crush

I'm an editor. I edit lots of different writers. I play favorites. My favorite is Don, a 70-something management consultant, who's contributed to our magazine for longer than any of us can remember and been a treasured member of our advisory B\board for almost as long. He's humorous, he's funny, and he's old enough to get to say whatever he likes in his back page columns. And I get the pleasure of editing them. It's my favorite edit of the month. I get to play up his sarcasm and his loving admonishments. And when I send him his edited article for approval, he always calls me within the hour. He tells me that, when he reads his column, he laughs. "A writer really shouldn't laugh at their own stuff. You did a great job with this," he'll tell me. He always gives me too much credit. But it feels good to know that he appreciate the care I give his writings. I really do little. Mostly, I allow Don's personality to shine through wherever possible. It's my favorite call of the month.

But this month it was different. I didn't get a call the day I sent him his column for review. The next day, I wasn't at work when Don called. He left his comments and changes with my boss. Last week I sent him an approval for another department I was working on. He called. He said it looked good. He coughed and said he thought he had the flu. It wasn't the flu. My boss told me today that when Don went to the doctor yesterday, he was diagnosed with a rapidly progressing form of leukemia. The doctors said he'd be lucky to make it to the end of the year. The doctors said and my heart hurts.

I've broken probably every one of our copyright rules, but here's his July column.

Listen to the best or fail with the rest
In the 40 years I’ve observed and worked with this profession, there hasn’t been much improvement. And I look back with a certain regret. There was a time when I thought I could do more for the profession than I have.

Sure, some of you make a very good living and enjoy a fulfilling personal life. And although it’s somewhat comforting to know that I’ve helped a few, as a whole I think veterinarians and their teams are still grossly underpaid. Perhaps I was naïve to think I could help you all earn more money and enjoy a better life.

In the past, I’ve tried to encourage you gently, avoiding any hint of sarcasm. However, this approach hasn’t worked as well as I hoped. Because of the urgency of my task and my limited time remaining, I’ve decided to take a new tack. So enough kind, gentle, political correctness. Let’s talk about the real cause behind the dismal state of this profession’s economics.

You were taught to fail
Both success and failure are learned behaviors. Successful veterinarians were taught to be financially successful. Underpaid practitioners were taught to fail. It’s as simple as that.

For example, some mentors taught that clients don’t want or won’t pay for topnotch care. They used statements like, “This is good to know, but of course you won’t use it much in practice,” or one of my favorites, “When you’re new in practice, you’ll probably do more diagnostic testing than is really necessary, but you’ll eventually acquire the experience you need to do fewer, more-specific tests, saving the clients money.” What a crock.

However, before you blame your teachers and mentors, you need to acknowledge your involvement in the process. When you were told, “You’ll never get rich practicing veterinary medicine,” did you ask why? If you did, did you challenge the answer you received? Did you point out that some veterinarians do succeed financially?

Now learn to win
I’m not suggesting that you question authority, but I am strongly suggesting that you question those who claim to be authorities, especially if they have nothing positive to say about a situation. The fact that someone’s done something wrong for more years than you have doesn’t make his or her strategy right.

You learn to win from winners and you learn to whine from whiners. So choose teachers and mentors who provide positive guidance and thoughtful answers when you challenge them.

The hard truth: Your current career and life are the result of your past choices. You based those choices on information you received from teachers and mentors. So the first and most-important choices you made were who and what to believe.

Here’s my advice: When an instructor talks about practice, as kindly and gently as possible inquire about his or her success in practice. Learn medicine from people who teach medicine and learn to practice from successful practitioners. Question authorities, especially self-proclaimed experts—even me. And in the future, please pay attention. I don’t have that many more years to nag you, and I might not always be so gentle.