientifically proven to be effective, free, and readily available to ANY person at almost ANY time… they’re super-skills! 

Give them a try, and I’m sure you’ll rekindle your LOVE for vet med and its challenges!

In summary, I challenge you to go from ‘Hate It’ to ‘Love It.’ I challenge you to embrace your story and stop shaming yourself for your past. I challenge you to share your stories of trial and triumph, as you never know who you may empower. I challenge you to be an ambassador for this amazing profession, and last, but not least, I challenge you to go on a personal development and mindfulness journey to achieve a fulfilling veterinary and human experience!

Quincy Hawley DVM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dr. Quincy Hawley is a graduate of NC State’s CVM. He is co-founder of Get MotiVETed (a company dedicated to making poor wellbeing in the veterinary profession a thing of the past), and he enjoys general practice, writing, and speaking on the subject of wellbeing! He volunteers his time as a member of NC State’s Admissions Committee and as the President of the NC Association of Minority Veterinarians – a 501-3c dedicated to improving diversity and inclusion!

The Cat Who Saved Christmas

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It’s a week before Christmas, probably around 2 am. At the time, I worked at a 24-hour emergency-only clinic. It’s a cold, rainy evening. In comes a cat, brought to us by Animal Control. She was in a house fire. Her owners are still with the house, there’s one other cat in the household, but they can’t find him. He’s assumed to be lost at this point. This cat has burns on her paws, the tips of her ears are burned off, and her once long-fur is singed.

Four hours later, the second cat is brought in! He’s been out in the cold and is very hypothermic. He also has significant burns and respiratory issues. Animal control tells us the house is a total loss. The female cat’s name is JJ, the male’s name is Buttons. Buttons is gray and white, but he looks solid brown to us. Our clinic smells like a campfire.

Over the next few days, the owner comes to visit, pays close to $6,000 in medical bills for her cats. The cats both have surgeries for esophageal tubes to be put in, among other procedures. To say these cats are pitiful is an understatement. The owner is always grateful to us. She learns our names. Honestly, that in itself would have been enough for me. She was never frustrated with the money and cared about the humans.

She shocked us all on Christmas day. Please remember, she has no house and has poured more money than I’ve ever had at one time into her cats this past week. She brought us all a full Christmas dinner! She cooked it at her sister in law’s house. Everything from main courses to fresh rolls appears at our door. She is sorry that we have to work on Christmas, and is happy to see her cats.  She was in happy tears because she went back to the rubble today and found a lid to a pan! I don’t think she ever did find the pan it went to…

We were all kind of astounded. We just love seeing her because she’s so happy and cared to learn our names. To spend Christmas cooking in someone else’s house when she certainly could have done so much else with her time and money was so touching!

We learn that the male cat may have saved their lives: Buttons gets locked out of the bedroom at night: The closed bedroom door saved the humans. The fire department told her that the closed-door bought her a few crucial minutes to leave the house. If I didn’t already love these cats, I did now!

She continued to come to pay a few thousand dollars every few days. When it came time for sedated procedures on the cats, she’d bring some extra. All in all, I want to say her bills were around $10k per cat. They were with us for a month. This owner called us all by name when she saw us, continued to bring us food and thank you gifts. She came back monthly for a while to show us the progress. Buttons had some permanently deformed feet. JJ recovered well, with some burns on her face. Both pets have deformed ears. She’d send pictures of the cats being cats.

Not only were these cats a huge win for all of us, but this owner’s compassion for the clinic staff will forever remain in my head. I think we all helped each other for that month. The lesson: Be kind to everyone you meet. You truly never know what stresses they may be going through, and how your empathy and kindness can turn their day around.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the DrAndyRoark.com editorial team.

Karey Harris

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Karey is a veterinary technician who has worked with animals mostly in emergency small animal practice but has also worked in zoos and aquariums, and with the rehabilitation of wild marine animals. She holds a master’s degree in biology from Towson University and is passionate about teaching her colleagues, pet owners and even the animals in her care. When she’s not working, she enjoys being a citizen of her cat’s royal kingdom, playing Dungeons and Dragons and doodling things for Instagram.  

Adopt a Senior Pet Month: For the Love of Mable

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When I was in my second year of my veterinary technician program, we received a new group of dogs from one of our shelter partners. To my surprise, amongst all the loveable mutts was a purebred Rough Collie. I had fallen in love with the breed when I was a kennel student at the first practice I worked at, having treated one Rough Collie for several weeks and becoming completely smitten with his gentle and kind attitude.   

Her name was Mable. According to the shelter, she was 8 years old and not spayed. She looked as old as dirt and was about the same color. I brought her out of her kennel and began quietly brushing out her matted coat, dismayed to find multiple large mammary masses and evidence of tapeworms in her tail. Seeing what kind of conditions she must have endured before ending up in the shelter, I vowed to spoil Mable and turn her into a beautiful, clean dog that would catch an adopter’s eye. 

