Perspective

 

One of my favorite songs is “I Lived” by One Republic. The lyrics include:

 

I owned every second that this world could give

 

I saw so many places, the things that I did

 

With every broken bone, I swear I lived.

 

Isn’t that what we all want to do? If I could give a new graduate one piece of advice, it would be, “Don’t limit yourself.” The veterinary degree that you sweated bullets to earn can open up a multitude of possibilities.

 

[tweetthis]If I could give a new graduate one piece of advice, it would be, “Don’t limit yourself.”[/tweetthis]

 

Like most of you, I knew I wanted to become a veterinarian about as soon as I could form coherent thoughts. And like you, I adopted a wide variety of critters when I was a child: snakes, gerbils, fish, dogs, cats, turtles, and even a Madagascar hissing cockroach. Growing up, I worked hard, got good grades, and spent a lot of time with a variety of veterinary mentors to figure out my focus. When I was accepted into veterinary school at Michigan State, I knew that I wanted to practice small animal medicine, so I built my electives around that choice. I couldn’t envision doing anything else with my life.

 

When I graduated, I found a job with a progressive small animal practice in Midland, Michigan. My bosses were excellent mentors, both clinically and in terms of client service. But I had married a classmate and he wasn’t faring so well, so I followed him to Minneapolis, where he found a job in industry, and I took the only job available in a not-so-progressive small animal practice.

 

 

In that era, industry jobs were viewed as the “dark side.” (How could you leave practice?) But far from being dark, I saw my husband thrive. He was partnering with colleagues in practice; helping train them to provide the best care possible for their patients. And for the first time in our professional lives, we not only had time for a personal life, but could actually pay our bills.

 

Our next move was to Kansas City; again, we moved because of my husband (this time, he got a promotion). There weren’t many practice jobs available and I couldn’t find one that matched my practice philosophy. I saw how happy my husband was professionally, so I thought, why shouldn’t I investigate an industry job?

 

A veterinary journal was looking for an editor at the time. I had always loved English in high school and college, and the position was a great fit. I collaborated with specialists and honed my editing skills. I eventually grew into a position where I oversaw all things clinical, including the journal, website, and CE conferences.

 

It was professionally fulfilling and I stayed for quite a while. But eventually, I felt stale. About this time, I had a conversation with a friend who told me that he likes to reinvent himself every seven years to grow and feel challenged. I got it. So I looked at my options and moved on again.

 

 

I’m now with Putney, a veterinary generic pharmaceutical company. It’s an amazing small company with a very entrepreneurial feel. More importantly, what we do is vital to veterinary medicine. Our mission is to make pet healthcare more affordable by providing veterinary approved generic drugs so that clients can make decisions based on their pet’s medical needs vs. their paycheck. I feel proud to be a part of that mission.

 

The position involved a move from Kansas City to Portland, Maine, which wasn’t easy for my husband (but it was my turn for a move). The change in scenery has been fantastic – the ocean, mountains, lakes, lobsters. We love it.

 

I don’t know where you are on your own professional journey, but I want you to know that there are a lot of options out there and many ways to fulfill your passion for veterinary medicine, even if you’re sure you know exactly what you want to do right now. I recommend that you own every second of your experience. See places, do things and take the risk of trying something new. For me, that has been the key to no regrets.

 

[tweetthis]Own every second of your experience. See places, do things and take the risk of trying something new[/tweetthis]

 

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Dr. Tracy Revoir graduated from Michigan State University (Go Green!) and practiced in Michigan, Minnesota, and Kansas. She is currently Manager of Veterinary Support for Putney, located in beautiful Portland, Maine.

 

 

 

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There’s always been a soft spot in my heart for cheesy action movies. Think: Robert Downey Junior in a metal suit, Bruce Willis in a skyscraper, or Arnold Schwarzenegger anywhere except a political office. I love bad dialogue, implausible situations, and good guys blowing things up.

 

I think anyone who has ever watched that kind of movie is familiar with this scene: Hero turns and walks away from some asset of the evil empire he or she has just conquered, and as the tank/airplane/helicopter/fortress explodes into oblivion in the background, our hero just keeps walking, with nary a backward glance.

 

If you’ve seen as many of these scenes as I have, at some point you’ve probably asked yourself, “Why don’t they look back? That’s a REALLY loud noise. And how often do you get to see an evil genius’s blimp explode, anyway?” Movie-lovers throw this question around on the Internet from time to time, actually, and I recently stumbled across a response I think nails it. The gist of it is this:

 

We don’t really want our heroes to look back at explosions. Striding confidently away without turning around is a sign of certainty, and that’s a trait we like in our heroes.

