Having acquired two new bundles of fluffy joy this year, our Christmas tree is looking a little worse for wear. Now six months old, our kittens’ new favourite game is trying to de-decorate said tree at lightning speed.
Many clients are aware of the edible dangers to pets at Christmas time, but the tree itself, while one of the most prominent symbols of Christmas time in many homes, may not immediately come to mind as one of the seasonal hazards for our animals.
For cat-owning clients, here’s some top tips on cat-proofing the tree this Christmas:
Fake snow
There have been some reports of adverse reactions in cats who have ingested the fake snow found on some artificial trees. If cats are seen licking or chewing the tree, clients should watch for any unusual behaviour (vomiting or seizuring, for example) and seek veterinary advice ASAP.
Anchoring
Ensure the tree has a sturdy base or is attached to a wall to prevent toppling if the cat climbs it. A tree skirt can hide an unsightly base (but my cats tend to try to destroy these too).
Positioning
Placing your tree at a distance from any “launch pads” such as shelves or the arm of the sofa may discourage cats from taking a leap at the tree.
Choose decorations with care
Avoid fragile glass decorations or baubles that are likely to smash – these may cause injury if your cat does climb and topple the tree.
Pine cones
It appears cats don’t like walking on pine cones, so placing them under the tree can discourage nosy pets from getting too close. I can’t vouch for the success of this one, however, as I haven’t tried it…
Beware of foreign bodies
Tinsel is irresistible to cats but may result in a linear foreign body, so watch out for persistent vomiting. Even if no symptoms are seen, but you suspect your cat is steadily chewing through your supply of tinsel, a check with the vet may be worthwhile.
Baubles that break easily can cause a whole heap of problems… IMAGE: fotolia/tibanna79.
Likewise, fake berries and other dangling decorations may end up in cats’ stomachs, so keep an eye on what your cat is keeping an eye on.
Wires
If your tree looks like a flashing beacon you may want to protect any loose wires around the base of the tree to prevent them from being chewed. This can easily be done using cardboard tubes from the centre of kitchen roll, for example. This will protect your cat from injury and keep your tree lighting the room.
Suspending the wires can avoid damage if your cat urinates under the tree. However, if your cat chews the wires hidden in the boughs of the tree itself, consider abandoning tree lights altogether.
Avoid chocolate decorations
Cats are less likely to raid chocolate gifts and decorations than dogs, but I still wouldn’t take the risk of having something poisonous dangling from the tree, which are just asking to be chewed by your moggie.
Have a wonderful Christmas everyone, obviously, but remember – among the madness of it all – to keep your pets safe among the madness of it all.
As part of one of our small animal rotations, I spent a couple of days with the ophthalmology service at the University of Glasgow Small Animal Hospital.
Recognising common eye conditions and being able to localise lesions was uncharted territory for Jordan before her time with the ophthalmology service. Image: thenineworld / fotolia.
Not exactly the most clued-up on eyes, I was going in almost blind. I had an idea of common eye conditions and how to manage them, but recognising them and being able to localise a lesion in an eye was uncharted territory.
After a mind-boggling tutorial in which we tried to drag physics from the depths of our brains (A-levels were five years ago), consults began – and with them, ocular examination after examination after examination.
By the end of day one, despite my brain feeling fairly frazzled, I felt I could locate roughly where in the eye a problem was and begin to deduce differentials, or at least know which chapter of the book to look in.
We discussed the differences between referral and first opinion practice. One of the main reasons eye conditions are misdiagnosed or missed is simply lack of time in the consult room.
For example, if you have a five-minute consult and want to do a Schirmer’s tear test, half the time is already taken.
Several components exist to a thorough ocular examination, with some better than others at identifying certain conditions or highlighting certain anatomical regions of the eye.
One important thing I took away was you can still achieve a good examination with limited equipment – in our case, we found a broken otoscope the ideal instrument for distant direct ophthalmoscopy.
