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Wellness

Breakup Letter to My Student Loan Debt

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Dear Debt,

It’s finally come to this. After years of struggling with you. Waiting for you to change. Feeling dragged down by you. Feeling ashamed of how big and scary you are. I just can’t do it anymore. I know now that I can’t keep hoping you will change. You will never change as long as I can’t even look at you.

And so, we need to breakup.

I’m tired of keeping you in the closet. Tired of pretending you don’t exist. I can’t keep ignoring you or giving you the silent treatment. Just the thought of you stresses me out and gives me stomach cramps. No more. No more.

I refuse to be your prisoner anymore. I refuse to feel ashamed of you any longer. I’m sure you could sense this breakup coming. After all, we go way back.  And rather than a breakup I’m going to reframe all this and call it, a breakthrough. Because in order for this breakup to be healthy I have to get to a different place with you. I need to leave this shame behind and embrace you for the value that you have given me.

So thank you.

Thank you for all that you have given me. With your help, I was able to become a skilled and capable veterinarian that saves lives. Because of you Maggie, Mako, Bentley, Abby, Bella, and Harley (to name a few) are all alive and happy and healthy. Because of you, there have been more kisses, more tummy rubs, more belly laughs, and more smiles in this world. Because of you, I have been able to do this. To save lives. To perpetuate the purest of unconditional love that is shared between human and animal. You helped me do that. And for that, I am so grateful.

And though you may be big, no longer will I let the tiny legs of shame creep into my chest when I think of you. I will face you with my head held high and plan for your demise.  And please, don’t feel like I never loved you. Because you are the purveyor of love. And that is nothing to be ashamed of.

Love,

The Purposeful Vet

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.

Thanks for the Reminder to Feel

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As vets, we have wins and losses. That’s the job. And amidst challenging clients, long work hours, insurmountable debt, huge caseloads and attempts at work/life balance, it is easy to lose track of why we entered this field. We advocate for the innocent, we heal those who are deeply loved (and in that process, those who love them), and when the time comes, we give them a death with dignity.

Often I don’t feel sad after a euthanasia. I normally feel the burden of responsibility, but not sadness. And that is a choice I actively make; we as veterinarians can’t emotionally survive if we don’t put up those barriers. But that is a dangerous path – barriers become walls, and walls become apathy.

BUT, once in a while, a critter comes along who dulls the sharp edges of those barriers, who reminds us why we choose this career in the first place. A sweet animal who makes us feel not only their loss but the loss of all the other animals we’ve helped to die.

In my case, that critter came in rather… unusual… form.

Andie was a hairless rat, with a kink in her tail. She was presumably found abandoned in a graveyard five months ago. When I carried her around in my scarf under the guise of “monitoring” her (her owner saw riiiiight through that), she surprised and delighted my colleagues. She was so imperfectly perfect. She melted my heart in a way far “cuter” critters have failed to do.

Yesterday, I was the one to give her her last breath. And I feel so, so deeply, painfully sad about that; yet I also feel honored that she arrived in my life just in time to give me such a beautiful kick-in-the-shins to remind me to, you know, FEEL once in a while.

Goodbye, sweet Andie, and thanks for the reminder.

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

Carrie Daly is a 2009 graduate of the University of Minnesota and a transient ER veterinarian – having practiced in Hong Kong, Minnesota, Oregon, and soon Colorado. She is a mom to 4-year-old twins and a 3-year-old son, and thus considers herself to be both a manager and purveyor of chaos. She enjoys international travel, unsuccessful attempts at meditation, running trail ultramarathons, writing on her Facebook blog (The Five Mayhems), and above all else – napping.

No One Warns You About the Loneliness

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Everyone tells you that you will learn more in your first year as a veterinarian than your year on the clinic floor in veterinary school. They tell you about the long hours, the mountain of debt, the anxiety and the high rate of substance abuse and suicide, but we are not warned about the loneliness.

