My Circus.... Not Always My Monkeys

There never is adequate seating, nor food, at these venues. Convention halls designed to cluster crowds, and starve you. Their bathrooms hold the same predicament. What they can do well is seat a football stadium of vets on metal folding chairs with towering 100 foot ceilings cocooned by cement erected from framed steel and sheet metal. Veterinary continuing education venues, what we call CE, are almost and without exception (save for the uber-exclusive Swiss chalet-ed "escape" venues no one I know can afford), are inhumanely impersonal, and disastrously like a teen-boy-band concert spread over 4 days. Straggling zombified bodies following a river-like funeral procession, snaking into-out-of-and-around a convection hall labyrinth of gauntleted vendors offering pens, stress balls and poop bags, to-from-and within the stomach of lecture rooms as boring as they are blue carpet and oversized light fixtures humming a electric static lullaby. For all licensed professionals in the medical field they are a necessary endeavor based on a solar calendar.

Saffie, our clinic cat. Midday naptime.
Her story; she had been returned for urinating outside of the litter box three times.
She has now found her home. She is also perfect now that she has us as her humans.

I pack a breakfast, water, coffee and spare square toilet paper bag, along with a spare phone charger, (it takes a blood hound to find an outlet in these places and you don't get reception anyway), and remind myself this is a necessary evil until my prince pays for that plane fare to the land where hot chocolate and banks add an 'e' at the end for that extra panache. And have I yet mentioned that they are also a freezing cold reminiscent of a basement meat locker?

Among the 5,000 fellow vets at this years annual CE event, I found two classmates from my vet school that long 18 years ago. They were best friends at school and not surprisingly, remain so to this day. One of them is a towering giant at over 6 feet. She was, and still is, easily recognized by her ability to be the only face in the crowd above the peppered-hair sea. The periscope face singularly visible anywhere within the swimming crowd. Alongside her was the girl I knew better. The more talkative of the two. The girl who I always personified as an Afghan dog, yet upright. She moved like a slender, Rapunzeled sloth. Slow, yet graceful, waves of long curled blonde hair willowing to and fro, and a look as if drawn to a far off light only she could see. She was sweet, always smiling, and as I will always remember her, had this impressively captivating way of standing in a necropsy lab of 20 or 30 of us listening to the professor drag on and on, answer a question you weren't sure was intended to be asked of the crowd, (always correctly I might add), and then seamlessly slip back into her upright slumber. We, like the geniuses our 20 year old mind were, had diagnosed her with narcolepsy long before she went off and had a single species biped label her. 

Willow,, the face of the Amish puppy mills. Disposable because not sell-able.
She has been adopted via a local rescue. (Have I begged you not to ever buy a pet yet?)

Their vet career paths have run in parallel to their personal lives. They married, had kids, and bought their practices separate and yet in tandem. They have what so many of the rest of us do not; a never ceasing sounding board, experience well, and partnership that is both envious and formidable.

We met over our provided venue boxed lunch. Mine of the vegan variety as it was both preference and provided the only guaranteed availability of anything outside my knapsack smuggle. We, like all old friends, picked right up where almost 20 years had left us. 

We had built lives over the amassed days. They families, and us; collectively three independent vet practices. Which based on the trends of the profession and the newbies of millennials swarming in our convention hall pool, was remarkable. 

Hamilton.
Paralyzed from the waist down,,
and yet remains always a glass half full kinda guy

We started there. The talk of owning our own practice. More intimate than how their children mirrored them was their description of the clinics that they had built. The details of how these buildings, and all of the personal detail it enveloped defined who we are, and had become. Small businesses, and I would nominate; especially those created for animals or children, are exactly like this. A vision that manifests out of passion and empathy. A lifetime of desire to help those without ability to construct independently, and love. We didn't talk about income, profit margins, or retirement/exit strategies, we talked about what that building meant to us in our life long dream of being a veterinarian. We talked about our practices as if they were our professionally status defining custom built luxury yachts. 

The flagship.
Jarrettsville Veterinary Center

I am 10 years older then they are. The prodigal girl who entered vet school a decade later than the rest of my class. The girl who took a 10 year detour into another profession before her compass called her back to where her heart lay. When you are 32 and the rest of your vet school class is 22 that decade delta has significance. I was, for those years at vet school, the older, seasoned classmate. Here cross-legged on the convention floor eating a veggie wrap, I remained such, although even these small differences were quickly fading into insignificance.

