Jessica Vogelsang DVM

Just this weekend, I read a piece on CNN by a meterologist who had, for years, been on the “nah” side of the climate change debate. He posted a somewhat apologetic piece stating that, “You know, now that I’ve thought about it, I think I was wrong. Climate change is real, and here’s the data that caused me to change my mind.” It was a wonderful, informative piece but couched in the somewhat subtle assumption that he was feeling a little ashamed of having to admit he was wrong, and that makes me sad.

The first time I agreed with a client that we should no longer give a certain vaccine, I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance.

“You- you’re not going to insist I vaccinate my cat for FIP?” she gasped. “I thought that was all you did, like all vaccines all the time.”

“No,” I said. “I’ve reviewed the evidence and I think it just isn’t there for this vaccine. This is no longer something I recommend.” I paused for emphasis. “I still want to do FeLV and FIV today, though.”

People sure do love to see things as absolutes: Vaccines are bad. Vaccines are good. Commercial pet food is the devil. No, it’s perfect. You must pick your battleground, plop down your flag, and stay there till you die. We live in a world that elevates those who stand strong to their values, beliefs, or opinions, and sneers at those who refine their views as wishy washy flip-floppers.

Being Wrong Is Not a Character Flaw

That seems kind of silly to me. Worse yet, it’s arrogant, this idea that the very first opinion we decide upon will be perfect and correct for the rest of our lives. If I’m on the battlefield and it’s clear I’m losing, I have no desire to die with the flag- I’m running. Game over, this was a bad idea.

In the case of the FIP vaccine, it was very popular right around the time I graduated- that, and Giardia vaccine. There was controversy. There were people who gave it all the time, some who gave it some of the time, and others who gave it not at all. We all spoke with each other and shared information and the current recommendations are based on facts we know, not opinions we thought we knew. In other words, we scienced it.

This happens with other things too- timing of spay/neuters, dry vs canned food for cats, pain control in pets. Remember when people used to just give one pre-op injection of torb for spays? I do. I shudder to think of it. We were wrong. Here’s just a few things I’ve refined my thoughts on since graduation:

• the idea pets don’t need super aggressive post-op pain control
• when to use steroids in trauma
• declining certain elective surgeries- declawing, for example
• the idea that kids should never attend euthanasias

Contrary to what some people might think, I feel no shame admitting I was wrong in any of those things. We seem to conflate data with personal values these days, to our loss as a society. As a profession, we push each other every day to justify our decisions, validate them, and refine them based on science. It’s a natural consequence that we change our recommendations based on that. I would be worried if we stopped doing that, because that means we stopped asking questions.

Our Major Character Awe

I don’t know any veterinarian who doesn’t approach their medicine the same way. This is what we do and why we spend so much time at CE conferences, right? And yet we allow people’s perception that change = bad to make us feel like we’ve done something wrong by changing our minds. Finding out something you believed is wrong based on current information isn’t a character flaw. It’s a character AWEsome. It means you’re humble enough to recognize you don’t know everything. I know, the current state of politics (on all sides!) makes it hard to remember that mature adults do that, but we do.

I propose a change in how we view ourselves: We’re not wishy-washy, weak minded people who can’t make up their mind and melt under pressure.

via GIPHY

We’re evolvers! It’s silly not to! If Mario can evolve and get better, so can we, and it doesn’t mean the old Mario wasn’t wonderful back in the 80s when it was all we had.

via GIPHY

Let’s OWN our ability to be wrong and not feel weird about it! Next time someone tries the old “A HA! I knew you were wrong!” routine on you, just smile and say, “Well, now we know differently. Isn’t it great? So can I give this vaccine or what?”

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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.

Leading a group of men through a study based on the book Fathered by God (John Eldredge), we’ve been prayerfully considering what God intends us to become as men.  As we wrestle with current struggles, we’ve journeyed back through our personal stories, asking God to reveal where, why, and how our masculine spirits have been assaulted, seduced, and surrendered.  For the men who are willing to engage in such an expedition, they discover a gut-wrenching sort of liberation through the process.  It’s been the same for me, and over the years I’ve done this sort of thing many times.  It just seems God’s not done with me, yet.  (I only mention this because I want you to understand why I’m going where I’m going in this piece.)