Guide Dogs patient
So it came to one of the final patients on our final day – a bubbly golden retriever about to begin formal training to become a guide dog. By this point, we thought we could accurately identify basic conditions, but didn’t want to believe what we found on his lenses. When asked for the diagnosis, I hesitantly answered “cataracts” for two reasons:
The cataracts themselves looked different to others we’d seen – they had a triangular shape with a clear area in the centre, making them not entirely opaque.
This young dog’s career as a guide dog would come to an abrupt end with this diagnosis.
However, a breed predilection exists for hereditary cataracts in retrievers and the Guide Dogs staff member who was accompanying the puppy walker – the person who fosters a puppy before they enter formal training – was not shocked by the news, having experienced the condition several times previously.
While the dog still had fairly good vision at the minute, it would have to be withdrawn from training.
Several options exist for guide dogs withdrawn for health or behavioural reasons – they can be put into another work sector, such as the police or other assistance dog programmes like buddies for disabled children. Otherwise, they are rehomed as pets – hopefully our golden friend will find a new family shortly.
Having looked into the Guide Dogs scheme a bit more, it’s astonishing how much work and money goes into the training and upkeep of a guide dog.
They are a fantastic aid to people with impaired or no vision and, while it was disheartening to see a dog that wouldn’t tick the health boxes for continued training, I could appreciate the vet’s role in the process.
Eyes may always be a tricky area of veterinary medicine, but I don’t think I’ll miss a triangular cataract from now on.
Obviously I’m biased, but I think the University of Glasgow offers the best selective rotation options of the vet schools in the UK. Numerous opportunities exist to go abroad, with a variety of options based on species or type of practice.
The traveller in me was never going to pass up an opportunity to take to the skies, so halfway through my final year (eek) I found myself with five classmates on a plane to Morocco.
Language barrier
American Fondouk is a charity clinic for the working equids of Fes. Every morning the gates open at 8am and a stream of mules, donkeys and horses wander in with various ailments.
My French is minimal and Arabic non-existent, so history taking usually involved the owner pointing at the affected body part and translation with the help of a multilingual staff member. Even so, the histories were usually little more than “he fell over” or “it’s been like this for a week”.
Clinical exams were also not without challenges. For a start, it’s important to note donkey “normals” are different to those of horses (at first, we thought everything was hypothermic), and mules kick – in every direction.
Normal’s not normal
“It’s been like this for a week…”
Treatment of outpatients could vary from ivermectin and a dental to admission and intensive care for critical cases. It was just a case of dealing with whatever walked through that door.
Certain normal parameters for horses are different in Morocco than in the UK and for a while I couldn’t understand why so much fuss existed about PCVs of 40% – it turns out the Moroccan normal range for PCV is much lower than I was used to.
A full hospital with multiple high-maintenance inpatients certainly kept us on our toes for the month. However, after a couple of weeks, we’d gotten used to a lack of sleep, the protocols for treating certain conditions and the general craziness our daily lives had become.
I felt competent with a number of practical skills I’d never tried before I came to the clinic and could diagnose a tetanus case before it was even off the box. Wound care and bandaging were daily requirements – it was astonishing to see how well some seemingly horrific wounds would heal and the animals recover.
Ethical dilemmas
Acting in the interests of the animal without its owner’s permission is not allowed in Morocco.
The hardest thing I found about working at the clinic were the ethics surrounding euthanasia.
To the owners, these animals are often their only source of income – their livelihood – and the economics of replacing a mule are heartbreaking. Emotions run high when a seriously sick mule with a heart rate through the roof, suspected of a surgical colic, desperately in need of the pink juice would leave the owner with nothing.
The other logistical obstacle is the legal status of these animals. In Morocco, these animals are considered property of the owner and as such, permission must be gained before euthanising an animal.
Acting in the interests of the animal without permission is not allowed, so if an owner is not contactable, some unavoidable suffering may occur. This is limited as much as possible through pain relief, despite knowing what ultimately needs to happen in the interests of the animal.
Outside the box
On the whole, we were able to do our best for our patients and provide the optimum care.
