Burdens and Burnout

My veterinary friend Pam sent me this news article. She lives far away and we console each other on the ever challenging state of vetmed. She is a true friend. The kind that sticks by you no matter how muddled in the mire you get. She also understands. Empathy holds tighter when you know another soul really gets you.

Kingston

Email from Nov 22, 2025, 5:50 PM 

Not such a nice way to frame it I hope you’re doing ok. From FB seems maybe you are suffering from compassion fatigue? Or perhaps you always are, like many vets

Pam XXX DVM

This article is from News 5 Cleveland;

Veterinary bills are rising, but so are the chances your pet will survive

By: Elizabeth VanMetre

CLEVELAND — A single social media post asking whether viewers had noticed their veterinary bills increasing quickly became one of News 5’s most-engaged call-out posts ever, prompting hundreds of Northeast Ohio pet owners to share their struggles with affording care.

Some comments described heartbreaking choices between paying for a pet’s treatment and covering basic household expenses.

Veterinarians said the rise in prices is real.

Dr. David Wong and Dr. Victoria Smith, veterinarians at PetVetWell in Mentor, said their work has evolved dramatically in recent years.

“Generally with exams, too we don’t only talk about pets," said Dr. Wong. "We get to know the clients really well.”

Smith said the shift largely stems from how pet owners see their animals.

“Our pets are now viewed as part of our family and sometimes our children,” Dr. Smith said.

That deeper emotional bond has led many families to pursue more advanced treatment options, even when the cost is steep.

Jennifer Rogers, a Northeast Ohio pet owner, shares her home with two bunnies, two cats and three birds. She considers them her lifeline.

But the price of caring for them, and for pets she has lost along the way, has pushed her deep into debt.

Rogers estimates her veterinary expenses total roughly $50,000.

“We’re looking at six maxed-out credit cards from my son," Rogers said. "Two from me. It’s to the point where there is no more credit cards to pay. So it will come down now to do we make the mortgage payment? Do we make the car payment?”

According to the Consumer Price Index, overall prices are around 25% higher than they were five years ago. During that same period, the cost of veterinary services rose approximately 41%, according to U.S. Labor statistics.

Veterinarians said that the increase reflects the fact that they can provide better medical care than ever.

“We’ve seen a lot of advancements in veterinary medicine, I’d say even in the last five years," Dr. Wong said.

That means the veterinarian you see today has more training and more options than ever to treat your pet.

“We’re running the same diagnostic approach you get when you go see your doctor. The blood work. The x rays. I mean we can do CTs. We can do MRIs in this field. Which is something we haven’t been doing in the past," Dr. Smith said.

The investment in equipment, medication and specialized staff has raised operating costs for clinics.

“More modern equipment [and] more advance treatments all end up costing a little bit more,” Dr. Wong said.

As costs continue to climb, veterinarians say communication and early care are key to avoiding overwhelming, unexpected bills.

Tips to not Waste Your Money on rising vet costs

1. Consider pet insurance: Monthly premiums can help offset emergency or long-term treatment costs. Use comparison tools like Pawlicy to match coverage to your pet’s age, breed and medical history. Not all plans cover the same conditions, so read the fine print.

2. Don’t skip yearly exams: Many costly health problems, from dental disease to organ issues, are cheaper and easier to treat when caught early. Preventive care can save hundreds or even thousands of dollars over your pet’s lifetime.

3. Ask about payment plans: Some veterinary clinics offer in-house payment arrangements, CareCredit, or other financing options. Establishing a relationship with a trusted vet makes these conversations easier.

4. Price-check medications: Pet prescriptions can often be filled at human pharmacies for less. Ask your vet if a generic or alternative medication is safe and available.

5. Build an emergency fund for your pet: Even a small monthly contribution can help cushion unexpected care. Setting aside money consistently reduces reliance on high-interest credit cards or loans when emergencies happen.

While I agree with almost all of the above advice, I will add my own derivations. You get back what you put in. If your relationship with your pet is one of the most important and vital parts of your life there are people who understand and relate. Build impenetrable bridges with them. Your vet should be a local, capable, independently owned business who gives back. Every town has one. 

Pippin

Here is my reply to her.

Hello,

God only knows what I am suffering from. Life as an empath in a world full of greedy assholes. 

Compassion fatigue is a constant. A constant motivator and detriment. 

I am not going to lie in my grave feeling anything other than accomplished. I am really grateful for all of it. Even the hard parts. I won’t be angry or feel cheated. I asked for all of this and turns out the universe is delivering. 