 

[tweetthis]Striding away without turning around is a sign of certainty, a trait we like in our heroes[/tweetthis]

 

Think about it for a moment. When our hero shoots a rocket at the alien’s spaceship and then turns and walks away as a big cloud of flames ignites, we know two things:

 

1. Our hero is absolutely sure that this was the right thing to do.
2. The job has been accomplished completely.

 

Our hero is not wondering, “What if there’s just a little explosion and I only knocked out the spacecraft air conditioning system?” No. They shoot the rocket and walk away because this is the right thing to do and it’s going to work.

 

We want heroes with that confidence and certainty, because we wish we had it ourselves. But we veterinarians don’t always have it — or at least, if we do, we don’t show it. Deep down, I think we know we have the knowledge and skills to save pets’ lives, to conquer the “bad guys” of disease and injury. But we don’t always show that confidence.

 

[tweetthis]We forget that we are here to save the day and that pet owners NEED us.[/tweetthis]

 

Think about this: How often do we make wishy-washy recommendations that don’t convey confidence in what we do?

 

We’ve got to stop saying things like, “Your pet has dental disease. We can treat it… or maybe wait and keep an eye on it?” Keep an eye on it? It’s a progressive disease and we know it. It’s not going to get better. We have the skills, training, and equipment to deal with this problem — so let’s tell the pet owner it’s time to get this scheduled and fix it. Let’s blow up that dental disease and then walk away without looking back!

 

Listen, I’m not saying we should fake any confidence we don’t actually have. It’s got to be real, and it’s got to come from a place of integrity. Don’t endorse products and services that you don’t truly believe in. Don’t look a pet owner in the eye and recommend a procedure you’re really not sure about. But do work to learn and master the treatments and protocols you can really stand behind, so that when a pet owner comes to you with a problem, you’re ready to solve it with confidence.

 

Then blow it up and save the day.

 

[tweetthis]Blow it up and save the day.[/tweetthis]

I live in a Star Wars Fandom household. I’m pretty sure the main reason my Gen-X, Comic-Con loving husband agreed to have kids was that so he would have an excuse to buy every Star Wars Lego in existence and drag his ancient Millennium Falcon action figure out of the garage. He tried, unsuccessfully, to get me to wear a Carrie Fisher costume to a party (nope). We met Mark Hamil once before he became relevant again and it was the highlight of our week.

I may not be as nuts about the Star Wars universe as he is, but I do like it. It speaks to me like it does to so many, about the universal themes of good and evil and the ordinary heroes that lie within us all. It is where I learned to be fearful of creepy dudes who lick their lips their too much. And the character who changes everything is not the hero we worship from afar but the wrinkly, wizened old dude who hangs out behind the dumpster and looks like he might smell weird.

So without further ado, in honor of this auspicious May the Fourth I’m happy to present the Top 5 Lessons Vet Teams Can Learn From Yoda:

So much of what we deal with, the anger and the nastiness from upset clients, has nothing to do with us, no matter how it may feel at the time. Fear- of illness, of guilt, of money issues, of losing their pet- it can make people insane, especially around the holidays.

But we are vet Jedi (Veti?), and we know that we need to respond to anger not with more anger, but by addressing the underlying fear. Think Luke versus Vader in that last confrontation. It takes a long time to perfect this one, but you always have to try.

What strikes fear into your heart more, a Golden with an ear infection or an angry cat with a corneal ulcer? Trick question. The answer, of course, is always a chihuahua with an abscessed tooth.

Appearances in general can be deceiving. Like the guy whose soles are falling off his feet and leaves his dog with you while he goes off to find the money for his pet’s x-rays and then, despite the predictions of the staff, comes back an hour later with the entire amount in cash. Or the tough guy who needs an extra half hour alone in the room with extra tissues after you euthanize his boxer. Never assume. Or if you must assume, assume only the best and let people prove you wrong.

Of all the crazy Veti powers we have, I think many of us would agree that being with our clients in the moments of a pet’s transition is among the most awe-inspiring and powerful. Pets do not fear death, and often, it seems, even welcome it. The way we help clients experience this and understand it sets the tone for how they view death not only with future pets, but for themselves. I’ve been preaching this one for a while as a hospice vet, but let me tell you, as the daughter of a woman who died in hospice- this stuff matters so, so much.

You can take a time of horror and dread and make it ten times more traumatic, or you can bring people an incredible level of peace. Choose well. It is a true honor and responsibility.

We are surrounded by self-proclaimed internet experts in every topic from nutrition (mostly nutrition) to behavior to immunology (ok, that one too.) I get it- the allure of an easy path to fame and fortune on the back of a few pithy tropes and some mumbo jumbo about GMOs and toxins has to be hard to resist, especially when it’s so damn lucrative to trade on people’s fears.