I had a great, albeit exhausting, month. Working in a busy environment with somewhat limited resources pushes you to think outside the box and embrace different approaches to problems.
I learned a lot, gained confidence and even managed to discharge a patient in stilted Arabic by the end.
The general public associates the word “anorexia” with the eating disorder characterised by refusing to eat to lose weight, which, in human medicine, has the more specific name of “anorexia nervosa”.As vets, we use the word the term “anorexic” in the slightly different sense of being a clinical sign our patients exhibit – defined as “a lack or loss of appetite”.
Is the veterinary profession practising what it preaches when it comes to nutrition?
When referring to vets themselves, however, these definitions blur together a little, but I believe many vets frequently exhibit clinical signs that may or may not be part of an eating disorder.
While there is a lack of hard evidence or figures for eating disorders within the veterinary profession, it is estimated 10% of UK veterinary students suffer from eating disorders (not limited to anorexia nervosa), which is higher than the figure for the general UK population, which sits at 6.4%. (vetlife.org.uk).
Another branch
We are all made very aware of the mental health statistics and suicide risk of vets, and eating disorders are another branch of that tree.
Despite the lack of evidence to back up the theory, based on anecdotes alone, I’m willing to bet eating disorders, or even intermittent “anorexia” (the clinical sign), are more prevalent in qualified vets than the general population.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been on EMS and spent the entire day in the car with the same vet, going from call to call and not seeing them eat once.
I’m probably on the other end of the scale; I tend to get indigestion and heartburn from excess stomach acid production if I don’t eat regularly enough, so I tend to stress about the next time I’m going to eat (which turns into a vicious cycle because those symptoms also develop as a result of that stress). Therefore, I always try to ensure I have a packed lunch so I never get caught out.
On the road
Veterinary professionals on the road can often find themselves picking up fast food, which will be of long-term detriment to their health.
The number of ambulatory equine or farm vets who don’t appear to carry food in their cars is astounding.
They often rely on getting time to stop for food – which, inevitably, results in them not eating for the whole working day or picking up unhealthy fast food or snacks, which isn’t really much better.
When discussing my observations with fellow students, many of them have similar tales, and the problem is not limited to ambulatory practice.
While many vets and nurses in small animal practice will have a slightly more routine structure to their working lives, there’s always the odd mad day, week or month when they just can’t seem to grab a minute to supply their digestive system between consults, surgeries and emergencies.
Despite my own claim of always being prepared to avert such situations, sometimes they’re unavoidable.
I’ve found myself a few select times during rotations when I’ve been so rushed off my feet, trying to get everything done or see clients, that I haven’t eaten lunch until well after 4pm. Then, it’s likely I’ve got to that stage of being “past hungry”, but, as it is at that point I normally get headachey and feel a bit weak, I force something down despite not really wanting it any more.
Can’t or won’t?
Now, there’s a subtle difference between anorexia (a “lack of appetite”) and physically not having a chance to eat despite the grumbling in your stomach and the agonising knowledge there’s a pretty decent lunch waiting in the fridge in the next room – but it’s a fine line.
If a client has been waiting 20 minutes for you already, surely another two won’t hurt while you inhale a sandwich? Are vet staff just too busy to eat sometimes or are they not finding the time themselves? No matter how stressed and busy you are, you should still be able to satisfy the basic human right of being able to eat.
I believe the problem of the profession not eating properly is a combination of possible eating disorders, stress related anorexia and the working environment.
Take responsibility
Finding time to eat is crucial, says Jordan, for the health of both the profession and its patients.
I have previously expressed my opinion of the poor work-life balance within the UK veterinary profession, and ignoring rest breaks that are a legal requirement in almost any other field – while not entirely to blame – certainly doesn’t make it easy for vets to look after themselves.
On the other hand, vets need to take personal responsibility for their own health and find time to eat during the working day – if you don’t look after number one, you won’t be providing optimal care to your patients.
As much as skipping one meal might seem like a short-term solution to helping a patient that little bit sooner, it will be at the detriment of your clinical ability in the long term.
