A Day in the Life of a Veterinarian: From First Patient to Last
A Day in the Life of a Veterinarian: From First Patient to Last
Written by Alessandro Didiano (doctor in veterinary medicine, MRCVS)
Disclaimer: This article is personally written by me, a licensed veterinarian with more than a decade of clinical experience.
Have you ever wondered what a “typical” day looks like for a GP vet? Today I want to do something different. I want to take you behind the scenes of a typical clinical day of mine. No filters, no edits, just a real-time diary.
At the time of writing this, I have no idea how my day is going to turn out. This is quite a common thing in veterinary medicine: it could be relaxed, crazy or average.
I will try to take some time between consults and procedures, when safe and possible, to write some quick summary of what I am doing and the thoughts/emotions associated with it.
Here’s my day, from 8:30 AM to 6:30 PM. Let's go.
8:30 AM – A New Day Begins
Doors open in 10 minutes. The clinic smells like antiseptic and coffee. The computer system shows me I am fully booked with appointments for the morning. However, I don't see anything major: vaccines, a couple of ear infections, a limp, a senior cat with weight loss, an animal for dental surgery, and a puppy with a stomach upset.
I enjoy a cup of coffee while chatting with a nurse about tennis. The other staff member (another vet and 3 more nurses) arrive. We exchange some small talks. First patient is already in the waiting room: let’s go.
10:00 AM – Vaccines and Regular Cases
I start with a young Labrador named Max, in for his boosters. He wiggles his whole body, he is super happy to be here. A nice start! Next is a sassy 12 year-old British Shorthair who is losing weight and eating voraciously. Het thyroid seems to be quite enlarged. I take bloods and I will have to call the owner in the next couple of days with the blood results. I could bet my house that the blood test will reveal hyperthyroidism.
Then a spaniel with a sore ear. I take a quick sample: yeast infection. I give it a good clean and send home with some ear drops.A good start. Nothing dramatic. Yet.
11:15 AM – Fight at the Park
I am examining a lame Border Terrier (I suspect arthritis), when an emergency walks in. A Jack Russell cross, Daisy, who got into a fight at the park. The owner is shaken: “They were just sniffing each other, and then he snapped!”
Daisy’s ear is torn and bleeding. Ear bleeds (together with tail bleeds) are the most difficult to stop, and Daisy just won't stay still, still in shock. There's also a puncture wound on her shoulder. I advise sedating her to stop the ear bleed and clean the wounds. I check her heart, which shows no abnormal sounds: happy to sedate. I give instruction to the nurses on the sedative dosages, and they are happy to take over. They call me to have a look: some puncture wounds, but nothing major. Doesn't require stitches. Will heal in a couple of weeks. I just have to dispense some antibiotics and pain relief for her, she will be fine
The owner is relieved, she thanks me multiple times.
12:00 pm – Dental Drama and Difficult News
Some more routine consultations (can a dog with a penile infection be considered routine?), then I have to start the dental procedure. Our dental patient, a 13-year-old Poodle named Coco, goes under anaesthesia. While we’re scaling her teeth, we find severe decay in multiple molars. It’ll be a longer procedure, and we need to remove four teeth. I call the owner mid-surgery: she trusts us. I remove the decayed teeth and stitch up her gums. I finish just in time to see the 12.45 appointment.
While I removed my gloves, a nurse came to us, in tears. A customer has been extremely rude to her on the phone, because she wouldn't dispense antibiotics without examining the animal. She has gently explained that this is the regulation: antibiotics can't be dispensed without an in-person examination. The owner tells her it will be her fault if the cat is going to suffer. He also tells us we are only in for the money. I listen and feel sorry for her. She is only doing her job. I ask if she needs me to speak with the client, but the head nurse is already on the phone, dealing with the customer. I gently tell her to let me know if she needs anything. She thanks me and gives me a big hug. I go to see my next consultation.
The patient elderly cat, Misty, in chronic kidney failure. She’s tired, quiet, and hasn't eaten in days. A blood test performed a few weeks before showed severe deterioration of her renal values. The owner decides it’s time.