The engine. Our treatment and surgery area

"My best piece of advice?" they had asked...was to "be careful for what you wish for, and be ready to have your heart broken." We all want/need an extra vet, or two, (three for me, please), to fall out of the sky and into our laps, but, I paused,,, "no one will break your heart more in vet med than an associate." Eighteen years in, and 12 vets who have come and gone later, and yes, some of them have absolutely broken my heart. "And your staff, well, they can crush you just as hard." We are a profession based on emotional ties. You know your patients won't live forever, but, for some reason you expect your staff to be there always. You cannot build a house around a purpose, with a bleeding heart full of good intentions, and a desperate hope for it to survive both from and after you, without feeling hurt when those people you hand the keys to your yacht to, abandon it, and you,  to leave all of your passions afloat in an ocean of wet noses that need antibiotics and a list of clients trying to make same day appointments cause the ER's are full. 

my circus,,, not always my monkeys.

I wish us all well.

Seraphina.. because there is a heart and a soul,, she reminds me to treasure and protect both

For every journey there is a vessel to carry you. A crew to guide you, and an anchor to help weather the storms. Here is a small tribute to the people at JVC I call my anchors;

The heart of every institution is the crew that guides the way. To all of my peeps at JVC I am so proud of you, who you are, what you work so hard for, and for being as much the inspiration as the joy that makes it all possible. XOXO Krista

Be better than you ever have to be.

What if I told you that the problem was 100% you?

Land mine marker, side of the road driving in Ukraine.

Could you accept it? Or swallow it?

What about start to process and digest it?

How capable are you of rising above and introspection?

Deworming puppies in Ukraine

It's called adulting. You will learn it at some point. Or, die bitter still stuck on the silly, petty, bullshit that takes up the first 40 years of most peoples lives. Move on, chin up, be kind, let it go. It's really never worth the effort. People either love you for who you are, accept you for what you haven't yet mastered, and wish you well regardless of the differences, or, they just don't. How is that your problem? Why does it bother you? Or, matter, at all?

Maybe it is all you? Maybe it is all your responsibility to improve your own life? Maybe, even, just maybe you have the power to improve someone else's along the way too? Maybe you just need to forgive yourself for not being perfect, try to grow kinder, and wish others luck in doing the same? Maybe it's all about perspective, independent self assurance, and living the example that makes the world a better place to be in?

Start there. Be better than you ever have to be. Kinder than you ever imagined anyone could be. And just be happy with that.

The note left with two bunnies abandoned at the clinic this week.
There are always people struggling more than you can see on the outside.

oh,, and go hug your cat.

It is impossible for me to come back from a war where everyone is afraid, suffering and unsure of what tomorrow holds, and see the staff at the clinic fighting, crying, and despairing over clean up duties. I know I am supposed to empathize, talk it all out, and find a calm peaceful resolve to the petty ridiculous juvenile puling,,, but I can't. I just can't. I can't lower my worries to include the bullying being tolerated by empowered, privileged white women who are apparently so immature it is important enough to cry over. 

Maybe I will pay for it down the road? This inability to see problems that manifest out of air from perceptions that aren't worthy of the time it takes to address it? But, then again, it was war. Maybe they all need to set foot on Ukrainian soil to remember what life might look like if you weren't so caught up in the mopping injustices of closing time?

Found in Ukraine. Broken back, poor use of her back legs, and afraid.
After two days of calm, gentle support she melted. She is the sweetest, most grateful girl. 
She is one we could save. 

... I guess the parting thought is that life is full of so many challenges. Think outside of yourself. Remember how lucky you are and how little anyone else's opinion matters.

For more on Ukraine please see my previous blogs.

P.S. I find it implausible that anyone thinks this blog is specific to them.. it is not. It is as much an internal dialogue with myself,, as it is an external discussion with the way I know see things differently. I am not the same person I was before going to Ukraine. I will never be the same. I left grateful for all we have here, all of the incredible wealth, freedoms, and access to,, well, anything here, but I came back not more grateful, but instead less tolerant. Less tolerant to other people's real problems and my ability to empathize with them. I just can't see the little problems as big problems. Isn't life all about perceptions? And isn't the answer to hardship empathy? Why is it then that I don't want them back?