Where there is struggle there is also hope. And I know I am not alone. Which honestly is the most consoling part. I’m just not afraid to speak up. Bear it all. Be vulnerable. But it isn’t a sign of weakness or resignation. 

I appreciate that you think about me. And send these along. I am here. Anything you need just reach out. 

Take good care of yourself. 

Xoxo 🐾

Krista. 

Sadie

Why am I sharing this? Well, because it is honest. So many people feel that vulnerability, honesty, and being outspoken about any or all of it is a show of weakness. A red flag of imbalance. A reason to resist less, be more self-centric. Me, well, there are too many souls out there in need of help who don't have a voice. Who aren't given a place of compassionate liberty. I will not stop until I cannot continue. On my own terms in my own time. 

Am I incredibly grateful to have friends who reach out? Absolutely! I am most grateful to those who also walk in my shoes and know how real the burden is.

The Dilemma. What do you do when you don't think it's time to euthanize?

 

There was still a tag attached.

That’s what I remember most vividly. There was still a big cardboard tag, the kind that keeps you from being able to fit the merchandise in your pocket as a theft deterrent device, still attached to the obviously brand new toy she held so proudly in her mouth. It was the kind of tag that allows it to be hung on a rack for easy display whilst also providing the descriptor that announces the features of the toy that your pup might find most exciting and enjoyable. The colorful cardboard backing to allow plastic ties to prop up mouthpiece rope from the stuffed animal body and prohibit easy pilfering. That tag was hanging out of one side of her mouth as she clung to the beloved toy that dangled from the other. Toy and tag in tandem swinging from one end of her while the other wagged tail so hard it made her bony hips hula.

Her name was so endearing it made me stop to smile. Her name, a blossom in springtime, a flower in the glimmer of an eye, the baby of a movie star who wanted to be cool and still maintain cute. I’ll call her Honey. She was bright-eyed, exuberant, bubbly, bounding and exploding with joy to be around people. She is the lab pup every Labrador-lover dreamt of. She is pure love and kisses in your face the minute she gets close enough to steal your cheek unguarded. She is the reason I became a veterinarian. She is the reason every pet loving person grieves for decades when they lose their beloved pet. She is perfect. BUT, she is also old. 11 years old to be exact. She has not been to the vet in many years and her very dapperly dressed dad is sitting quietly in his designer loafers without laces, cross-legged in pressed, creased herringbone tweed pants. Where Honey is outgoing and energetic, he is stoic and reserved.

There is a foot of snow on the ground outside and every inch of landscape is slush and snow. I look at his buff-tan-kidskin leather loafers and wonder how he got from his car to our exam room on this yacht shoes missing soles. I look for an assistant who must have carried him in, knowing Honey wouldn’t have permitted an easy passage and yet he shows no sign of snow or wet.

I sit on the floor next to Honey and she cuddles up in my lap immediately. 

I am here in this room with them both, on the floor embracing Honey and delivering the hardest conversation I ever have to be present for.

This is Biscuit.. she reminds me of Honey.
I adore this girl,, and she knows it

I look at Honeys overdressed dad and say, “I’m sorry but the veterinarian doesn’t feel right about this.” He is quiet, his eyes narrowing and his composure tightening. He is waiting for me to dig in, and I see him returning the favor.

You see Honey is here, brand new toy in tow, wagging, happy and excited to be with us, to be euthanized. Her dad is here, holding her tight on a short leash, stoic, reserved and yet determined to make this a one way trip for her.

I go on to say; “We have a terrible problem with burnout, suicide and mental health. I do not force anyone to do anything they don’t feel right about.” I let the words fall around him hoping they landed softly enough to allow a crack in the façade to let the light in just a little bit?

I waited. I stroked Honey’s head and whispered a mental “I love you,” knowing I would likely never see her again.

These are the moments of the days of my veterinary life I despise. The moments that remind me to be brave and stay true to my heart,, even if I am alone in this.

I was the fourth person to enter this room with Honey today. The first had been our vet tech who had placed both in the Comfort Room as his appointment with Honey had been scheduled as a “QOL” exam, short for quality of life. We do not book euthanasia appointments with out a veterinarians prior consent. This is not a slaughterhouse. You do not drop off to pick up remains later. We are a family who loves pets as our own family. We take this request as a discussion and a decision not lightly agreed upon. If pets are truly property there is no conscious of grief to surrender yourself to. But we all know pets are so much more than this to all of us. We know that they are our truest friend. Our most adoring confidant, our reason for early wake-ups and long walks. When everything else in life seems questionable and unreliable your pets will remind you they are your constant. We don’t need much more than the belonging they inherently give us.