Mable stayed at my school for twice as long as the other dogs. We made sure she was vaccinated, dewormed and got her healthy enough for surgery. She was spayed and had about half of her mammary tumors removed – there were too many to remove in a single procedure.  The masses were sent away for histopathology, and I knew the odds were not going to be in Mable’s favor. She was nearing the end of her stay, and because of the likelihood that she had cancer, no one had applied to adopt her. She was the perfect dog – calm, affectionate, good with cats and dogs, friendly to all people, fully housetrained and never barked. I realized Mable’s future had two outcomes: either she had cancer and wouldn’t live much longer, or she didn’t have cancer and would live a few more years. Two days before the shelter was due to pick her up, I submitted my application (much to the displeasure of my parents). I was approved to adopt her, and she came home with me at the end of the week. 

Mable experienced so many “firsts” during her initial months with me. She learned about stairs, and stove timers, about dog beds and car rides and how to walk on a leash. She learned basic commands, very slowly, and even learned to wave her paw for attention. The rescue had informed me of the abusive nature of her previous home, but Mable had a resilient disposition and was quite happy to learn that not all people were bad.  

Mable was my first dog. We got to spend exactly two years and four months together. She was not a young dog when I adopted her, and good care couldn’t undo the neglect she had suffered prior to her rescue. Old age came for Mable sooner than it should have, and I realized that there wasn’t anything I could do to fix her. All the medicine available to us couldn’t repair her arthritic joints, and I knew it was my duty to ease her suffering. On our last day together I put her in the car and we drove to the best burger joint in town. I bought a cheeseburger and vanilla ice cream, and we went to the lake to eat. I thought Mable’s eyes were going to fall out of her head when she realized the food was for her! She ate and I cried, and when we were done we went to that practice where I had met my first Rough Collie. We lay down on the floor together, and I held her close, whispering in her ear about what a Good Dog she was.  

It has been seven years since Mable passed, and I still cry when I think of the fond memories. One day, when I’m ready, I will adopt another senior dog in her honor.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the DrAndyRoark.com editorial team.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Courtney lives in Ontario, Canada. She is a 2013 graduate of Georgian College’s Veterinary Technician program and has been a Registered Veterinary Technician since 2015. Courtney has been working in small animal hospitals since 2006 when she got her start as a kennel student. She is passionate about nutrition and preventive medicine. Courtney shares her home with one dog, two cats and a continual stream of foster kittens.

How to Avoid Answer Exhaustion

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I have this theory and I have tested it extensively. Simply put, there is a limit to how many questions I can answer in a day. Personally, I am able to answer 76.5 questions, before I go into answer exhaustion. 

I’m kidding about knowing how many answers I have in a day, but for certain, there is a limit. 

Each day, it’s my hope and prayer not to reach my quota in the final hour of the workday or just as I arrive home. 

Running out of answers too early isn’t fair to my team, my family or myself.

For example, if I run out of answers and the receptionist comes to me with, 

“Doctor, Mr. Jones has a question about his dog licking his neuter incision.”

I can hear you answering in your head…

’Tell him to come in for a cone, ’ or ‘see if one of the technicians is free to guide him through this crisis.’ 

… but you are wrong, as remember, I’m already in answer exhaustion.

So, my brain clicks into defensive-anger, and I spurt out, 

“I told Mr. Jones to take the head cone and he said ‘no, my dog hates the cone’.

Well, sure they suck, but so does a scrotal infection! 

Why can’t people just listen?” as I stomp to the phone, put on a fake voice and take the call. 

Not only am I not being genuine, but I’m modeling the kind of behavior we’ve been team building for months to avoid in our practice.

Excuse me while I bash my head on the table.

Furthermore, as much as you don’t want to run out of answers at work, you especially don’t want to run out at home.

Child: “Mom, what’s for dinner?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Child: “How about smarties… on pancakes… with pop?”

Me (in a state of answer exhaustion): “Sounds good, honey.”

In order to avoid further disaster, here are some tips from the trenches.

1. Take breaks

To learn how I might stretch out my answer quota for the day, I called a good friend and mindfulness/yoga guru; Dr. Gwen June, Past President of the Ontario Veterinary Medical Association and practicing veterinarian in Windsor, Ontario.

Gwen offered this advice, 

“When it’s busy and getting overwhelming, I pay attention to my breathing and take a full breath to help me get grounded for the next patient/client.”