1 PM – Saying Goodbye
We find a quiet room for Misty and her owner. I talk them through everything gently. She sits in her owner’s lap, with her eyes closed. She is ready to go. The injection is smooth, painless, and peaceful. Her owner holds her after it’s over and tells her "Thank you for everything, Misty".
2 PM – Minor Car Accident (Sort Of)
Many things have changed since I first became a vet, 11 years ago. One of them is that, at least most of the time, I get a lunch break. Only until a few years ago, my lunch break consisted of eating something in between consults or surgery. If an extra appointment needed to be squeezed in, it would be during the lunch break. As a profession, we’ve started standing up for ourselves and sending a clear message: our physical and mental health matters. We need proper time to eat, rest, and reset. We need to have a proper lunch and time to decompress. At the time of writing, I get a full hour lunch break nearly every working day, and I am very protective of it. However, and this is in the nature of the job, this is not always possible.
I got a phone call from the nurse during my lunch break, because an emergency has arrived. Luckily, I was at the end of my walk anyway, and I was already coming back to the clinic. Someone has reversed too fast into the driveway, and accidentally bumped a loose dog. A young Husky has yelped and now seems unable to walk.
It's a miracle! By the time I get to the clinic, the dog is able to walk and is even wagging his tail to me. A bruised leg, no fractures. I do an abdominal ultrasound to rule out internal bleedings, all good. We clean up a small scrape and gave some anti-inflammatories.
3:30 PM – Back-to-Back and Brain-Full
A constipated cat, a vomiting puppy, a limping Labrador, and a Chihuahua with mysterious sneezes which only seem to happen when the owner is sad (just to be clear, this is the owner's interpretation, I strongly doubt there is a correlation between the two things).
One of the more peaceful consults: a first vaccination in a lovely 10 week-old kitten.
4:30 PM – The Hard Conversations
A Golden Retriever named Archie comes in: 14 years old, diagnosed with an aggressive form of lymphoma (a type of cancer) a month ago. The owner kindly declined chemotherapy and he is now doing reasonably well on his palliative treatment. The owner says: "I don't want him to suffer", tears already in her eyes.
We talk about quality of life, I prescribe some more medications, but I am sadly very aware he is not going to be around for long. It’s not goodbye, not yet. But we plant the seed gently.
6:00 PM – One Last Dash
Emergency, just before finishing. Of course! A 9 month-old labrador, unable to stand. He can take a few steps, but he walks as if he is drunk. The owner is a 20 year-something with red eyes. This is one of the emergencies which would have scared me to death when I was a young vet. But now I have seen plenty of those, and I am pretty sure of what happened. I look at the dog, and then at the owner. Then again: dog, owner, dog. owner, owner, dog. I check the dog. Slightly dry gums, heart rate on the lower side, depressed mental state. "Do you have any cannabis at home?", I asked. 10 minutes later the dog is on his way to our local emergency hospital. Diagnosis: THC intoxication.
6:30 PM – The Doors Close
I live on time. Once again, this is something new. I never used to leave on time, but the industry has changed and the norm is to leave on time now. People don't expect you to stay longer, as they used to. Of course it still happens (only a month ago I was still in surgery at 10 pm to perform intestinal surgery on a cat who ingested a foreign body). but this is now the exception, not the norm.
At home
I drive home, listening to a podcast.
People often assume that vets spend their evenings replaying the day's cases, thinking about the animals they saw, the suffering, the euthanasias. And to be honest, that used to be true for me. When I was younger, I took every case home with me, mentally and emotionally. Veterinary medicine was the centre of my life, and I felt like I needed to carry it all the time. But that’s no way to live. My mental health eventually suffered, and I burned out more than once.
These days, things are different. I’ve learned to draw boundaries, not because I care any less, but because I’ve to care sustainably and in a way that doesn't negatively affect my mental health. Today was a fairly average day. I’ve seen these kinds of cases so many times that, in a few days, they’ll be somewhere in the background of my memory.
Now, I have a life beyond the clinic. A partner I love. A baby on the way. I read, I play tennis, I cook, I rest. I’ve also reduced my working hours in the last couple of years, and that’s made a huge difference to how I feel: less drained, more present, and more grounded. Tomorrow I’ll be off, and it is unlikely that I will be thinking too much about my job.
But, you can rest assured: when I’m back, I’ll give it my all again.