The technician came back to the treatment area to report that Honey was walking well, seemed happy as a lark, was carrying a toy to show us how delighted she was to have it, and that she was deeply concerned that Honey looked A-OK. She couldn’t imagine what kind of quality her dad was in search of. Honey had bounced up to her, thrust her toy in her face, dropped it to the ground and planted a big wet kiss on her face. The technician was smitten with Honey.

The second person to enter the Comfort Room was the veterinarian. In less than a minute Honey had given her the same welcome, and after a brief exam it seemed that Honey had aging back legs and might benefit from an analgesic and NSAID. The veterinarian also offered to run some routine diagnostics and see if we could provide some options to help improve her quality and spare her life. A discussion ensued about cost, benefit, possible side effects, and after a few moments Honeys dad said, “the family has decided. We are ready to put her down.” It hit like a blow. The veterinarian countered. “Would you consider surrendering her?” He nodded, she left and the office manager entered.

In the bowels of the hospital the staff gathered to hear what the veterinarian recalled. “He’s going to sign Honey over to us. Call Heidi, see if she will come down and meet Honey.” We started to make plans to find Honey a new home, and we started to draft a list of diagnostics to run to make sure we knew what Honey had going on inside. The techs were excited, bustling and congratulating each other on their interventional good deed. There was a levity that spread, it was hope packaged in healing hands and warm hearts. It is the lifeblood that feeds the marrow of a place like this. It is the small miracles that fill our long days with purpose and stories and the passing of intentions into matters that build our souls and fill our sails. For a place like our veterinary clinic it is the small wins to help make the inevitable tragedies more palatable.

A few minutes later the office manager came into the treatment area. We all knew by her quiet entrance that the news was bad. “He won’t surrender her.” The girls begged for a “why!?” She replied; “He doesn’t want her to be with anyone else.”

None of us could accept it. They all argued with how the hopes had been dashed so quickly. Had she asked the wrong question? Had it been lost on him in translation between a vet and a manager? Should we send the vet back in?

The girls suggested alternatives to save her life, spare her from being disposed of so coldly and unconscionably, ..

“Can’t we just say we euthanized her? He doesn’t want to be with her anyway?” The first option they threw out.

“What if we only give a little bit of the solution?” Like adding a splash of water to the euthanasia solution might dilute it to the place where it wasn't effective.

Desperate pleas for a desperate place. 

There were no answers left to offer. We only had one choice left.

Honey's dad wasn't going to let her have any other option than the one he walked into our door deciding she deserved. These places, these cases, these are the ones that kill you. For some of us, literally and completely. They destroy lives that care and our ability to care again.

I looked at the other veterinarian. She looked back at me. We both didn’t want to be the other persons answer. The mirror of responsibility to the staff who always had their hearts on their sleeves and worked so hard to just be a kind heart to a pet in need. We didn’t want to put the other in a place of heart-wrenching decision making.

“I can’t do it,” she said. “I just can’t.”

I looked at the office manager. “He is not going to surrender her.”

That left me. Alone, and with a Honey of a problem to reconcile alone. 

I walked into the room with Honey. The fourth person she brought her new toy to. The fourth person she was as excited as the first. I sat on the floor, she flopped, toy in tow bouncing with its cardboard tag alongside her tongue into my lap.

I whispered silently to her longing eyes of love, “I love you.” 

Honey is not alone. She has me rooting for her. Alone in a quest to remind her father, her family, whoever, that there has to be compassion, even in times of mercy, and we have to remember how precious each day is and fight for our chance at seeing tomorrow with love, hope, and kindness in our hearts.

Honeys dad tried to argue our stance. He made phone calls, he stood fast in his decision. When I cam back into the room some minutes later I handed him two bottles of analgesic hope and a paper that said Honeys treatments had been on the house. I added that I hoped it help her feel better and that we were here if we could help her again.

I extended an olive branch of defiance. I stood by my staff who would have been balling and questioning my cruelty had I chosen Honeys  family’s side. I stood by being kind when it wasn’t the right thing for me to do for her family. I stand here now not knowing if it was the right thing for Honey, and why I should be asking about it being anything other than that.

Here's more on Honey's case;

..and so the question remains? What would you do?