So, let’s remember the basics everyone;

– breathe

– go pee (yes, you are allowed to use the bathroom during the day)

– drink a glass of water

– take another breath

2. Learn your limits

When you’ve spent your answer quota for the day, think about it, and try to remember how it felt just before you hit your threshold. In this way, you can do your best to avoid hitting the wall again.

Then it’s time to employ a simple, yet powerful statement. 

“I don’t think I have anything left. Can someone else possibly help you?”

Give yourself a break. It is PERFECTLY OKAY not to be everything to everyone in every moment.

3. Tag

Did you ever consider that maybe you don’t need to have all the answers? 

Dalia Gough, practice owner and amazing veterinarian at the Grimsby Animal Hospital, suggests leaning on the answers already at your fingertips. 

“I’m big on resources like Life Learn Client Education articles and VIN articles. These help me in case I forget something. Also, they help to personalize the discussion and gives the client more to engage in at home.” 

4. Practice curiosity 

No matter what, sometimes there are questions destined to push you over the threshold.

Regardless of the nature, before you lose your crackers, Teressa Jonescu a coach with Veterinary Purchasing offers the following advice. 

“Practice ‘curiosity before judgment’. It’s very helpful when you are faced with an amygdala hijack. It’s probably the best coaching I have ever been given personally or professionally AND it works. As I feel the well running dry, if I can take a step back and start asking myself some questions or even better start asking the person who is draining my energy some good questions, the water miraculously starts to flow again.’

In conclusion, as you become a master of awareness and are effectively managing your answer quota for the day, remember your team.  

One of the best ways to restock your answer quota is to do something kind for another. 

If you see your work buddy is close to running out of answers, offer to take that phone call for them. After all, we’re in this together.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the DrAndyRoark.com editorial team.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Donna Curtin practices veterinary medicine in Bruce County, Ontario, close to her family’s poultry and cash crop farm, where she lives with her husband, two children, three cats and two destructive dogs. In Dr. Curtin’s writing, animals play important characters, just as often as people.

I’ve Never Had a Plan B

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I have been practicing veterinary medicine for nearly 17 years. I graduated from the University of Tennessee College of Veterinary Medicine in 2003, a starry-eyed 24-year-old ready to start the career I’d been dreaming of since childhood. I was one of those 6-year-olds that knew she wanted to be a vet in 1st grade, and doggedly stuck with it. Honestly, after all this time, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do as a career (and it’s a good thing since there was never a Plan B).  I have encountered plenty of reasons to become burned out on and disillusioned by the profession. I’ve had my bad days (heck, I’ve had my bad years). But what keeps me coming back for more is the relationships: the people, their animals, and my coworkers.

As an animal-lover, veterinary medicine seemed like a no-brainer. But I did not imagine, as I was planning my future career, how much I’d enjoy interacting with the pet owners as much as their furry companions.  I’ve met my share of difficult people over the years, but the vast majority are kind, interesting, unique, and genuine. As an introvert, being in big groups of people and social situations can be difficult for me, but that exam room with the client and their pet? That’s my wheelhouse. I’m a good listener, and sometimes people just need to talk. Getting to know people, watching their kids grow up, laughing and crying together, protecting that human-animal bond – it’s a big part of why I love this job.

I still get excited about the animals (and the medicine). Obviously, the puppies and kittens. But also the old, grey faces. The grizzled tomcats with their thick jowls and battle scars. The timid and scared ones, when you have to work to gain their trust. Removing the huge bleeding splenic tumor, and getting a blood sample from the tiny medial saphenous vein in the dehydrated old cat with kidney disease. Catching that Addison’s disease diagnosis. Delicately easing a Cuterebra larva out of the nose of a kitten. Using acupuncture and Western medicine to help a dog with a ruptured disc walk again. Finding the tick on a tick paralysis case. The mysteries and the puzzles and the challenging cases. And, yes, even the euthanasia appointments – it can feel like an honor to help a beloved pet say goodbye, especially those we have known since they were a few weeks old. That ”cradle-to-grave” relationship is something our MD counterparts usually don’t get the privilege to have, and it’s a very special thing.

Lastly, I have been lucky to work with veterinary technicians and veterinarian colleagues over the years that I count as friends-for-life. These people are my tribe. My work family. We just “get” each other. They’ve been my only friends in a new city, they’ve introduced me to my husband, they’ve danced at my wedding, they’ve coached me through childbirth. We hug and pass the tissues on hard days, and we laugh and crack each other up on the better days. We can go from eating cupcakes in the break room to performing CPR on a hit by car patient within seconds. The work environment is so important to quality of life for a veterinarian, and I feel that the teams I’ve worked with have made me a better vet and a better person.