Having poured out my soul about my marriage (I was blown away by your numerous emails and private messages–Thank you for sharing your hearts, dear ones!), you’re aware that Laura and I struggle like everyone else.  However, I’m compelled to reveal something deeper about my wife and our relationship.  To do that, I must first tell you how I’ve failed as a man.

Here’s my confession:  I have not been the lover my wife deserves because I’ve not been the warrior God created.  You see, I grew up in a home often fragmented by emotional tension and turmoil.  Even as a boy, I learned to survive by avoiding conflict at all costs.  I constructed thick, armored shields of wit, humor, and intellect to deflect uncomfortable encounters.  Certainly, there’s great wisdom in picking and choosing your battles, but my reality was built upon a weak foundation that all conflict could (and should) be avoided.  The result was a go-along-to-get-along kind of guy who prided himself on being the peace-keeper (all the while feeding a violent creature of passive-aggression that haunted the shadows of my soul).

I’m sorry, but I simply cannot be that guy any more.

For the sake of my wife, our marriage, and our family, I’m going to risk some discomfort, hurt feelings, and open conflict here and say something that I should’ve said years ago:

Stop asking my wife questions about your pets.

If you don’t already know, Laura is a veterinarian and we run a small animal hospital in West Virginia.  For most of you, I realize that the very word “veterinarian” conjures up images of wet-nose puppies and fluffy kittens nuzzled up to the adorable, laughing young DVM with the toothpaste-ad smile and dreamy eyes.  Indeed, it’s an alluring, media-driven mental image.  But it’s not real.  Not even close.

A neighbor recently told me that her soon-to-be-college-grad daughter was trying to decide between medical school and veterinary school.  She offered this advice to the young woman:  “Be a vet!  There’s no stress.”

It took everything I had to remain polite.  What I wanted to say was something along the lines of …

“No stress, indeed!  That’s why two-thirds of veterinarians suffer from clinical depression.  Certainly!  Encourage her to the long hours and relatively low pay, shackled to the incredible debt most vets incur from veterinary school.  In fact, the monetary realities of this no-stress career are actually delightful compared to the kick-to-head heartbreak that veterinarians are four-times (yes FOUR TIMES) more likely to commit suicide than people in any other profession.  Your sweet, puppy-kissing pet-vet will be twice as likely to take her own life than her human-medicine counterpart.  Do you personally know six veterinarians?  If you do, at least one of them has seriously considered killing themselves.  In fact, I live with a statistical example.”

Not long ago, a fellow blogger gave an accurate glimpse into a day in the life of a veterinarian (I’m not going to reinvent the wheel here, so I encourage you to read that post).  The author demonstrates why something known as compassion-fatigue is a harsh reality in this industry:  People in this field are often deep-feeling, amazingly empathetic, compassionate, tender souls … and it is killing them.  I wish I could count the times Laura has zombie-walked into our home after a 12-hour work day; shoulders hunched over; arms limp at her sides; eyes fixed in a vacant stare.  Everything about her physical appearance reveals what her lips sometimes can’t find the strength to mutter:

“I’ve got nothing left.”

Truth be told, my wife often has nothing left by noon, but she keeps going.  Because she cares too much.  And because Laura does care so deeply, the self-cannibalization is then set in motion:  She stumbles home, takes one look at me and the kids, and hates herself because she can’t find any possible way to be the wife and mother she longs to be.  Besides, she still has to reply to the daily-dozen texts and Facebook messages from friends and family members with questions about their animals.

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To survive as a veterinarian, one needs an incredible amount of spiritual care and attention.  This is what prompted a meeting with one of my best friends and associate pastor at our church.

I explained to Steve my concerns for Laura.  She’d become socially withdrawn and isolated (and for good reason), which was putting a serious strain on our relationship.  The stresses of the job were killing her, but she couldn’t get away from it.  Everywhere she went, she was available and on duty to anyone with access to her.

Already wrestling with guilt for leaving work early one day to watch our son play tennis (Laura missed most of our oldest son’s baseball games and deeply regrets it), she ended up missing half of Danny’s match anyway because three people stopped her to ask pet questions.  We quit going out to dinner.  Quit going to parties.  Soon we weren’t even being invited to social events as our list of friends dwindled.  She even started walking our dogs after midnight because she was constantly being stopped and asked to put on her DVM coat by friends and neighbors.  Before long, Laura’s intense need to get a break from her role as a veterinarian turned us into prisoners in our own home.  However, her adoring public still found her.