Evidently, this is not a clear cut problem and, as such, there’s no fix-all solution.
However, I think vocalising these issues is a good starting point if we wish to become a more healthy, sustainable profession in the future.
Fertility work makes up a large proportion of cattle veterinary work in the UK and, after spending a month on the farm rotation at university, I can appreciate the importance of getting it right – and how hard it can be.
Experienced large animal vets make it look easy – they scan the uterus and ovaries, and decide what drug to give to aid getting the cow in calf, all in a minute or two.
In the meantime, I’m still fumbling about trying to palpate what, I think, may be the uterus or ovaries while the cow squeezes and gradually cuts off the circulation in my arm until I can barely feel my fingers.
Meanwhile, the vet has zipped through several cows already.
When things go wrong
What happens if you misdiagnose a pregnant cow as negative and administer prostaglandin, or give a cow steroids without realising she’s in calf?
On one fertility visit this week, we discussed when things go wrong. For example, what if:
you misdiagnose a pregnant cow as negative and administer prostaglandin (PGF2α)?
a vet gives a cow steroids for any number of reasons without realising she’s in calf?
The outcomes of both of these scenarios are almost inevitably abortion, which can have a number of repercussions on the farm – and, potentially, the vet.
Negligence or misconduct?
Many new graduates are terrified of being called up for “fitness to practice” for making a mistake such as those aforementioned. However, during a Veterinary Defence Society (VDS) workshop at the SPVS Lancaster weekend earlier this year, it was emphasised a difference exists between negligence and misconduct in the eyes of the RCVS.
What I took away from this session was, in simple terms, negligence involves making a mistake – such as missing a diagnosis, giving the wrong treatment accidentally, eliciting side effects from something due to missing something in the case history – whereas misconduct is actively doing something you know you shouldn’t – such as trying to cover up a mistake, lying or misleading a client.
Mistakenly giving PGF2α to a pregnant cow would be classed as negligence and, on the whole, the VDS would have your back; the farmer may receive some compensation for his losses, but the incident wouldn’t tarnish your career. In the same situation, misconduct would be denying you had administered any treatment.
In short, you won’t get struck off for easily made, one-off mistakes, but you may if you lie about them.
In the news
Our conversation about accidentally aborting cows led us to discuss the case of Honey Rose, the optometrist convicted of gross negligence manslaughter. News reports vary, but, from what I can gather, she failed to diagnose papilloedema (swollen optic discs) in an eight-year-old boy, which would have been an indication of the hydrocephalus he died of five months later.
It is reported she claimed to have been unable to examine his eyes properly because he had photophobia – a claim considered false by the judge. However, she had also failed to look at retinal photos taken by a colleague, on which the papilloedema was evident.
Going by the RCVS’ rules, missing the diagnosis or not looking at the retinal photos would be negligent. However, denying she’d been able to carry out a thorough examination, despite written records suggesting otherwise, would be misconduct.
Rose was found guilty of gross negligence manslaughter and was handed a two-year prison sentence, suspended for two years, and a 24-month supervision order, and was ordered to complete 200 hours of unpaid work.
In your defence
As vets, we have the VDS to help us in these situations – and, while it would be truly awful to make a mistake resulting in an animal’s death, we would not be at risk of imprisonment.
Doctors and dentists also have defence societies that will fight their corner, but optometrists? To my knowledge, an equivalent does not exist – and this was the first case of an optometrist convicted of manslaughter in the UK, which added to the complexity of the legal battle.
The death of a little boy is devastating, but, as medical professionals know, death is a risk with many procedures, no matter how small the risk may be. It’s frightening to think jail could be a consequence for those in the medical profession.
So, while I gradually lost the sensation in my right arm as I tried to reach an ovary of the 10th cow in a row, I mulled this over and realised I was extremely thankful for the safety net the VDS provides and would not take working with animals for granted.
After all, if I’d decided to be a doctor instead, I could be rummaging around in another human’s back end rather than a cow’s!
