On a particularly hard day, I went home with a stone in my chest. That specific feeling where you want to cry but can’t quite get there. I have this habit, probably unhealthy, of not wanting to talk to anyone when I’m in the initial struggle with something.
I was supposed to call my grandma that day. I’d scheduled it a few days before, because I realized I hadn’t checked in on her in months. She’s at that age where I want every minute I can get with her, before that chance is gone. But I was exhausted, so I texted her asking if we could push the call to tomorrow.
This is what she sent back, fully translated from Vietnamese:
“I’m doing fine, take care of yourself and your health so you can continue to work and study. Call me whenever you are free. I love you very very much and miss you…!” *stickers spam*
She’s in her 80s and uses stickers like a true Gen Z. I’m so proud of my grandma.
I felt the stone in my chest loosen and dissolve into thin air. I needed that more than I could explain, because the second week at my rotation was not like the first.
I won’t go into the details of what happened. What I will say: somewhere in the second week, a miscommunication happened. Then I got hit with the kind of disappointment that comes when your expectations and reality don’t quite line up.
I spent a few days being frustrated about it. Then a few more days being frustrated that I was frustrated, because I knew I was lucky to be here at all, and guilt always makes things harder. Eventually, after a week of ranting to myself on the drive home, I got tired, and just started writing things down instead.
Here’s what I wrote.
1. Do your admin homework before you arrive.
Nobody told me to ask about national holidays before my rotation started. So I didn’t. And then I was surprised when I had to work one, watching everyone else get the day off, feeling that very specific flavor of “what the hell” (cue Avril Lavigne). In hindsight, that one was kinda on me.
So do your research before the rotation starts. Find out what holidays fall within your dates, and if you’re expected to work them. Ask what the rotation is structured to teach. Ask what the expected hours look like, including sick leave and any other exceptions. It is tedious, but it is also not something you want to figure out at 8 AM on a statutory holiday while your friends are still asleep.
2. Know what kind of learner you are.
Fourth year exists partly so you can figure out who you are as a veterinarian. So ask yourself, preferably before you start: What does good supervision look like for you? What does a productive learning environment feel like? What do you need from a preceptor to do your best work?
I know now that I’m a learner who thrives when my supervisor lets me do the hands-on work while they observe from the side, then jumps in when I can’t figure things out. It’s hard to know this before you’ve actually done the work (it’s the classic entry-level job posting that requires one year of experience). But figuring it out and communicating it early makes everything smoother.
Even so, be prepared: different people will have different working styles, different definitions of what effort looks like, different ideas of what communication is supposed to feel like. There’s no right or wrong way, simply different. Knowing yourself just makes the gap easier to cross.
3. Come with your specific goals written down.
Show up on day one with your goals written on paper or on your laptop or whatever helps you function. Share them with your preceptor; make sure the clinic knows what you’re there to learn. If something feels off once you’re there—a gap in your learning opportunities, a mismatch in expectations—say something early. You are not being difficult by advocating for your own education.
Hot tip: Most schools have a process for when something isn’t working mid-rotation. Know what yours is, and know who to contact if things go haywire. Remember that they are there to support your learning!
Be specific with those goals. Most preceptors want to teach, but they’re also managing a chaotic caseload, and teaching is another thing on an already full plate. Vague goals get lost.
“Participate in cases, diagnoses, and treatments” = too much wiggle room.
“Actively position 5 patients for X-rays and discuss differential findings with supervisor” = way better.
“Participate in surgeries” = you might still end up watching from the doorway.
“Scrub in on 5 surgeries and place intradermal sutures” = something entirely different.
Not all goals will get approved, and that’s okay. Put them in front of someone anyway, so everyone’s on the same page from day one.
4. Lean on your support system.
When work and school get rough, the people behind you matter more than any coping strategy you’ve ever read in a wellness newsletter. My grandma sends encouraging, sticker-ridden texts from across the world. My boyfriend meal preps on his weekends for the both of us. My mom and brother give me advice on navigating difficult situations, while my dad nods in the background and agrees I’ve been totally rigged. My roommates listen to me rant and choose my side completely, regardless of whether they actually agree.
Know who your people are before things spiral, because you won’t have the energy to figure things out alone mid-crisis. And when people show up for you, let them. Don’t go quiet and sit with it alone (don’t be me). Keep your loved ones close, so they can lift you back up when shit tries to bring you down.
Grandma and I during Lunar New Year 2026. I need to lean on this support system more.
5. A hard rotation is still a precious one.
Getting this rotation was already a win. How often does a veterinarian, let alone a vet student, get to perform anesthesia on a moose, or a bear, or a bald eagle? In hindsight, I was blessed. Every blood draw, every X-ray, every surgery I got to stand in on, all of that happened, and nobody can take those moments back. I showed up despite the hard feelings, and the learning was still real, still counted.
So even if things get hard sometimes, if things aren’t perfect sometimes (what is, anyway?), look at what you gained, what you learned, and carry them into the next one.
After this experience, I kept coming back to something Dr. Andy Roark said on a podcast about internal validation. His example was about a difficult client interaction, but I applied it here: decide that you are capable of validating yourself. Review your own values and ask honestly whether you acted on them the best you could. If you did, try not to let other people’s reactions be the verdict. Then ask what you can learn from the experience. For me, it was the five things written above.
Fourth year is long, and it won’t all be like the first week of my first rotation, the one where I was learning something new every single day and driving home through rolling hills feeling like everything was going to be fine. But it won’t all feel like the second week either (I am hopeful).
I know myself a little more than I did in May. I’ll walk into the next rotation with a list of goals in my hand and a grandmother in my corner who sends forty stickers when I need it most.
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