Bigstock Remember back when you were a senior in high school, and your college plans seemed irrevocably cemented? How did your once-bookish, well-disciplined behavior change? Senioritis, as it’s widely known among the college-bound, has a way of changing the mindset of all but the most pathologically competitive among us. Unless dead set on valedictory honors, we were likely to act out in ways that elicited histrionics among parents long since spoiled by our academic prowess and social self-restraint. Consider now, if you will, what I call the volunteer veterinarian. This class includes the semi-retired, the über-frugal, and those whose coupled or independent financial comfort precludes the need for the fiscal benefits of any profession. The said veterinarian is thereby deemed (by me) to be a “volunteer” of sorts. Some among this set enjoy other remunerative professional endeavors outside vet med. Or perhaps we work part-time only to earn extra spending money or stay busy and engaged. Others work because we feel duty-bound to give back to our communities, or because we worry we’ll live too long to continue to enjoy the fruits of our labor in the style to which we’ve become accustomed. All are volunteers of sorts—at least in the sense that they can pick and choose their masters more readily than most. Those so fortunate owe no allegiance to any specific enterprise, are never absolutely required to labor under constraints they consider unsavory, and need not pay obeisance to undesirable employers or tolerate excessively tense working conditions Hence, the state of senioritis that often emerges among some veterinarians. Why not walk out when clients act offensively in the exam room? Why do you fall prey to the team member drama simmering under the surface at work? Why tolerate any unprofessional transgressions you might observe in and out of your practice? Why care for anything but your patients, their (well-behaved) people, and the collegial atmosphere in your workplace? You’d be surprised at how many veterinarians count themselves among those who enjoy greater professional freedoms than their colleagues. Plus, if you’re lucky enough to live long enough, you’ll get there, too. (But the same can be said of cancer, so don’t be so quick to envy.) Nevertheless, there is absolutely something uniquely energizing and utterly lovely to be said about the ready power to see an uncomfortable workplace in your rear-view mirror and be glad it’s gone for good. In the immortal words of Dr. Seuss, “You'll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”” Amen, right? To some extent, this version of volunteerism, what I’m alternatively calling “veterinary senioritis,” is possibly why so many veterinarians have turned to relief medicine. The power to say “no” is a tremendous antidote to what ails many in our profession. Therefore, why so many independent-minded veterinarians have learned (often the hard way) that relief medicine offers a better fit than any one practice could. Who needs the hassle of not being able to say “no” (when you have to) and be glad to see the backs of people, places, and things you’d prefer not to tangle with? It’s possibly why relief medicine offers such attractive inducements and why so many of us aspire to the ranks of volunteer vet-hood. We either desire to have the ability to control the environment we work in and the people we encounter (by enjoying the power to leave it behind whenever we choose), or feel free to float serenely above the mundane stressors that can clot a workplace’s culture (why care what anyone thinks or how anyone behaves as long as you’re doing a good job?). Structural issues within our profession are contributing to this trend. Consider some causes: Practice ownership Back in the day, even young veterinarians owned practices. It was almost expected we’d do so, but by the time I graduated from vet school (30 years ago), less than 50 percent of us could picture ourselves owning practices. Nowadays, it’s the rare veterinarian who has the power to create their own workplace. Those who get the chance won’t lie and tell you it’s all snow cones and bunny rabbits, but having at least some illusion of control and the sense that you’re working towards a specific goal helps build a certain level of stress tolerance. As a relief veterinarian, you get the chance to feel that control. More so if you’re willing to forgo the dating apps that take a chunk of your relief income for the privilege of hooking you up with a reliable day of work. Mobility In so many ways, the profession has become more mobile. Not only is our society more mobile at large, but the veterinary community has also become tumultuously so. Despite our contract culture, it’s easier to pick up and leave than ever before. After all, there is no shortage of jobs in this veterinary economy. It’s not just veterinarians, of course. Where we once saw almost no turnover in our teams, we now see new faces almost every month or so. Some leave to vet school, others we lose to better paying professions, possibly more will still eventually become disaffected. The ones who do stay wedded to vet med. are increasingly electing to forever play the field, trying to find the greenest grass by hopping around every few years. Uniformity As veterinary medicine becomes more uniform in its practice style, it becomes harder to find a perfect fit. Unless you’re naturally built for the top half of the bell curve, you’re unlikely to feel right at home in the average veterinary workplace. The chances of finding a forever home along the tail ends are dwindling every day. Hence, the impulse to continually seek a new kind of freedom. Mental health The trouble is, as with high school senioritis, the lucky sufferer can either act with greater dignity and happy autonomy once untethered, or behave like the average Viszla when let off her leash for the very first time. If you can remember back to those months preceding college life, you can probably attest to experiencing both instincts at once. It all comes down to this: We all want a stable place to exist in a profession where everything seems constantly in flux. For some that means exerting more control, even if it means fitting square pegs into round holes. For others that means floating like a leaf in a stream, learning to avoid the rocks and trying not to get hung up on branches. I know which one I’d rather be but that doesn’t mean I know how to get there. If you’re like most of the veterinarians I know, myself included, you’ll understand these dueling approaches to practice. They often exist simultaneously, forcing you to choose to act either better or worse than you feel at any given time. In fact, most of us have spent our whole careers behaving either like the unleashed Viszla or a Russian circus dog willing to jump through hoops for high-value treats. Ultimately, all we can hope for is to find a comfy spot in between extremes. For some of us that means aspiring to veterinary volunteerism, however that manifests in our lives. For others, it’s as simple as finding comfort wherever we find ourselves. It’s a simple plan, but it’s not easy to achieve. Patty Khuly, VMD, MBA, runs a small animal practice in Miami, Fla., and is available at drpattykhuly.com. Columnists' opinions do not necessarily reflect those of Veterinary Practice News.
