Even though I always knew I would become a vet, it was the inspiration from reading my first James Herriot book, All Creatures Great and Small, at the age of fourteen that started my career in veterinary medicine. Many of my school friends had part time jobs scooping ice cream or baby-sitting, but I was single-minded in my wish to work in an animal hospital. Much more important than earning a very few extra dollars for movies or popcorn, I desperately wanted the experience of working with animals.
My parents were full of encouragement as I tried to find my first job. This was long before the days of the Internet, and I sat at the kitchen table with the thick, yellow, Queens, New York Phone Book. There were pages of listings of veterinary hospitals, and I was determined to call every last veterinarian in the county until I found someone who would allow me to come and work with them. I ticked off the rejections one by one. Icy receptionists refused to even pass my call on to their employers. They all knew something that I didn’t; a fourteen-year-old girl in a professional medical practice was likely to require far more work than she might be able to offer in return.
But one day I got lucky. The veterinarian himself answered the phone. Maybe he was sentimental or just worn down after work, but he agreed to let me visit the very next day after school – just to observe. He made it clear that he did not have a job for me, paid or otherwise, but he understood my curiosity and he allowed me to feel that I would be welcome on my one and only visit. Never was a girl more excited than I the next day. So excited in fact, that I didn’t eat, which may have contributed to what happened next.
The veterinary practice was pretty far from my home, and it took an hour and a half (two buses and a train) to get there. By the time I arrived the day was nearing an end and only three animals were left waiting to be seen by the doctor. The first two cases were routine vaccinations. I watched as he examined the dogs from head to toe and then administered their inoculations. The third patient was a sick cat. I listened as the doctor asked the owner questions about her pet’s symptoms. I watched as he examined the cat’s eyes, ears and mouth, listened to her heart and lungs, and felt her abdomen, skin and fur. He outlined a list of tests to be done, and we all moved to the treatment area to begin. I was so excited; I was about to get my first glimpse at real animal medicine.
The nurse held the cat still and the doctor inserted a needle into the cat’s jugular vein and withdrew some blood. He handed the first blood-filled vial to me and asked me to turn it slowly up and down so the blood in the tube would not clot. As I was turning the tube up and down I had a funny sensation that the room was also turning. I missed my first chance to be involved in veterinary medicine. I fainted dead away on the floor.
While the invitation to visit and observe on that one day had been pretty clear, and even after the embarrassing debacle of my fainting, I was intrepid; I showed up the next day. And the next. And the next one, too. The vet and his staff didn’t encourage my visits but they didn’t try to stop me either. I was determined to be as useful as possible doing menial chores until it got to the point that everyone in the practice came to rely on me like a dependable employee. And I did just that; working for that veterinary practice all through high school and during my summer and college vacations.
I will be forever grateful for their mentorship, for their support, and most of all, for their allowing a fourteen-year-old girl, who fainted at the very first site of blood, to return. I am even more grateful for that spark of determination and encouragement that I got at home. It made all the difference.
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