So, that’s it, in a nutshell. I was talking to a retirement advisor recently that asked, “So, when do you want to retire?” I paused, then answered, “65? Well, maybe 70? But maybe I’ll still work part-time…”  It’s hard to say and difficult to imagine. It’s part of who I am. Even with the difficulties and challenges in the veterinary profession, now in the present and those we face in the future, I’ll always be grateful that little 6-year-old me chose this path and clung to it stubbornly. I can’t imagine doing anything else. 

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the DrAndyRoark.com editorial team.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dr. Katie Smithson grew up in Chattanooga and graduated from the University of Tennessee College of Veterinary Medicine in 2003. She spent the following 11 years working in a holistic small animal veterinary hospital in Charlotte, NC. She and her family moved back to the Chattanooga area in 2014. Dr. Smithson is a certified small animal/equine acupuncturist, and especially loves soft tissue surgery, geriatric medicine, and working with pet owners to create a wellness plan for their animal companions. Her favorite thing about veterinary medicine is getting to know pets and their owners over the course of their lives, and working to protect the human-animal bond. When she’s not at work, Dr. Katie enjoys spending time with her husband and three kids. Her family also includes furry members: Mayzie the dog, cats Nelson and Cash, and usually a rescued opossum (Dr. Smithson is also a certified wildlife rehabilitator for the state of TN). Dr. Katie loves to experiment in the kitchen and usually has her nose in a book during her downtime.

The Greatest Act of Kindness

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We had been on vacation, the husband and I. It was January. We love snow. So, to Minnesota, we went. It was good to be away from work, the gaggle of dogs and cats we had accumulated (and loved with all of our beings), post-Christmas children and un-decorating, etc. It was just nice and quiet. 

The first day back at work came fast and furious. Surgeries, hospitalized cases, cases that had been ongoing when I left ten days earlier, appointments… Back to the everyday. A renal failure cat, an aggressive boxer vaccination appointment, an ACL repair. A beagle had been brought in the night before at close. The owners left to get a deposit to treat but never came back to sign papers to allow us to treat her. So, here she was, essentially a stray, but with someone who claimed ownership.  

This one was a mess. She was mauled by the much larger dogs that she was chained to a tree with. They all had their own dog houses, but they were fed together. She had been attacked a week prior. She pulled herself into the back of the dog house that she has grown up in and they just thought she would “pass on her own.” Every day they would go out to see if she had died. On the last day, Tuesday, they realized she was still alive, so they let her sleep inside that night. At the end of the day on Wednesday, they brought her in for us to treat. And abandoned her. 

She had penetrating abdominal wounds. She was laterally recumbent and in septic shock. A catheter was placed. IV antibiotics and fluids were initiated. Pain medications were given. Over the next few days she was medicated, wounds cleaned, rotated and warmed. She had fleas, in January, and was in heat.  

We were not a 24-hour facility. Our doc, the owner, went to the address that was given to us to look for the owner to get permission to keep her. You see, she was responsive but weak. She could make it with treatment, so he could not justify putting her down. But he needed permission to do SOMETHING. She had an owner. We needed permission to move forward. In the meantime, I would come in every morning and hope she had passed peacefully in her sleep. She suffered more than any animal I had seen to that point in my career. We could not euthanize, we could only triage for five days and then make that call.  

On Sunday I went with my husband to clean her wounds. She had not even attempted to eat. We brought leftovers, lunch meat and hotdogs. I prepped her cleaning supplies, got her meds together. Ultimately I was preparing myself for the awful, weak whimpers she would make when I cleaned her wounds. I went to get her out of her kennel and my husband was laying on the floor feeding her hotdogs. She was sternal and eating. It was unreal.  

Two days later, two weeks after she had been attacked, a young man came in and asked if a young beagle had been brought in deceased. His mom told him his dog was mauled and died and he wanted the truth. The truth was that she was not dead and was actually doing better than when she arrived. I took him back to see if it was her. It was. Other than the hotdogs, it was the happiest I had seen her. She sat up, wagged her tail. I asked what her name was. The woman who dropped her off told us she wasn’t sure, maybe “Baby.” He agreed. He thinks they call her “Baby Girl.” I asked where he intended to keep her because she could not go back to that tree. The tree where she almost died. She had open wounds. She needed reconstructive surgeries. At that moment, that very selfless moment, he realized that the best thing he could do for her was to give her up. To give her a better life. To give her a chance. She was truly loved by this kid. I believe she is still loved by him.  

The greatest act of kindness I have ever experienced, in 23 years, is for this young man to sign over the “Baby Girl” that we now call Weezie. And, 16 years later, we are still thankful.   

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the DrAndyRoark.com editorial team.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tynette DeLonjay is a Registered Veterinary Technician in St. Louis, Mo. She has been in practice for 20+ years in small animal general practice with a brief stint in specialty neurology. She is thankful for every kindness over the years, but this one, this one is special.