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The author's own kitten, Geronimo, getting his first veterinary visit in the middle of all this chaos! Image courtesy Katrina Pope

Six months ago, I started my clinical rotations in veterinary school. 

Before school, I had worked at several clinics, including a large emergency hospital in a big city. I had seen terrible cases, and I had grieved many losses. I had known joy from every small win. It feels different now, though.

Every patient win and loss feels more acutely mine than it did as a veterinary assistant, even though I know I have the guidance and overview of my clinicians. I get up early to nurse these patients, and I stay late to make sure they have everything they need. I call tearful owners. I spend hours researching new treatment options and prognosis for their cases. When they don’t make it, I think about them even days later. Wondering what we could have done differently. When they go home, happy with tails wagging or purring like a motor, I remember why I’m here. Then there is a whole spectrum of emotions that I feel in between.

I worked up a recent case where the patient ended up with a very rare diagnosis, something even the long-standing experts in our hospital had only seen a handful of. It was so gratifying to have a hunch, see it diagnosed, and know I was correct. It may be my only opportunity to see this disease after hearing about it in so many lectures. Then there was the immediate come down. This was a risky diagnosis, a possibly life-ending disease in a dog that seemed otherwise happy and healthy. His owner cried at the news as we explained his only chance was a very risky surgery, and even then, that may not be an option if it had spread to his vasculature. All of this while this relaxed poodle lays next to us, happily stealing chicken and wagging his tail.

And then there is the pain of losing a case to follow-up.

A young husky came to us with a diagnosis of orthopedic disease, but a closer examination revealed a progressive neurologic disease, possibly terminal. For such a young active puppy, it was a devastating diagnosis. I cared for this patient for days, and helped him through his hospital anxieties. I cuddled with him in the afternoons, and I carried him through the yard when he was too unsteady. Then, I switched rotations and I never heard from those owners again. I have no idea what happened to him. I wonder if he is still able to walk. Is he still the happy, jumpy puppy I met?

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Nelson the crocodile is intubated at the Belize Zoo. Image courtesy Katrina Pope

There have been good days though, too. I nursed a piglet for a whole week, terrified the whole time she was going to relapse and die on my watch. I watched her get her appetite back, then begin to let her personality shine through. I knew what each grunt and squeal meant, from “Pay attention to me!” to “I’m so hungry!” to “Don’t auscultate my lungs!” All shouted at full volume. She discovered straw and toys and blankets and treats and ear scratches. And at the end of all that, she went home to live a spoiled life on a farm that would treasure her for everything she offered. I helped a dog with knees so painful, he could barely stand. I sat with him in the morning, and I watched four hours of surgery. I whispered to him that he was okay as he recovered in the ICU. I watched him realize that his pain wasn’t unbearable anymore. I helped him walk again. I saw him get his eight week recheck where he was absolutely thriving.

I watched a calf be born, and I felt his momma’s love as she tried to protect him from us. I met a mastiff whose owners loved him so much that were willing to spend anything to get him home, cured from a disease that I wasn’t sure he’d survive. I scrubbed in on a liver lobectomy and got to send that bunny home to his devoted owner. I cheered when a patient’s bloodwork was better. I danced with excitement when a patient ate again. I cried after I lost a bunny during CPR. I euthanized a goat while his owners sobbed next to me.

I have given terminal diagnoses, and I have left owners with no idea why their pet died when so many others can be saved. I sighed over the costs, positive we could have saved that animal if the owners just could have afforded the hospitalization. I have hoped that owners would let go, unable to bear watching their pets struggle any longer.

All within six months. Six long months. 12 more to go.