The first year out is tough.

This is what we’ve always wanted, but it is something we have never experienced. It is disorienting to transition from a set schedule, with cut and dry goals (exams, classes, semesters) to an open-ended span of days, weeks, years where you just… work.

Many new jobs involve a big move. This move can be far from the home you’ve known for the past four to eight years – new roads, new stores, new culture. Not only are you far from home, but you are also far from friends and family. After graduation, the friends who were just minutes away are now hundreds of miles away. The fellow vets you’ve shared blood, sweat and cow manure with now may go months to years without seeing one another. Contact dwindles down in some cases and isolation can set in. 

As working veterinarians, our schedules are both unpredictable and predictable. We can predict that we may be late to functions, may have to cancel plans or that we may be in bed by 9 pm on a weekend. But we can never predict what will come through the clinic door at any time. This lifestyle can make it difficult to make new friends as young professionals. We are typically tired, often poor and once we reveal our job we are asked for free vet advice rather than cultivating new and lasting friendships.

Your words have meaning.

In the workplace, we have to maintain professional boundaries with staff members. As a veterinarian in the clinic, my mentor impressed on me that my words have meaning. What I say matters, so make sure it needs to be said. As a student for over 18 years, combined with being at the bottom of the hospital food chain during clinics, my words have rarely held weight as they do now. This responsibility brings with it anxiety over things I say or have said. Missing the friendships from school, I talk to the fellow animal-lovers in the clinic. These wonderful human-beings are often my own age and are experiencing similar life changes like moving, getting engaged/married, starting a family and even losing loved ones. I love to talk and have to actively stop myself from engaging in certain conversations during the work-day as I feel that can be a distraction to the staff. When we have a job to do, I need to know that my words will carry meaning so that we as a team can accomplish the tasks at hand.

Our significant others are the most resilient of humans.

Many journeyed through school by our side. They braved the late nights of studying, the tears, the rants, the mini-breakdowns over finals and stressful rotations. Out in the world, they now brave the working veterinarian with an unpredictable schedule and emotionally taxing work life. I feel guilty for unloading my frustrations of problematic clients, difficult cases or co-worker interactions on my fiancé during the week, so many times I keep things to myself. I feel that venting about my job is a form of failure on my part. That I am somehow failing my clients, my employer, my colleagues and myself.  I feel guilt that I am belly-aching about something I have worked so hard for. Something that I finally get to do. 

Practicing medicine can make you feel alone.

Wracking your brain for the mechanism of action of a drug, trying to remember how a certain disease will impact the rest of the body, figuring out what the weird gray shape on that radiograph is – my mentor has termed it “growing pains.” It is this period of organizing your brain to function from an academic and test setting to a clinical and practical setting. You also have to sharpen your maturity to be more “professional.” The problem is, I have no real idea on how to be professional. Not yet, anyway. I’m a 26-year-old with the license to wield a scalpel who also binge watches Game of Thrones and eats ice cream out of the container.  I have somehow gained the knowledge base to graduate and pass state and national licensing exams but when it comes to being in the “real world,” I’m still figuring it out. Impostor syndrome is real. It is so easy to be wounded by the one negative client than it is to experience the fulfillment and joy of the countless wonderful clients and patients. It will take time and effort, and the “growing pains” may change along the way, but hopefully, I can find a healthy balance of being a flawed human being who also practices veterinary medicine. 

No one prepares you for the loneliness.

I know that I have the support in this career field to do what I love. I have my family that loves unconditionally, my fiancé who can always make me laugh and feel loved and my classmates who are also experiencing the first-year out of school. I have my mentors who know what I am going through and who look out for me and my well-being. Veterinary medicine can be full of stubborn people, myself included and I am determined to let others know that they are not alone in feeling isolated. Our job can be hard, it doesn’t mean our lives have to be. Someone out there is feeling the same way you do. So, tell someone.