It’s easy to for someone to swoop in with a sexy black outfit and some heavy breathing and convince the world they’re more powerful than they really are, and when you’re the one in the drab brown cape practicing swordplay in a swamp for a decade or so it kind of sucks when you see the other guy getting all the credit while you take all the lumps. All I can say is, be patient, padawan. This stuff always falls apart in the end when it’s no longer in vogue and the world moves on to their next diffuse enemy and life-saving snake oil. You, on the other hand, will always have your integrity.

We have chosen a challenging path. It’s not glamorous, easy, or particularly lucrative. Depression, economic stressors, and burnout abound. Before the internet, most of us suffered alone and with no idea that our colleagues deal with all the same fears, worries, and doubts.

There are two things you need to take from that:

• If you are in a dark place, reach out. There will always be someone to grab onto your hand.
• If you are in the light, be that hand for others. Be available. Be patient. Be someone’s Yoda. Show kindness to your colleagues, you must.

May the force be with you.

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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.

I spent most of my adult life preparing for veterinary school without admitting it, because I figured I would never make it there.

Every financial and academic decision I made, I made with this goal in mind, even though I never discussed it. I went to community college on a scholarship for free tuition, worked multiple jobs, budgeted and built up my credit, did my damnedest in school, got a cheap apartment, and when I transferred to my in-state university, enrolled in the Animal Science program. I always put in my best effort, but I truly believed that, at some point along the road, I would have to give up.

Going Forth With Optimism

I almost didn’t even apply to vet school. I’m not a book-smart person and I don’t master things by reading and writing them. I never thought my place was as a doctor, but I have an almost rebellious urge to push myself.

Toward the end of my degree at Rutgers, I met my friend Kevin. When I told him that I was going to apply to veterinary school but I might not get in, he was encouraging – he made it seem so attainable. Soon, I began telling my friends that I would apply, and then my family. Before I knew it, I was applying and asking freely for help. So, I told myself I would apply to vet school just once. If I got in, it was a sign that I should go. I applied, got into one school, and off I went to Ross.

When I began my first semester at RUSVM, I was extremely hopeful for my academic success. I had done well in undergraduate years, but not as well as I’d always wanted. Many of the veterinarians I knew said that vet school was much easier for them than undergrad – not because the information was easier, but because it’s more “in their wheelhouse,” so they felt more compelled to study and thus understand the material. Many of them said that their GPAs in veterinary school were much higher than their undergraduate GPAs. I hoped I’d follow suit.

Setting the Wrong Standard

That first September, my personal goal was pretty simple. At the end of my last semester, I just wanted to see more As on my transcript than I’d gotten in undergrad. Even just one more. Always the practical and realistic type, I didn’t put too much pressure on the first semester since I’d just moved to a foreign country and faced lots of new obstacles on a daily basis. When I got a neat row of Bs for final grades, I felt very neutral about it. I told myself that I could only go up from here, and promised myself As and Bs next time.

What seemed like optimism actually turned into the most painful, unachievable standard I have ever set for myself.

[tweetthis]What seemed like optimism turned into the most painful standard I have ever set for myself[/tweetthis]

Second semester, I did nothing but fail or barely pass exams, despite spending all my time studying or in-office hours. The fact that I was working so hard and barely squeaking by made me hate myself; but a challenge is a challenge. In the end I scraped by with mostly Cs and one lonely B. At first I was relieved, but then, in crept the thought that I had fallen short yet again: “My goal was for As and Bs, and I only got Cs and a B. How low do I have to make my standards?”

It began to take me down. Struggles surfaced that I hadn’t faced since I was a teenager. When you set a goal for yourself that you can’t achieve, and then you have to start lowering it, lowering it, and lowering it — in the face of all these people who are achieving it — you begin to hate yourself.

Because I will always push for progress, I came out fighting in third semester. The material was less abstract and more palatable – I was learning about bacteria (one of my favorite things) and viruses (for which I developed a passion). For the first time, including undergrad, I felt what it was like to master material, and it was awesome.

When we got our final grades, I found that all of my As had slipped down to Bs. Still, I was ready to accept that as progress, until I began to listen to my classmates. They’d hated the semester. They’d felt like it was useless information, stupid and purely memorization, but they’d still done better.

There it was: a year of personal progress, diminished in an off-hand way by people who I hold in such high regard. My best work easily and dispassionately outstripped. Maybe my improvement didn’t actually mean I was any good since it was “just stupid memorization.”