For further details of the Veterinary Defence Society and its services, visit www.thevds.co.uk
Maintaining a work-life balance can be difficult within the veterinary profession, unless you actively make an effort to do non-vet things.
Although a “poor runner” Jordan is taking on a half marathon in aid of two charities close to her heart.
Joining a sports team or other society requires a certain level of commitment (depending on the level), and this can be helpful to keep a frequent scheduled period of “escape time”.
Another good way to motivate yourself to do “other” things is to set a personal target to aim for.
Procrastination aid
Several months ago, in the middle of fourth year exams, I think I was subconsciously craving any method of occupying time that didn’t involve staring at a textbook – so, in my revision-frenzied madness, I signed up for the Great Scottish Run Half Marathon.
Just filling in the application and perusing training plans gave me a few sweet minutes of procrastination at the time. But after exams had been and gone, and final year rotations loomed, I started to question what an earth I’d gotten myself into.
I’m a poor runner at the best of times, sporting an age-old ankle strain and intermittent shin splits – the furthest I think I’d run before beginning training was 5km (about seven years ago, when I was considerably fitter) – but I gritted my teeth, donned the ankle support and shin splint tape, got a decent pair of trainers and set out on a run.
Staying motivated
Despite my misgivings, by following a training programme almost impeccably, I’ve gradually been building stamina and have surprisingly avoided aggravating my shins.
Now, having nearly finished the training, and with the half-marathon only two weeks away, I can appreciate how much having a target to aim for has helped me keep fit throughout my first few rotations – and with many of them being the sort of rotation notorious for having long hours, it would be so easy to miss out on exercise.
In addition to keeping motivated to exercise, the main aim of my insane challenge (for me anyway) is to raise money for two deserving charities with which I have personal connections.
Determined to finish
Help In Suffering has helped keep the people of Jaipur rabies-free for 14 years.
The first charity is The Air Ambulance Service, which saved my life five years ago when I fell from a horse and sustained near fatal injuries.
The other charity, Help In Suffering, runs a neutering clinic in India where my friend and I gained valuable skills last year, having been let down by another placement and stranded in an unknown country. This charity’s vital work has kept the people of Jaipur rabies-free for 14 years.
I still hate running, but I’m glad I’ve tried to overcome the challenge to support these fabulous charities. While I know it’s going to be tough on the day, I’m determined to cross the finish line and not let down my supporters who have so generously donated.
If you would like more information about the charities, or to donate, please visit my sponsor pages below:
Many universities put veterinary students into groups for final year rotations, in which they remain for the year. Others keep students in the same group for the majority of rotations and shuffle them around for selectives only.
However, selective rotations at the University of Glasgow run throughout the year and, to accommodate as many of the students’ choices as possible, we have a different group of students for every rotation.
Another difference between the universities is whether students have a choice with regards to the group of people they are put with.
Some universities allow students to name one or two people they would like to be in groups with (if possible), or even name students they really don’t want to be in groups with – all in the strictest confidence, of course.
We don’t get a choice at Glasgow, but scope exists to swap groups, once the rotation timetable is released, if you change your mind about selectives or want to avoid someone in particular.
Is one method superior to the others? Being in the same group for the year could result in a strong team who know each other really well and play to each other’s strengths and weaknesses. But, on the other hand, it could also easily become tiresome if niggling annoyances build up throughout the year.
Where students are able to suggest colleagues they would like (or not) to be grouped with, the likelihood of begrudging fellow students in your group could be minimised, but, ultimately, isn’t likely to be eliminated entirely.
Hobson’s choice
Should we get a say, though? In the real world of work (now only nine months away) we aren’t likely to get a choice about who we work with, unless a very strong first impression is made that would make you either very keen to take a job or extremely put off.
Ideally, we need to be able to work with a range of different people – those we do and don’t like – in a professional context and keep personal grievances out of the workplace. Realistically this can be difficult, but we may as well start learning how to do that now.
I think changing groups every rotation provides a balance between being thrown in with people you may not know very well (or like very much) and not being stuck with them for an extended period of time; each of our rotations are four weeks in duration.