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

Ashley DeAtley is a 2018 graduate of Auburn University’s College of Veterinary Medicine. After eight years in Alabama for her undergraduate degree and veterinary school, she moved across the country to southern California for her first job as an associate veterinarian. When she isn’t working, she can be found sleeping, going to the beach, watching Netflix on the couch with her fiance and loving on her two cats Atlas and Ecko.

“What Can We Do?”

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I have a bad habit of checking social media first thing in the morning, which I know can really set the day off on the wrong foot. This morning, I woke up to see a post from a veterinarian friend that she had two veterinarians in her life commit suicide this week.

As I read the many responses, one stood out to me above all the messages of condolences: “What can we as a community do?” This was not from a fellow veterinarian. This question came from a client, a neighbor, a friend.

As a veterinarian, I am well-aware of our profession’s mental health crisis and try to educate my friends and family about this problem. I have read the growing number of journal and news articles that try to bring awareness. I’m glad we are talking about it, but a lot of veterinarians still feel that the public “doesn’t get it” and “never will.”

But as that one response showed me, there are people asking to understand. There are people who want to help. We need to let them in — to share with them the good, the bad, and the ugly of our daily lives as veterinarians. Yes, there are some things that can never be understood by someone who doesn’t work in the field, but if we as a veterinary profession continue to be open, we will expand our community to include the clients who care deeply about us.

So welcome to the community, my non-veterinary friends. Wondering what you can do to help? Here are three ways to start:

1. Social Media: Think before you respond.

I also woke up to a text message from a veterinary technician friend asking my opinion of a recent viral social media post about alleged negligence on the part of a veterinarian. Sadly, many times, these two situations are linked—a viral social media post condemning and vilifying the veterinarian involved and the end of that veterinarian’s life.

I had seen and read that post. The first time I read it, I was angry and disgusted. But I’ve had time to think about it, and I knew exactly how to respond: “It does sound awful, but I always try to remember that there are two sides to the story.”

I’m not saying there aren’t veterinarians who make mistakes and try to cover them up or even at times do things maliciously, but they are the minority. Yes, veterinarians make mistakes — we are human. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, those mistakes result in the loss of a beloved family member. But vicious attacks against the person who made that mistake won’t bring that pet back and may just result in the loss of another life.

So, dear clients, think before you pile on. There are always two sides to the story, and as medical professionals, our hands are tied with how we can respond. For more on this check out Dr. Nicole Palumbo’s post on “How to Decode a Bad Review.”

2. Dilute the negative reviews.

In vet school, we are taught that “the solution to pollution is dilution,” when learning how to manage infected wounds. In essence, flush out all the bad stuff with even more good stuff. This lesson gives the clients and friends who love us a chance to actively do something to help.

Have you had a good experience with your veterinarian? Was there a technician or other staff member who went above and beyond for you and your pet? Tell the world about it! Take a few minutes to write a positive review on your veterinarian’s website or Facebook page. Be specific and use staff names if you remember them.

Doing this will not only help to overshadow the inevitable bad reviews, it will give the veterinary team something to look back on when times are tough.

3. Send a thank you note.

I have a box of all the thank you cards I have received in my nearly six years of practice. I treasure each one and review them from time to time when I’m having a really bad day. I receive many verbal thanks and hugs after successful treatment of a sick patient or the peaceful passing of a beloved pet through euthanasia, but having a written note, something to physically hold on to, in the midst of a bad day makes a difference.

Consider sending a special technician or receptionist a note as well, or mention them by name in a card to the clinic. They receive even less thanks for their hard work than we do, and we could not do our jobs without them.

So, I invite you, my non-veterinary friends, to become a part of the veterinary community at large and help support us so that we can continue to love and care for your pets and you. And please, keep asking us what you can do to help.