As I told Steve about these issues, I tried to explain the spiritual crisis we were in–I was intimately involved in the ministry of our church, but Laura was slipping so deep into self-isolated depression that even being in the church she’d grown up in was creating a huge amount of anxiety.  Steve knew that Laura had begun showing up late to church and leaving early, but he didn’t realize why.  Nor did he know how common it was for people to be waiting on her at the church door with their questions, seeking her out in the middle of service for her advice, even stopping her in the communion line, pulling out pet products to ask her professional opinion.  Once, someone even presented her with a bag of worms, asking her to prescribe medication for their dog.

She’d already quit attending fellowship and social events at our church, but now she just wanted to quit going to church altogether.  Beat up from typical 50-to-60 hour work weeks and starving for spiritual connection/fellowship/transcendence, three hours in church on Sunday morning meant no less than 60-to-90 minutes of veterinary Q-and-A.  The worst part was that as she was losing her faith in the church, it was also taking its toll on her faith in God.

So there I was, struggling as a husband to help my wife.  I knew that Laura needed a ton of spiritual care, but she was beginning to loathe even the thought of church.  Meanwhile, I didn’t want to rock the proverbial boat.  I didn’t want to step in and confront someone, creating an uncomfortable situation, so I did nothing.  I think I was hoping that it would all just go away and get better.  Maybe I thought that Steve would say something like, “Let me take care of this,” so I wouldn’t have to.  Maybe he’d parlay the message into a sermon on leaving thy neighbor alone about work stuff and letting them worship in peace.  However, that’s not how my friend responded.  Instead, the spiritual advice he offered was far from what I expected:  “You need to find another church.”

Though it took many months as I prayed and waited for that “final straw” (and that came in an almost comical, unrelated way), we finally left the church we love.

We had to.

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Before going on, I want to clarify something about the other characters in this story:  These people asking their pet questions are not bad people.  I’m not talking about freeloaders trying to weasel free advice from the doc because they’re too cheap to pay for an appointment.  Far from it.  In fact, most of these folks are dedicated clients who support our business; they are people we count as friends.  We are incredibly grateful and indebted to them; they are the reason our business is successful, and to have a successful business in West Virginia–any business!–is saying something.  Many of them are even family members.

Some are just well-meaning individuals who try to strike up a conversation with Laura but they know nothing about her apart from the fact that she’s a veterinarian.  And therein lies another problem:  everybody–EVERYBODY–has an animal story to share, either a personal one or something they saw on the internet.  As a result, everyone thinks they have something in common with my wife that they can talk about.  However, as her husband, I need to finally step up and make things uncomfortable as I fight for her survival:

You’re killing my wife.

Every time you approach her in a social situation with your pet questions and stories, it’s like inserting a small pin into her head.  It may seem insignificant at the time, but by the end of the day (every day), she’s left feeling like Pinhead from the Hellraiser movies.  Little wonder she isolates herself and hides.  I’m not surprised that she struggles with her place in the world, constantly wondering if she has anything to offer anyone beyond her abilities as a veterinarian.  That’s all that most people know about her.  It’s become her personal catch-22:  She can’t go anywhere because no one knows her beyond the fact that she’s a vet, and no one knows her beyond the fact that she’s a vet because she can’t go anywhere.  Not even to church.

I realize that a lot of people suffer with the same dilemma because of their careers.  With that in mind, I offer this to all of humanity:  I am hereby instituting what shall henceforth be known as … THE RULE OF FIVE.

The Rule of Five:  You may not ask my wife any professional-related question until you have first talked with her on that day about five other things.

Laura is an amazing woman with a lot of passions.  You can talk to her about our family.  Ask her about our kids:  Danny loves tennis; Katie is a beautiful dancer; Ben is playing college baseball.  Naturally, Laura loves all the things our kids love.  You can reach her through Katie’s escapism in Harry Potter, Danny’s intrigue with Supernatural, and Ben’s obsession with The Lord of the Rings.