The Second Round of Denial, Self-Pity.

Take a little stroll through LinkedIn, the Facebook pages of the veterinary management professionals, or, if you have access, take another little peak inside the "secret" pages of Facebook veterinary organizations. The backlash of complaining, sniveling, and nastiness is unsurpassed. The themes all center on a key point. They refer to "a video" or a "divisive rant" but the professionals of these are all circling their wagons, mounting their ammunition, and feeding the frenzy of fear based anger with more palatable axioms like "fatigue", "ethics" and "self righteousness." The war is real.

The anger runs deep and cuts hard. It runs on all sides now. At least for whatever consequences we all face the anger is universal. People are hurt, deeply. They are legitimately scarred. There is, however, NOT a universal responsibility to all sides to acknowledge this. Sure, the vet community at large can shoot the messenger, punish the singular face that brought this into light, but the mob behind the viral video is awake and now they feel acknowledged. The first weeks of the videos backlash included personal attacks to all of my social media, the clinic staff, and a real fear for my personal safety. This last week has become an onslaught of blogs by veterinary professionals feeling sorry for themselves. They are "tired". Well, for the record, are all tired. Let's just give each other that. Except that the other side has been tired for decades. (Who is the other side anymore?) At least you aren't also heartbroken that you were made to feel like an irresponsible, uncaring parent. Or lied to. Or guilt-tripped into paying for something without full disclosure that the same service might be available for a fraction of the cost down the road? Because that might be unethical? We are all tired. Tired of feeling inadequate, uncompensated, and unacknowledged. People put their pets down. We (the whole vet professional community) knew this, we tolerated it, we at worst excused and accepted this, and now we are too tired to say "I'm sorry" and move forward together. It's just another divide we place.

The wave of millions of people who feel that we failed them, (read the comments,, they use stronger words like "lied", "cheated", "killed", "extorted", etc) is real. These are real people. Real clients. People who loved, lost and can't get over it. Stop blaming them, they don't need judgement. They need help and we are responsible for too much of the vitriol to be ganging up, feeding more anger, and fess up.

You aren't tired, your burden is the anger that swells. For some it is self doubt, self reflection, inability to admit you are not perfect and that blind spot is the face of indifference you show the public countered by the mob mentality you show the vet community. You're burdened. The burden makes you feel "tired". The only way to unload the burden is to face it. Acknowledging your role in it by listening to those who feel wronged, accepting your part in it, and offering open ended solutions to resolving it.

Somewhere between both sides lies responsibility to uncover the truth.. maybe the only sincere way to set the burdened consciousness free for both sides. I'm exhausted too. Exhausted from apologizing when no one else can. When no one else will stand up for the people we serve when we disappoint them. Because the hurt goes both ways. And in the middle is the pet. That's the middle. Where the truth lies.

P.S. This blog was posted and pulled last week when a few torch bearing vets missed its point. I have attempted to edit it so as they might better understand it's intent. This, again, is not about you OR me, it is about the pet parents.. stop being such a bunch of egotistical haters, grow up, say you are sorry if you hurt someone. It's what you are teaching your kids to do in times of conflict,, isn't it?

P.S.S If you are such a coward as to leave an anonymous comment I reserve the right to delete it, post it, and/or cut and paste it with your IP address link.

If you have a pet who is the love of your life we want to hear about it. We are here for pet people across the globe. Building a place where information is free, compassion is universal and the pet ALWAYS COMES FIRST. Please join us on Pawbly.com. Open to everyone who loves pets. Dedicated to education, inspiration and empowerment. Because no one is ever alone,,, even if they are "exhausted".

Related articles; No More Blaming and Shaming: What Vets & Pet Parents Need To Understand About Each Other. Vet Billing, Suzanne Cannon.

I am also at Jarrettsville Vet, in Jarrettsville Maryland, where "economic euthanasia" is never a treatment option, and compassion is always free AND readily available.

Also on Twitter, YouTube, and Facebook (where the troll guards are still (sadly) on duty.. ;-) ).

Video here.

Want to know about the costs at Jarrettsville Vet? Look here on our website Jarrettsvillevet.com