I posted this story within a few days of it occurring. I had to find a place to put the heavy heart I was carrying. This job, this heart on your sleeve, and this degree of emotional investment has a cost.

Three months later (to the day) we got a phone call. Honey was still alive and her family wanted to surrender her to us. We were blown away, excited, and relieved. We just didn't know what condition she would be in. We knew that her dad had been back once to buy more analgesics for her. He also wanted to surrender the other dog she was with. (WHAT!? Another dog)? We said yes!

Honey with her new friend Emma, on her first day in rescue

After I posted this blog, and the follow up news, the local social media pages blew up with stories about these two dogs. Here are some of the excerpts;

Here is the place Honey spent most of her life. I have heard from multiple people that she was either locked up in the cage outside or in a crate in the garage.

I want to reiterate that it kindness to bring her to us. To surrender her took effort and compassion. I am going to hold onto this.

The unprecedented times of veterinary medicine and the pandemic.

It is the middle of August 2020. We are 5 months into full on COVID-19 pandemic mode. Within my professional life as a veterinarian the ripple effects of this have reached places I never saw coming.

We are a 7 day a week, 5 doctor veterinary clinic about 45 minutes north of Baltimore, MD and we could not have imagined, never mind prepared for, what COVID has delivered. I have been a veterinarian, and practice owner for 15 years, and although there have been numerous rough spots along this journey there has never been a time where I more question my stamina, and fret for my patients, than now. The current state of our profession has become an ever growing chasm of unmet needs meets unparalleled exhaustion on all fronts. There is also no discernible end to this "new normal." The degree of personal stress, emotional questioning for well-being, and the public's visceral anger and ugliness has us all at a boiling point of which I fear great personal, professional and accessible losses will result.

Here is a break down of where we, my little vet clinic is, and, how we got here. Jarrettsville Vet used to be the routine general small animal veterinary clinic where doctors saw appointments with pet parents holding their pets on their laps, or on a leash, all the while going over important patient points. It was a calmer exchange where personal time was fostered. I have always been honored to be a part of a pets care, and, to a great extent also their parents life. Feeling needed an appreciated is the purpose so many of us strive for. In clinic personal care was delivered in real-time with multiple options given for treatment care and an all-for-one team approach. We have always taken pride in being transparent with affordable prices for a huge range of pet ailments. We do not turn away care for anyone who needs it. We have stayed true to our values and we have been in business for over 8 decades.  With this pandemic a few things have altered our approach on delivering this care. We have to wear masks, we have to stay distant, and, we still have to hold onto what makes this personal emotionally enriched care genuine. 

We began curbside services, thereby keeping the public out of the clinic because we could not provide adequate or acceptable social distancing, began in April. We split into teams to try to insulate at least half of the staff if a positive staff member would cause us to have to quarantine, or even shut down. We did everything we could to stay viable while also trying to stay safe. It has not been easy to lose the personal connections, most notably for the terminal, the dying, and the euthanasia's, as we tried to stay open with some semblance of doing the best we could in meeting our patients needs. We have had to rush dying patients into the clinic and witness them die without their families who were outside in uncontrollable hysterics. It is not who we were, nor ever wanting to be. 

With all of this change it has also brought along a never ending list of unmet expectations and needs. We are not unlike many, if not most, of the veterinary clinics in the U.S. right now. The current state of this pandemic has left us saying we cannot help, and, we cannot keep up. We also are afraid more then we ever have been. It is a mounting storm without ceasing winds to calm. 

What's the cause to our current patient care dilemmas?

Demand has over run supply.

There is an increasing demand for care, as there has been an increase in pet care ownership, and, a decrease in vet staff availability.

As of this week my clinic, we are booked about two weeks out for routine care. This has never happened to us before. We are now having to place blocked appointment slots into each doctors schedule for every shift to try to manage the same day requests for urgent cases. There has rarely, if ever, been a time before where we couldn't fit someone in within 24 to 48 hours for an exam. Almost all emergency cases were provided a spot within the same 4-8 hours. We  are a small town, deeply rooted within the community, practice and we know that long term relationships built us. To abandon our clients in their time of need only undermines the trust and reliability we have worked so hard for so many decades to establish. For most of the clinics around me they are booked days, weeks, or even months out. When they are and they get an urgent call the client is told to "call around," or, "go to the ER." No one wants to be told that. But, it is the reality across the board for all vet clinics. We are seeing more cases than ever. Why would we be immune to a pandemic, or, even over burdened with patients within it? 