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. Kate Boatright, a 2013 graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, is an associate veterinarian in western Pennsylvania. She practices small animal general practice and emergency medicine with special interests in surgery, internal medicine and feline medicine. She is actively involved in her state and local veterinary medical associations and is a founding member of the VBMA Alumni. She is passionate about the veterinary profession and enjoys educating both members of the profession, students, and clients through writing and speaking. 

Media’s Emotional Blackmail Is Killing Veterinarians

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A previous version of this article first appeared on Medium.com.

Emotional blackmail is the new term being used to characterize the pressure that clients put on veterinarians to care for their pets, to feel guilty about charging, and for making money. It has catapulted our profession into a crisis of burnout, compassion fatigue and suicide.

Veterinarians are currently the profession with the highest rate of suicide. There are so many factors that contribute to making this profession the hardest job you will ever love.

One new aspect is media reaction. They are killing us. Literally. There have been several high-profile stories in the press recently where a pet owner takes a sick pet, often a puppy, to the emergency hospital for treatment. The owner is given a quote and cannot afford to pay. The puppy is sick enough that, without treatment, it will die. The veterinarian, who has likely been through this heartbreaking scenario countless times, tries to offer options to save the puppy. They are likely even a bit blinded by the fact that they just can’t euthanize another puppy that could be treated and have a happy life. They will go over third-party payment plans (they exist), asking for help from family and friends, Go Fund Me campaigns, trying a less expensive treatment option that is not optimal or euthanasia. The last-resort option is to have the pet surrendered to the hospital to try to find a rescue group or owner (often someone who works at the hospital) who will assume financial and legal responsibility for the pet. Hopefully, the treatment will be successful and the pet can be rehomed. This is a monumental effort on the part of the veterinarians and staff that try to make this work, and likely costs the hospital money. Veterinarians are not looking for more homeless sick puppies to rescue. We don’t want this.

The pet is surrendered to the hospital and no good deed goes unpunished. The pet owners, justifiably heartbroken by their loss, will sometimes go to the media — particularly social media — who jump on the bandwagon to try to get their puppy back. This scenario will invariably vilify the veterinarian and staff, who have gone to great lengths to save this puppy’s life. Some of them have done far more than the previous owner was willing to do. The media are executing emotional blackmail here, and it is on a massive scale and generally brings in our friend, the Internet. The Internet will then be let loose on the veterinary hospital and staff with unrelenting trolling. When stories like these break, veterinary staff have had to endure no end of online abuse, terrible reviews and even threats to their personal safety. Some hospitals have had to close temporarily to weather the storm.

There is no effort on the part of the media to try to educate the public that veterinary care is expensive, especially the lifesaving emergency care at 24-hour hospitals. There is no effort to educate the public about the responsibilities that go along with pet ownership. There is no effort to educate the public about pet insurance, which exists. (And no, you can’t get it after your dog is sick, which is an amazingly common question and also fraud.) There is no effort to discuss why veterinary care is expensive, or the resources that go into caring for your pet in this setting. Everyone is just angry that it costs money and they direct this anger at the people who are trying to help.

There are several results of this irresponsible reporting. The obvious one is the direct damage to the veterinary hospital and staff. There is also the widespread damage it does to all veterinary professionals when they receive the message that what we do is not valuable and should not cost money, and that we are terrible people who are only in it for the money. Suggesting we are only in it for the money, or that if we cared for animals we would do this for free, is laughable to any veterinarian. We love animals more than anything. We have made caring for their health and welfare our life’s work. We have given up so much to do this. How dare anyone suggest otherwise, just because we also have to charge for our services and, at some point, make a living and pay off our huge student loans?

The unintended consequence of “news” stories like these is that many veterinary hospitals are having to change their policies so that surrender and rehoming these pets is no longer an option. This brings us back to the previously stated options, which are third-party financing or euthanasia. So, along with killing veterinarians, these stories are also killing pets. Thanks, media. I know that puppies and heart-wrenching stories like these make for great TV, but I am begging you to report on these issues more responsibly and to think about the destruction you’re leaving in your wake as you move on to the next big thing. We are still here, trying to care for animals.

