The Grimace

This essay is from a finalist for the 2019 Student Loan Planner® Scholarship.

You get used to the smell of pus after awhile. It used to be fairly shocking, but these days it’s more or less a daily experience. The unlucky labradoodle shrieked as I swabbed some out of his raw, oozing ear.

Deliberating on how I was supposed to fix this dermatological catastrophe, I caught a glance at the dog’s worried owner. She was gripping the plastic chair’s edges so hard that her knuckles turned white, and had a slightly tortured look, with her lower lip edges pulled down bearing clenched teeth.

She leaned back, trying to get as much possible distance from her dog’s reeking ear and her own uninfected anatomy.

Sometimes I forget that not everyone feels pus is as mundane as I do.

It was tricky to suppress my feelings of frustration and judgment at her. How could she have let it get so bad before seeking help?! It takes weeks for an infection like this to brew. She should have known!

But seeing an expression of visceral disgust in another human is a good way to trigger the kind of empathetic communication that is part of being a good veterinarian.

I assured her that I would help and that her dog would be feeling better soon. Her pained look eased slightly, and within another ten minutes, she was in possession of some medications and a plan that would bring relief to her pet.

I was quite happy to congratulate myself for my Zen approach to the situation when in my careless mental victory lap I tripped over my overcharged spotlight of morality and swung it fully back upon myself. Hmmm, I thought, is there any problem I’ve got that is anyway similar to this poor dog’s ears? What festering messes am I ignoring at the moment?

This self-investigation turned up a few unqualified candidates. Not the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. No, the dogs are quite smelly but they’ll get a bath soon enough. Well, sure, the lawn was pretty overgrown, but that didn’t quite have the gravity of metaphoric pus.

What was the big, chronic worriment that would make me squirm if I had to confront it face to face?

The Beast

Then it dawned on me, it was one of the animals I was supposed to be taking care of. Not a pet, exactly, but more like a putrid, two hundred thousand pound ravenous monster prowling my basement.

This debt-beast was my responsibility, and I had adopted it years ago when I started veterinary school.

Ownership was a condition of admission, and I didn’t think too hard about taking legal responsibility for the grotesque beastling at the time. It wasn’t too big yet, and after all, what choice did I have? I’ve stood nose to nose with rhinos and snorkeled with sharks, how scary could a little debt-beast be?

The beast grew. I would periodically get official reports documenting his seemingly exponential growth. He was at my side all during veterinary school, lazily ballooning in size all the time but never asking for sustenance.

Easy enough pet, I thought, as I uneasily went about my business.

When I graduated, the debt-beast stirred to life and demanded his first meal. Ah yes, I remembered, this thing is my responsibility to care for, and it looks hungry! The massive creature was suddenly voracious, and I knew from my basic knowledge of debt-beast physiology that we would only get larger if ignored.

I managed to provide sustenance for him, carving out chunks of my earnings for his meals. I made special accommodations that allowed me to provide smaller meals for him but at the same time only let him grow larger and more insatiable.

It seemed like a hopeless case, so I shut him in my basement and went on with my life. I threw him my monthly tithe with a sense of futility, like Seymour Krelborn guiltily sending victims to his mean green mother from outer space.

Years and years went on, and my debt-beast lurked under me as I through my career as a veterinarian. It’s hungry pangs growled ever louder, but he stayed in the shadows as a distant threat.

But after my wife and I had our first child, I knew that I couldn’t pretend that this monster in our lives would go away on his own. It isn’t safe to have debt-beasts around children, after all.

We sought the help of a debt-beast expert, and I know my troubled expression was the same that so many of my clients have worn as they confront lingering maladies in their pets. I though a beast as large as I had would be beyond help, but this and other experts assured me that they would help and gave me a plan.

Mercifully, I was not judged and I was given the same comfort I’d try to give to those clients. I had looked at my debt-beast face to face and had a way to humanely get rid of him. My grimace had turned into a look of resolution and relief.

The Future

Debt-beasts are just one problem plaguing veterinarians. We’ve also got mental health issues, an alarmingly high rate of suicides, corporate domination of our clinics, and of course our patients occasionally bite us!

I’ve heard colleagues advising against a career in veterinary medicine because of these issues.

In the old days, new vets could pay off their entire loan within a few years. Now the average debt is around $150,000. Even with IBR programs in place to make monthly payments doable, it’s still a scary amount of debt. And if there are any changes to the program, it could go from Goosebumps scary to Silence of the Lambs scary pretty fast.

I wouldn’t try to talk anybody out of this career though. It’s a great job, despite the challenges. Where else can you provide the kind of public service that I did for the client with the labradoodle ear disaster? There aren’t many jobs that pay you to play with puppies, either.

Someone sage once said that anything worth doing is going to be challenging (or maybe I read it on a bumper sticker). And whether it’s paddling headfirst into heavy waves in a cold ocean, surviving meal time with a pissed-off toddler, or doing emergency surgery to remove 18 entangled rubber bands from a cat’s stomach, ultimately the challenge is really part of the overall satisfaction once it’s done.

I would make sure that anyone thinking about embarking on a veterinary career is well aware of these problems. There are lots of things besides loving animals that are important for being a good veterinarian. Communication skills, flexibility, and a love for new challenges are crucial for success.

Prospective veterinary students need to think seriously about the debt they’ll take on, have smart strategies for saving and definitely getting professional help.

Controlling cash flow, putting money towards retirement, and maintaining a relationship with financial professionals are all part of the “adulting” behavior that may not be classically fun, but are a heck of a lot better than an out of control debt-beast.