The answers lie across our spectrum. 

Where did the increase in pets come from? This is the results of a multi-factorial burgeoning of demand.

• increase in adoptions/purchasing of pets.
• clearing of shelters.
• people have at home and personal time they never had before.

The shelters were placed on indefinite closure as they had to keep the public out. If they cannot allow the potential adopters in to help advertise their adoptable pets then the outflow was going to come to a halt. To avoid this many shelters offered free, if not significantly discounted adoption fees, to try to clear them before the next shoe dropped, (i.e. staff gets sick and no one is available to feed, water, clean and house). 

Pets have been adopted/purchased at record rates. Along with the increase in demand for adoptables has been an increase in now-full-time stay at home workers to have the pet they never had time for before. People hit the internet looking for a companion as they socially distanced from the rest of the human world. 

Dwindling supply for pet healthcare caregivers;

• vets and vet staff who are home self-isolating.
• staff were hard to find before the pandemic.

Just like a swath of the population, there are veterinarians, and veterinary staff who do not want to expose themselves, or their families to infection from a disease they are at high-risk for. I have staff members with elderly parents they are caring for. The risk is too great for them, and hence, they are on an extended undefined leave of absence. at any given time 10-20 % of my staff is out due to COVID influences. We started this pandemic short on staff. COVID has exacerbated it.

The stress of a trying to be everything to everyone and not knowing if any decision is right.

• the difficulty of managing a practice through ever evolving,and changing, information.
• the strategic planning needed to try to stay open and safe.
• the ripple effect of bad practices now magnified by a greater need.
• the poor planning of not being able to catch up as you try to prognosticate ahead.

The allegiance and the pressure to meet all the demands across all spectrum's of personal, professional and ethical standards. Feeling like I am expected to meet every need of every soul under this practice is overwhelming on our best days, add the stress of non-stop phone calls for help, and knowing my own physical limits are at the brink has me thinking that maybe the vets sending all the excess elsewhere are serving best by serving self first? 

The fear/anxiety/and division while trying to keep ourselves safe and alive.

We all feel it, don't we? The anger/fear/and degree of stress we have never before experienced, and now it's daily, worldwide, and on a magnitude we cannot comprehend by any previous experience. People are stressed in a way we cannot ignore as real, and, they take, are taking out, this anxiety out on us. Add the emotional element to the package and the boiling point lowers. If you fail to serve them they can, and have, opened a wrath that leaves you with bad reviews, crying staff, and yet another reason to not work when pay is available elsewhere regardless.

Burnout. The staff, outside of the doctors, and hospital administrator, are all on hourly pay.  I have to keep this in place, even though we need them all at almost every breathing moment, to force down time. They stay longer than needed. Ask repeatedly about leaving us, and whether we will be "ok?" And, yet I have to tell them to just walk away. There is not an end to the day past the automatic shut off of the phones. 

I leave everyday with an unsurpassed list of things being left undone, and a chorus of faces I worry about overnight. Will they be ok throughout the night? Will their families stay safe and healthy to provide them the oversight they need for their own survival? Can they reach me if needed?

The vets, we are maxed out. We feel compelled to help. To answer every call. It is what we are cut from, and yet, we cannot work enough hours to meet the demand. 

The place we have found ourselves.

Emergency veterinary clinics are seeing the cumulative effects to the greatest degree. Many of these new pet parents cannot establish a veterinary clinic based relationship. They are not finding a clinic who will see them in the time sensitive manner all new pets are ideally seen within. (I say three to seven days max!). 

Where do people go? they have been turned away at the vets office, the ER was already too expensive for many, and, now the wait is, and can be, from 4-24 hours. Puppies with worms, and/or, who are sick are being told by their vet that the wait to be seen is weeks. They don't have weeks to wait. So, parents head to the ER to be told the wait might be 24 hours. Am I responsible for this puppy? What about if I know that minutes matter for survival? What would you do?

A larger number of the clients going to the ER have no primary care vet. They are turned away at every vet clinic that they call. The ER is all they have left.

My clinic is open for walk-in appointments on Sundays. Sundays have turned into our receptacle for all the non-emergency cases I couldn't find time for during the week. I am taking Saturdays off to rest, because I have to. My core has to, and without being able to see the spill overs on Saturday they are told to come in on Sunday. Last Sunday for the walk-in hours of 1-3 pm, I saw 20 cases. All sick, all in need of care. I stay all day Monday through Thursday. I see everyone who is a client and calls. Fridays I go into work to catch up, to see the spill over. 