A constant reader, Laura enjoys a good book.  Ask her what she’s reading.  She’s read The Outlander series more than once.  Live theater and musicals–just ask!  She can talk for hours about Broadway musicals, and she delights in local theater.  Travel?  Laura loves visiting new places.  She’s rediscovered her passion for the outdoors:  we have some camping trips coming up, along with hiking, zip-lining, and white-water rafting.  Want to have your soul elevated?  Get her talking about her spiritual journey and what God has done in her heart–you’ll be blown away by the passion of our Father and the ways he’s fought for my wife when her husband didn’t know how.

Until now, that is.  Until the institution of The Rule of Five.

God has recently led us to a new church, and we are finding some comfort and joy in this place.  For that, we are thankful.  However, be forewarned:  I am prepared to rise up as the warrior/lover of my wife.  Ask a pet question outside of the office and you’re going to get this from me: Laura is passionate about her career, but she needs (and deserves) a break from it.  Let her have it.  Let her have her time away from the office.  Let her be with friends again.  Let her make new ones.  Let her enjoy her family.  Let her worship in church.  Let her relax in the outdoors.  Let her be more than a veterinarian, because she is so much more.  And if you won’t let her be more than a veterinarian, it’s going to kill her.  And I won’t allow that.

Not anymore.

This piece originally appeared on BertFulks.com. Reprinted with permission.

When I first graduated from vet school, I came into our profession armed with all of the most up to date knowledge at the time. However, I also immediately recognized that we didn’t have the same caliber of science guiding our practices as the human medical world. This was one of several reasons I pursued a Ph.D. – I wanted to contribute more to the science in our field, and I wanted to do it well.

After finishing my Ph.D. in immunology last year at a well-respected biomedical institute, I turned my attention back to the latest controversies in veterinary medicine. One area that immediately caught my attention was the research into the long-term health effects of age at the time of spays and neuters. Veterinarians cannot agree on an ideal age for sterilization based on the current literature, and I believe it is because we are lacking high quality studies.

Some of the most recent studies have heavily impacted veterinarians’ recommendations to clients, and yet to my eye they are far from definitive. We all want to guide our clients to make the best decisions for their families and their lifestyles, but more importantly we want to take our patients’ long-term health into account. Of course any studies showing an impact of early spays and neuters in dogs are going to affect our recommendations, but I would like to urge my colleagues to evaluate these reports with a critical eye, because they haven’t given us the data we really need to make informed recommendations. Here are 3 reasons I would urge caution when using these studies as a basis for our recommendations:

They are retrospective.

The strength of retrospective studies is that large amounts of data can be collected in a relatively short period of time because they are based upon previous clinical cases. However, medical records notoriously lack important details and frequently have incomplete information.

Prospective studies, where case criteria and data collection standards are defined prior to data collection, are the gold standard for establishing true clinical correlations, and comparisons in the human medical literature have shown that prospective data are inherently more accurate than retrospective data (Nagurney et al, 2005 ; Clark M, 2008 ).

Correlation does not imply causation.

Both the incidence of diabetes and the number of people practicing yoga in the United States have increased in the past 10 years, but that does not mean yoga causes diabetes. Likewise, an increased incidence of cancer or orthopedic injury in neutered dogs does not prove a causative link.

It is fair to use these studies as a basis to explore the matter further, but veterinarians have started making clinical recommendations based upon a HYPOTHESIS. That’s right – even though it is published, it is still only a hypothesis that large breed dogs suffer an increase in CCL rupture and hip dysplasia due to early spaying and neutering. There are reasonable underpinnings to the hypothesis – the growth plates close long after 6 months of age in large breed dogs, and sex hormones can have an effect upon growth plates. However, no one has definitively proven that the removal of sex hormones at 6 months or younger is actually a causative factor in these maladies. The evidence is still circumstantial at best.

The problem with correlations is that they frequently don’t account for all of the other variables that might have an effect upon the measured outcome. For example, while median ages and body condition scores are mentioned in the text of the recent papers from UC Davis, no statistical tests to evaluate if they are different between the sterilized vs. intact groups are performed. You can have two groups with the same median that are still skewed in completely different directions. I find this problematic since both of these variables are known risk factors for cancer and joint disorders.

There are questionable statistical methods for establishing a causal relationship.