So far, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know people I’d previously barely, if ever, spoken to and, in some cases, building solid new friendships. I’m obviously biased because I love Glasgow, but I think we’ve nailed the system perfectly.
Recently, I have been engaged in a battle with my internet provider and – ignoring the fact I’ve been without the world wide web for a month – no one seems capable of doing anything about it.
If avoiding angry customers is the aim, communication is key, says Jordan.
Despite these grievances, it’s actually a) the communication factor and b) lack of desire to please the customer annoying me most.
Over the years I’ve worked in retail, and I have been a waitress, during which I was expected to bend over backwards for the customer for fear of garnering a complaint.
I even remember training sessions where we were shown graphs showing the number of complaints received versus words of praise, and how likely the customer would be to spread the word regarding bad service compared to good.
The gist of it all was to not anger anyone because bad news travels fast… and this is just as applicable in the veterinary profession.
The customer is always…
Contrary to the popular saying, the client is most definitely not always right, and as the point of a veterinary consultation is for us to impart our professional knowledge gained through – long and thorough – training, we are obliged to possess pretty fantastic communication skills.
Yes, having to tell a client their beloved pet died unexpectedly during routine surgery is a bit different to being put on hold for the umpteenth time because the advisor on the phone hasn’t read the account record properly, but the underlying principle is the same – so good communication is essential.
As vets, continuity isn’t always possible, but if you have an unknown client on the list you would be expected to brush up on the history and have a vague idea of why they’ve made an appointment. Anything less would be unprofessional – so why do other businesses think this is acceptable?
Strength in numbers
Is there anybody listening?
For these international corporations, the single customer is just a drop in the ocean – losing a few hundred quid a year when I cancel my contract is just pennies to them, and no matter how much of a fuss I kick up, realistically, it won’t touch their reputation.
For vets, however, it’s different – any complaint not only reflects badly on the individual involved, but on the practice and also the profession.
We cannot afford to lose the trust of our clients over silly things like calling a male dog “she” or not spending a few minutes reading through the patient’s notes before they walk into the consult room.
Poor communication is one of the most frequent reasons a complaint is made to the RCVS, and I suspect this is why the vet schools now have a much bigger focus on communication – to help us hit the ground running and (hopefully) avoid such negativity.
Practise makes perfect
Communication skills come with experience, and while they aren’t classically thought of as something that can be taught, we can be armed with certain tools to help us communicate more effectively.
The practical communication skills sessions we’ve had over the years involving actors have been an ideal way of letting us practise dealing with “difficult” clients before being in that situation for real. And now, in our final year, we’ve transitioned into taking our own consults, either with the clinician keeping an eye on us or confirming our findings afterwards and asking the client any questions we may have forgotten.
Being a vet encompasses so much more than clinical knowledge and surgical skills, and my recent phone arguments with various technical support advisors have made me appreciate just how highly trained we are in terms of communication – and that’s something we should aim to maintain to continue to be respected as professionals.
While a documented shortage of graduates does not exist as in previous years, significantly less fuss has been kicked up about the announcement of the new Aberystwyth-in-conjunction-with-RVC vet school, compared with the opening of the Surrey Vet School in 2014.
Surrey vet school: a bolt from the blue?
Is this because we knew Aberystwyth was in the pipeline so are not shocked by the announcement, or has the profession kept quiet because we do need more vets?
The problem is not a lack of graduates, but a lack of “experienced vets” and a shortage of vets staying in the profession after a few years of graduation.
This begs the question: why?
The simple answer is, as shown in last year’s “Voices from the future of the veterinary profession” survey conducted by Vet Futures, the profession, in its current state, does not meet expectations of those entering it.
Essentially, we feel undervalued, underpaid and overworked, and lack a sense of life outside veterinary.
Undervalued
The profession has an image problem, in many respects. It is becoming more commercialised, not just because of corporate takeover, but because clients expect more.