Halfway through vet school, I threw out my original goal, and instead pushed for just one A per semester. Fourth semester started, and in a massive effort to prove myself, I excelled. It was another great semester full of tangible, useful, inspiring material. I enjoyed it from beginning to end, but in the end my grades were the same as my third-semester grades – the ones that I had devalued to worthlessness. With all the right ingredients working for me, I still couldn’t make progress, and I still couldn’t perform above our class averages.

Defining Failure – and Success

Now, at this point, the only reason I was “failing” was because I was telling myself that I was. But, that is when I truly began to fail. I lost my spirit and slipped into a fierce, soul-sucking depression. These comparisons against my own previous performances and against my classmates’ performances undid me.

In fifth semester, I returned to therapy for the first time in a long, long time. Every day was a fog and I couldn’t recognize my own thoughts or words. I had so much love and support all around me, but it just hurt that my loved ones wanted to support me when I was so disgusted with myself. Class was a living nightmare. I felt that I was sitting in a room, being presented with my own ruin, being lectured by my own failures, being taught that my very best was the rest of the world’s mediocre.

I tried for a long time to heed the advice I give friends on a daily basis: “Bs are exceptional grades; you should be proud! Don’t beat yourself up too much — you had a lot going on that week! Stop being so hard on yourself or the stress alone will stop you from getting questions right! You’re in vet school and you’re passing. Isn’t that enough?” But when you’re stubborn and you aim to always improve, you can’t take your own advice. I would tell my friends these things knowing how hypocritical it was. But I needed to prove to myself that I could get an A, and I once again lowered my goal — if I got one A in all seven semesters, I would feel valuable.

In the end, I passed fifth. It was due to the help of my friends, who tutored me, and my boyfriend, whose voice drove me when I couldn’t empower myself. It was thanks to professors who gave me all of their time and became my personal coaches. I found a love for the material that had been taught all semester, despite my absence.

I began to fix the problems in my personal life, and I made a pact with myself. As long as I was happy with my own mastery of the material, I could dismiss grading and class statistics.

Setting Myself Up to Win

Since then, I have regained my old day-by-day happiness. Not because I’m doing an amazing job academically, and not because I’m “beating personal bests” or “always making progress.” It’s because I am happiest when I work hard on material that I love to learn, and to the simplest degree, that’s all I need to be successful. I check my gradebook to make sure I passed, then ignore it. I allow myself to have downtime without feeling wracked with guilt, and I no longer hide it when I watch TV or spend extra time Skyping with my family. I let myself watch a movie or take a drive without being defensive.

[tweetthis]I am happiest when I work hard on material that I love to learn.[/tweetthis]

Sixth semester yielded me the best grades yet. They happened to fall 0.01 GPA point short of the overarching goal I had set for my seven semesters – something that would have destroyed me a year ago. I still don’t have one single A on my transcript from my entire time here at Ross (oh, let me count the B+s!), but that’s okay. I was never cut out for academia. I hate studying, and I hate getting lectured to for six plus hours a day.

What I have learned is that I was cut out to be a veterinarian. I love learning, and I love being on my feet twelve-plus hours a day just to solve a few problems. From now on, I will utilize the strength I had from the start: being a happy worker. This is what has made my final semester so rewarding and empowering.

With my final months of vet school coming to a close, I am looking back on what I put myself through for 2.5 years. To be honest, I don’t remember the hard times and the pain as much as I remember all the shiny moments that made my heart happy, the small triumphs I prided myself in that others would have dismissed. Like when after months of repetition I finally recalled anatomical details of the horse leg that everyone already knew, when I pulled my Reich average up from a 60 to a 70 with one great exam, or the appreciation I developed for clinical pathology puzzles.

I remember the conversations I had with professors who rooted for me, and all the times I took a drive to chase down a moment of pure peace in a beautiful corner of the island. The time I passed my aseptic exam, the time I changed our donkey’s bandage in record speed, or the time the surgeon hated on me through a whole procedure and at the end admitted that I suture beautifully. These are the moments I’m basing my success on.

My advice for anyone on a tough path, veterinary student or not, is that when you start to struggle, look to yourself first. Maybe it’s you who is standing in your way. You will be your biggest antagonist unless you can learn to work with your strengths and forgive yourself the weaknesses. My drive is what earned me a seat at this school, but it also almost caused me to withdraw. Build the relationships that will love you at the bottom and celebrate you at the top. Create those tiny moments to live for. One tiny shiny moment after the next, you will have a grand accomplishment. Nobody blossoms without a little appreciation – that goes for yourself and the people around you.

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Erin Gruber is a third-year veterinary medicine student at Ross University in St. Kitts, and will be attending her clinical year at Purdue University. Her career interests include large animal medicine, public health, and bison. She is from Beachwood, New Jersey and has two dogs, Abbey and Rascal.