Most of our current studies on this topic suffer from the problem of small sample sizes, which can lead to a statistically significant effect when there really isn’t one (Button et al, 2013 ). Additionally, the authors of the UC Davis studies use hazard ratios to calculate the risks of specific outcomes (i.e. cancer, CCL rupture, etc.). While this statistical test is used frequently for clinical trial data, hazard ratios are prone to their own built-in selection bias (Hernan, 2013 ). Therefore, they are not well-suited for establishing a causal relationship.

There are other criticisms one can make about these studies, such as whether the patient population at a referral center is representative of all dogs. However, since I don’t have any personal insight into what kind of bias that may present, I’m focusing on what I can glean from the methods in the studies themselves.

The bottom line is that our current evidence base on this topic underwhelms me. Sadly, many of the benefits we tout for spaying and neutering also suffer from the same issues I have outlined above (e.g. the often-cited association of age of sterilization with reduced mammary cancer is also a retrospective and correlative study on a small sample set). Thus, right now I choose to go back to basics when making recommendations to clients about the age of sterilization.

We do know that spaying and neutering are important for preventing pet overpopulation, and they tend to work best for this endeavor when performed before sexual maturity. There are also pathologic conditions that we know sterilization will prevent, such as pyometra, benign prostatic hypertrophy, and prostatic abscesses, all of which cause high morbidity and mortality.

Finally, we really don’t need a scientific study to know we experience fewer surgical complications when performing sterilization prior to sexual maturity. I know I’m not the only veterinarian that has sweated bullets while wading through bloody abdominal fat during the spay of an adult female Rottweiler, praying that my ligatures stay in place around massive ovarian and uterine arteries.

I am not suggesting that we should ignore long-term health ramifications for sterilization, but we need to explain to our clients that the studies we currently have are not well controlled or definitive. I am also not suggesting that the conclusions of these studies are necessarily wrong; further research could still validate the conclusions, but my emphasis here is that further studies are needed. We are now taking steps to collect some prospective data, such as that generated by the Golden Retriever Lifetime study, and my genuine hope is that the new data will provide us with some clearer answers.

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.

 

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dr. Sarah LaMere is originally from Austin, Texas. After graduating from Cornell University School of Veterinary Medicine, she decided one graduate degree just wasn’t enough and completed her PhD in immunology from the Scripps Research Institute in San Diego. While pursuing her passion for OneHealth in a research setting, Dr. LaMere also works in clinical practice as a hospice veterinarian with Paws into Grace in San Diego, California.

Even the most meticulously laid plans can play out differently than expected. Seeking to carve a niche and fulfill an unmet need in my community, I launched a veterinary practice focused on animal hospice, pain management, and end-of-life care in August of 2015. Back then, I expected that confronting grief on a regular basis would be emotionally demanding; that I would need to learn how to set and keep boundaries between personal and work life; and that I’d need to actively reach out not just to pet owners, but also my colleagues to get out the word about this new option.

I also encountered some other challenges – and rewards –  that I hadn’t seen coming. Here are some things which surprised me in my first year as a hospice veterinarian.

End-of-Life care isn’t depressing.

Don’t feel sorry for me. I genuinely respect my colleagues who cheerfully continue to do daily battle with parvovirus, deal with emergencies disrupting the most carefully planned day, and give the flea talk or the heartworm talk for the bazillionth time. Leaving behind the chaos of general practice for my clients’ living room floors lets me focus on the needs of one family at a time, with no distractions and responsibilities lurking just outside the exam room door. Being invited into someone’s home to help at such a vulnerable time is an honor and a privilege, and the ability to help make it easier is truly uplifting.

In hospice, service matters more than price.

A terrible salesperson, I’ve always been pretty upfront  if a client can get something elsewhere cheaper.   “Hey,” I thought I was saying, “I’m not selling anything, so you can trust me!” I would , for example, carefully write down dosing instructions for a popular over-the-counter antihistamine, emphasizing the correct version to get. After all, the local box store carried a huge bottle for a few bucks, and our minimum medication fee was nine dollars! I wonder what percentage of my clients would have preferred to pay a little extra to save going to the pharmacy, if they even bothered.