How am I coping? I am not sure I have a clear answer yet. I am desperate to keep the long game in focus. Remind myself that I carry the lives of my staff at my forethought, while reflecting on the legacy of the veterinarians who bore this clinics torch before me. Those who survived wars, depressions, and the plights of a rural community whose animals allowed them simple basic survival. Without the veterinarians who built this clinic I would not be here, nor, would my self-inflicted responsibility to carry on through whatever adversity facing us be so profound. We are deemed essential as we control the tide of zoonotic diseases, maintain a food supply, and protect the family members so many of us relegate our pets to. "Essential" adds a layer to this complicated bitter onion I never saw previously. With that I feel even more compelled to not lose my footing as I run this never to be seen horizon race. 

There are personal stories I have never shared. The clients who call needing immediate emergency care, or hiding within self-isolation and attempting to manage potentially life threatening cases via video calls. None of this is ideal for the patient, and yet I have made judgement calls I know I could be sanctioned for. I continue to practice medicine within a web of uncharted waters and a public as jarred as I am. 

Where I have seen this community come together and assist in ways I couldn't imagine outside of an invasion, I have also seen people react with vile vitriol I feel immeasurable to the insult at hand. The slightest, (seeming to me), insignificant annoyance reels people into fits of anger that leaves the staff fearing personal harm. I have forced clients in unprecedented numbers out of our practice in a desperate attempt to nix a fuse that I can only see more emotional trauma stemming from. We have had to add signs asking people to "wear masks and be patient," and, with these I still have people refusing. There are words coming out of my mouth that I feel will only add more vinegar to a wound surfacing before us. "This is private property that I own, it is my mandate that everyone wears a mask." To be met by spitting seething rebukes of "you cannot tell me what to do," and, "you cannot catch COVID outside." The point of helping a pet in need has soo often being overshadowed by an on-the-brink-of-breakdown of a human, and, too often I fear I am that human.

I am exhausted. More exhausted than I have ever been. This includes vet school training, working multiple day long shifts on the high seas, and the pains of being both a new grad and a new practice owner trying to shoulder a burden beyond my experience and expertise. The days I am working now start at 8 am and extend to, or even past, 9 pm. No bathroom breaks, no food, and so mentally stretched I have to tell the staff that I cannot safely handle another cases. For as much as I want to help, and cannot bear the idea of turning away a patient who may not get help otherwise, I have limits. If I push them any further I am going to make a mistake and it may hurt, injure, or even possibly kill someone. Fear, exhaustion, and pressure to be a vet, an employer to people I deeply care about, and keep the business alive when I feared for months I would not be able to, has me needing help I have never asked for previously. My village has become an interstate of traffic coming and going as friends leave food, walk my dogs when I cannot find time to, and help with laundry and household chores I cannot dream of returning to. I have had to say previously impossible "No's." "No, I cannot do a TNR." Or, "I cannot see that dying kitten," "I cannot take home that patient for overnight care as I fear I cannot get up if I fall asleep." No's I hate myself for uttering. No's that might cost me my personal legacy as I triage the others I am desperately trying to keep alive.

I have my email posted in every corner of every client interaction. We use Facebook messages, personal phone numbers are given to any client in possible need of immediate return. I have socially distanced from everyone outside of work so that I can remain at work with the least amount of risk possible. All decisions have been made to protect the hive. Isn't that what I promised myself at the beginning of this Pandora's nightmare box?

In the end, and the whole point of the lessons we are learning within this pandemic is, that we have to get out alive. For some this is best believed achievable by sheltering in place until the world rights itself again, a year, or two from now. Just stay away from people, accept the risks associated, and, hope this bubble approach doesn't cost you a fatal delayed decision. For others, like me, I go to work, I diligently wear a mask, wash my hands, stay 6 feet away from clients, and only allow close proximity for euthanasia's which we do in a separate location. And for the non-believers, the people who haven't seen a death from a bug you never saw coming, I am reminded that negligence is too often the backbone of all medical professions. 

Like all inferno's this pandemic is alike in that it will end. Will there be a Jarrettsville Vet on the other side? Yes, of course. It is bigger than me. It has always been bigger than me. There is comfort in this as the small one doctor practices shutter when the quarantine forces their closure. But, will I be alright with my choices? I am not sure? I, like all of the rest of us paddling upstream to a place we have no knowledge of, all feel the same. We all have to get out alive.

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