Rocks

I’ve been in veterinary medicine since I was 15 years old. 

I started as a kennel girl. I walked dogs, fed them, cleaned their cages, washed their bowls and their blankets. I restrained for blood draws, nail trims, vaccines, and exams.

I was bitten by a cat for the first time when I was 17. My hand swelled. She was a calico; go figure. 

The next time I was bitten, I was 20 and it was a cage aggressive Maltese named Popcorn. Adorable.  

I went to Purdue for a BS in Veterinary Technology. My education is equivalent to that of an RN. Good luck explaining that to literally anyone. 

I draw blood, induce and monitor anesthesia, place catheters, calculate drug dosages and fluid rates, take histories on sick appointments, draw up vaccines for puppy appointments, and counsel clients on end of life decisions. I cuddle puppies and kittens, sure, but also 80 lb scared German shepherds who lunge when you open the door. I am scratched and kicked and bruised and peed on and covered in hair and smell like dogs. I feel out where you fall on the invisible Pet Owner Spectrum and do my best to accommodate what your pet medically needs and what you can financially afford….or, more accurately, what you are willing to do. 

There’s more, but it doesn’t matter. 

Each snarky comment, each complaint about cost, each “well can’t you just ask the doctor” or “do you know who I am”, each ounce of perceived animal suffering is like a rock that gets strapped to my back. Some rocks are small, more like pebbles, and at first I didn’t really notice the weight and took it in stride. But some rocks are boulders and now, after my entire working life, I feel like I can barely move from the weight of all the rocks. I feel like my back will break every few days; sometimes over a euthanasia, sometimes over broken limbs, sometimes over a client’s words, sometimes when dogs are so scared they’re unmanageable. I cry when you cry, when you can’t (or won’t, won’t is sometimes the worst) pay for care your pet needs, when you won’t listen, when you refuse to see, when you pretend to care. “You can’t save them all” is getting harder and harder to live by. 

I never used to cry.