One sunny morning, I was granted a moment of clarity as I sat on the front stoop with a hospice client, an intelligent woman with a career and  busy family life. After listing several recommendations for her dog, I asked what she thought. She took a few moments to consider before sighing, “I’m overwhelmed.”

Families who are coping with grief and loss often need us to make things easy. Instead of providing links to online retailers, I learned it’s better to do the ordering myself and arrange for home delivery, assembly, and training.  Yes, it costs more, but sometimes you just need to sell them the darn antihistamine.

Animal hospice is still far from the mainstream.

Build it and they will come, I thought. If I just dropped by my local clinics with doughnuts and brochures, the phone would ring. Not so fast! Relationships and trust, not mere awareness, are needed to earn referrals.

Much like acupuncture a mere decade ago, animal hospice is still an emerging field, considered on the fringe by many veterinarians.  It’s well on its way to becoming a recognized specialty, but until then it will take impeccable integrity and professionalism  to gain acceptance by my peers.

My patients are all dying.

“Wait,” you say, “this is a surprise?” Well, no, but I had hadn’t anticipated that after 15 years of a career dedicated to curing disease and fixing problems, I’m still reflexively disappointed in myself when my patients inevitably take a turn for the worse. Truly accepting that the point of hospice is not to “fix” what’s wrong, but rather to make this final journey as comfortable and fulfilling as we can, takes an incredible level of Zen.

Starting a new business from scratch wasn’t so hard.

I never thought I’d identify as an entrepreneur, of all things. For years I swore I’d never own a practice- who wanted those hassles?  Running a business just sounded so…complicated.

And yet here I am, amazed at what I accomplished one task at a time. Some ideas didn’t work out as planned, but were still valuable learning experiences.  My advice is, if you’re considering venturing out of your own comfort zone, do your research, plan like crazy, then jump in and just plug away at the to-do list. Sometimes the list grows faster than it gets completed, but it will be worth it.

The bottom line after almost twelve months of doing animal hospice? Giving the gift of a peaceful end-of-life experience, the creative challenges, a sense of empowerment, and the pride of practice ownership have made this the best year of my career so far. I can’t wait to see what new lessons the next one brings.

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.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carolyn Naun, DVM is the owner of Arms of Aloha, the first hospice-only veterinary practice in Hawaii. She regularly writes about quality of life for pets, pain management, and the human-animal bond on her website:www.armsofaloha.com/category/education. You can also follow @armsofaloha on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

I am a veterinary surgical oncologist. This is a bit of a mouthful and probably more than most people want to know when they ask what I do. Veterinarian is really the only answer that they want to hear and they will infer the rest about what I do from day to day. It probably involves playing with dogs and cats. The whole subspecialist thing is a bit of a bore. I realize that. My path to this job, where I do cancer surgery on small animals, with small animals being dogs and cats, included a DVM and then a small animal surgery residency and then a fellowship in surgical oncology. So I have done real veterinary medicine (aka general practice) and real surgery (aka soft tissue and orthopedics) but now I am just focused on oncology.

A few weeks ago, my colleagues asked if I could help them and do a week of orthopedics because of a staff shortage. I was happy to help, but a bit nervous because I have not done real orthopedic surgery for years. In the end, it was actually fun and my colleagues who suggested that it would be like riding a bike were right. I also had an awesome resident on with me so we joined forces and just got’er done.

That week on orthopedics, I had two kittens that came in. One could not open his jaw due to an injury to his TMJ. The other was attacked by a dog and had a broken leg. Both were cute baby kittens. Both had successful surgeries. They were fixed and went home the next day. The kitten that could open its mouth again looked visibly joyful at his new lot in life as he meowed for the first time and chowed down on his food. His owner cried when he went home. The other kitten can now play Ipad games with his broken leg and is running around being very mischievous, as kittens do.

I have to say that fixing broken kittens is pretty refreshing. Cancer surgery is my calling and I can’t imagine doing anything else, but the kitten-fixing holiday was a welcome break from the endless parade of cancer, old dogs and cats, sad clients and discussing median survival times. The median survival time for fixing a broken kitten is about 15 years, give or take a couple of years. Most of my cancer patients are sitting at 6-12 months if they have a cancer that metastasizes, longer if I can get all of the cancer with surgery. Sometimes they are cured, but these are all older patients, and, no matter how successful their surgery is, they are near the end of their lives. Then there is the ethical debate that always accompanies veterinary surgical oncology because everyone feels the need to put in their 2 cents about other people’s animals and things that have nothing to do with them when pets are having cancer surgery. No one seems to want to chime in to question why you are fixing a kitten. The answer is: Because kittens.