We seem to be moving away from the respected professionals who have dedicated their lives to helping animals and, as such, are praised for performing little short of a miracle in medical and surgical feats, and towards the providers of a service that, if not absolutely perfect and costs next to nothing, will only be complained about and bad-mouthed to other customers and competitors.
Sadly, the economic climate has caused much scaremongering, bringing vets to the absolute disposal of the pet owner for fear of losing clients and, therefore, not being able to balance the books.
I feel very strongly part of the reason our services are so undervalued is the NHS (See Jordan’s July 2014 blog post, “I Blame the NHS“).
The everyday person has no concept of how much medical procedures, diagnostics and therapeutics cost. I’ve done the research – prices for private medical care are found fairly easily, but NHS costs? Nigh impossible.
So how can we blame the public for not having a clue how much a radiograph costs? The public perception of veterinary in this country needs to change and I don’t think it will without transparency on human medical costs in conjunction with our veterinary ones.
Depending on the kind of practice you’re in, or going into, the relative feeling of being overworked will differ. I realise my points won’t apply to every practice in the country and this is sweeping general opinion on the UK profession as a whole. However, I struggle to see how many full-time vets’ hours fall within the legal limit.
The legislation is complex, with loopholes in the Working Time Regulations 1998 (WTR) possibly allowing certain practices to skirt round some of the “rules”, such as the designated 11-hour consecutive rest break in each 24-hour period and the minimum 24-hour rest break in each 7-day period.
On-call work is difficult to classify, but, in essence, the signing of a workforce agreement (probably as part of an employment contract) means the employee is agreeing to to provide out-of-hours cover that impinges on these designated rest breaks.
Some final year rotations at university I know are well beyond the limits set by the WTR (although the legality is sketchy since we’re not employed while we’re students).
“It’s not a nine-to-five job,” was a comment given with regard to rotation hours. That’s tough love: you’re going to be worked into the ground when you qualify, so you may as well get used to it now. But why? Why can’t veterinary be a nine-to-five job? It certainly is in other countries.
The profession is changing and I really hope this is the kind of change that comes about nationwide. With the increasing popularity of outsourced out-of-hours cover and shift work, why can’t a vet clock off at 5pm, enjoy some exercise, cooking, social activity, whatever and come back to work refreshed the next day ready to put in 110%?
Achieving work-life balance
We have numerous talks at uni about mental health awareness and the importance of work-life balance. But how is it possible to achieve a work-life balance if you’re working from 8am to 8pm and, even on the nights you’re not on call, you essentially only have time to grab something to eat and sleep.
It’s all very well lecturing us on being conscious of having a work-life balance, but what if it is beyond our control, as in so many cases?
I know for a fact, if the profession remains stuck in its ways, I will become just another statistic and leave the UK, if not the profession entirely, within a few years.
Don’t get me wrong, I have loved my rotations so far and the sense of fulfilment when I’m actually getting a handle on things is excellent, but I know I will resent my job if it does not allow for some enjoyment outside of veterinary.
But will it ever change? I think something has to give soon, or the profession will find itself in dire straits before long. How would change come about? If we wait for one practice or chain to provide a great work-life balance and rely on the trend to catch on, I think we’ll be waiting a lifetime. But what if the regulations changed?
I don’t really want to talk about Brexit (I’m sure a little piece of me dies inside every time that word is uttered), but the potential change to employment law (which has mainly been derived from the EU) could allow for changes specific to medical professions to protect us from “burnout”.
Overtime pay should exist in the veterinary world, as it does in any other “normal” job, allowing for those maniacs who want to work 24 hours a day to do so at their leisure (or those who need the extra cash), but not at the detriment to those who don’t wish to. Working out a vet’s base salary as an hourly basis is just depressing. And it shouldn’t be.
I keep hearing phrases such as “the profession is changing” and “it’s an exciting time”. I genuinely hope that is the case and we become the progressive generation we like to think we are, and drag the profession kicking and screaming with us into the modern world of enjoying life outside veterinary and moulding our careers around our lives – not the other way around.
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