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.


TISI: I’m Tired of Bullying in Veterinary Medicine

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Mental health. Self-Care. Anxiety. Depression. Suicide.

These are all words that have come to the forefront of veterinary medicine in recent years. It is finally a topic that is being addressed in seminars, conferences and articles. It is a real problem.

I have heard many theories about why it is such a problem in our field. Intense/Type A personalities, chronic stress, high debt to income ratios, long hours, the desire to help everyone, mistreatment from clients, the loss of patients, coping with disease day after day… the list goes on. Many of us had some level of depression or anxiety before we went into vet med, so perhaps it is an even deeper issue of the types of people drawn to this field?

This last week, another factor has been on my mind. One that seems to be discussed less than the rest, but one that I suspect may be one of the biggest contributing factors. Maybe it is even an elephant in the room, and I’m not supposed to bring it up?

What is this factor? It isn’t what the world brings through the doors of our clinics. It is what WE bring through the doors of our clinics. It is work place bullying and emotional abuse, and I think it is a bigger problem than we want to admit.

This can occur in a number of forms, from a head tech bullying other support staff, to managers, owners and veterinarians bullying the other veterinarians or clinic staff. I am not talking about the occasional harsh remark or bad mood, I am referring to targeted-ongoing abuse.

This week, a technician I know and deeply respect was targeted, blamed and humiliated for a mistake that was absolutely the responsibility of the veterinarian she was working for. She was shamed and reprimanded by one veterinarian while the responsible veterinarian stood by and said nothing. Later, she was told that she would not be allowed to explain her side of the story and was demoted.

This cycle can become frighteningly similar to domestic abuse. The abuser gains a position of power and uses it to crush someone who doesn’t feel they can stand up to them. And the behavior continues. The victim is torn down enough that they feel they have little or no worth, and have nowhere to go, because who would want them? Some victims are in a healthier place and deal with or leave the situation quickly. Some stay until they can’t take it anymore and have to get out. But then, how to get out? How do you muster the strength to take a chance on finding a new position and moving on when you’ve been convinced you aren’t of value? What if you are dependent on the abuser for a good job reference? Some choose the ultimately tragic way to get out, having been effectively taught that their lives have no value.

In these situations, abuse from clients or the loss of a patient may be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, but perhaps we would all have more reserves to handle these situations if we built each other up instead of tearing each other down.

I hope that many who read this will not have experienced these issues, but I suspect the vast majority of people in this profession will know exactly what I’m talking about.

Perhaps the bullies in our clinics learned this habit from being bullied themselves? Perhaps it is an expression of “imposter syndrome,” the fear that we aren’t really perfect and someone will find us out? 

Fellow veterinarians: We work in a small world. The words we say about each other not only erode the public’s trust in our entire profession, but they can quickly get back to the veterinarian being talked about. Let’s stop tearing each other down. And let’s stop allowing bullying in our clinics.

We need to be aware of what is happening within our own walls. We need to pay attention to our managers and people in lead positions. When staff complains about being picked on or bullied, it should raise a red flag. 

Clinic owners, please learn to be leaders, not just bosses. Don’t let your managers (or clients) tear down your associates and support staff. Don’t feel the need to prove how much more skill and knowledge your experience has given you than your younger associates have. Don’t tear them down to build yourselves up. Support and teach them. Build them into great veterinarians. 

Veterinarians, remember that our techs are the backbone of the clinic. They catch so many of our mistakes for us that we can’t afford to blame them for the one they might miss if it was ultimately our mistake. We need to be leaders, admit our own humanity and admit our own mistakes. We need to eradicate the cycles of abuse from our clinics. Maybe if we are intentional about what WE bring into our clinics, maybe we’ll have the emotional reserves to handle everything else that comes through the door?

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.