I briefly considered changing my subspecialty from veterinary cancer surgeon to: Veterinary Surgical Practice Limited to Broken Kittens.  But, for now, I am back to cancer surgery, with all of its sadness, challenges, ethical dilemmas, and the need to constantly justify what I do. There is a different kind of joy in giving these old friends a chance to stay with us here just a little longer.

 

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.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sarah Boston is a veterinary surgical oncologist and public speaker. Sarah is also a cancer survivor and author of the best-selling, hilarious memoir, Lucky Dog: How Being a Veterinarian Saved my Life. Follow her on Twitter or find her on Facebook.

My name is Dr. Jason Sweitzer. I’m a veterinarian and I’m addicted to puns. I’ve learned that life is full of serious events, stress, doubt, and uncertainty. However if you look closer, life is full of energy, enthusiasm, love, sarcasm, and humor. I’d like to share some light-hearted fare to look at what puns taught me about life:

Remember to take time everyday to have some pun.

It’s easy when doing dishes and laundry to find the day a wash. Make sure you branch out from raking leaves because soon you’ll have it in the bag. Sometimes we try too hard to adult and forget that children have more fun because they are always kidding.

Learn to laugh at everything.

If you are quiet, serious, and attentive, that is called a meeting and you get paid for it, or a lecture and you earn a degree for it. Everything else is fare game, especially if you drive a taxi. Don’t look at blogs for get rich quick schemes because blog backwards is golb, if you were expecting gold you are at least a little off. If you were planning on planting a bunch of shrubs, brush the thought aside. Painting however, is a stroke of genius.

Everything has more than one meaning.

Like horsing around makes you appreciate how stable your home is. I saw two technicians rolling a joint yesterday, well bandaging the elbow but you get the idea. Anti-vaxxers don’t get the point of vaccines but I think they are worth a shot. When a rude and disruptive person invaded my home, I drug them out. Bacteria bug some people but they are the only culture some people have. Like a tree or a shrub, anything that keeps you from branching out should prompt you to leave. Remember even ordinary things you see everyday, like the moon, can light your path and make waves. If you are writing a note on paper on the run, is it still called stationary?

Don’t take yourself too seriously because then you become taken with yourself.

Learn to laugh at yourself because if you aren’t, someone else is. Those are days that are overcast and you mist an opportunity. You can get a kick out of soccer (football) and get a ball out of playing most sports. If you have trouble playing hockey, stick with it.

Personally I love dairy but I decided to milk this life for all its worth. I hear meat isn’t great for the heart but wouldn’t steak much on it.

I tried some other jobs but they didn’t work out:

• Making balloons but I had my fill.
• Watch making always had me on the clock.
• Knife sharpening was a daily grind.
• Freezer repair gave me cold feet.
• Backpack maker, got sacked.
• Business furniture maker but I didn’t like all the stool samples.
• Train designer but I got railroaded.
• Animal breeder but couldn’t handle the intercourse.
• Lock maker, couldn’t keep it shut.
• Glue manufacturer, too attached to my work.
• Puzzle maker, couldn’t get it together.
• Blanket maker, got wrapped up in my work.
• English teacher, wasn’t punctual.
• Math tutor, didn’t add up.

Like Moses here are some parting words: Seriously, life is here for the laughing.

I’d rather my coworkers and friends groan at my jokes and puns and smile at my arrival than groan at my arrival and smile at my departure. Jokes are the way our body deals with stress and awkwardness. By laughing at ourselves and life we release endorphins and improve our life instead of stressing about. Laugh lines are more attractive than frown lines.

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.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jason Sweitzer, DVM, RVT is an associate veterinarian at Conejo Valley Veterinary Hospital in Thousand Oaks, CA. He does general practice and emergency medicine for small and exotics animals, as well as wildlife, with special interests in behavior medicine, management, and teaching. He balances his life with family, playing field hockey, and voluminous quantities of bad jokes and puns.