
Mrs Cleveland stood six feet tall, with a muscular, straight-lined body that lacked curves. Her stern demeanour did little to enhance her appearance. While it was not my role to comment on her looks, I couldn’t help but observe her from head to toe. She seemed to work in education. Her daughter, around 16, closely resembled her mother, walking behind and clutching a small King Charles Cavalier puppy to her chest. I greeted them as they entered the clinic.
Mrs Cleveland explained that they visited the clinic because they couldn’t schedule an appointment with their regular veterinarian. It was evident to me that I was not their first choice and they only sought my help as a last resort.
While I did not agree with her method, I still greeted both of them warmly in the consulting room. I asked her daughter to put the puppy on the examining table, but she didn’t react. I wasn’t sure if she had ignored me or if she simply couldn’t understand, as she kept holding the puppy even more firmly.
I know people with mental disorders often cling tightly to their possessions as a way to cope with anxiety. Considering that the girl might have a similar issue, I started to examine the puppy while she held it close to her chest.
Typically, I pat puppies during examinations, but this time she was holding the puppy close to her chest, preventing me from doing so. When I asked for the puppy’s name, she replied, ‘Oscar.’ Mrs Cleveland watched me intently as I examined Oscar, almost like a teacher overseeing students during a test. Since the puppy was held tightly by her daughter, I couldn’t perform a thorough exam. I explained that I needed to check the puppy’s stomach, took Oscar from the daughter, and placed him on the table. As I lifted his front legs to check for an umbilical hernia, he seemed distressed and howled. It’s normal for puppies to whine and show discomfort during an exam. I continued my assessment, not overly concerned about his howling, and reassured the owner that all was fine. Despite my assurances, the girl quickly removed Oscar from the table, as if I had harmed him, then lovingly embraced him.
I proceeded to vaccinate Oscar, albeit reluctantly, as he was again held close to the daughter’s chest. During the injection, he squirmed, dislodging the needle and causing the vaccine to leak. I apologised, explaining that my nurse needed to help me hold Oscar more securely. After handing him to the nurse, I completed the vaccination successfully. The puppy felt the sting and then let out a long howl. I clarified the situation and reassured them that Oscar would be fine in a few moments, though the owner stared blankly at me, her face expressionless.
I explained the puppy’s diet and hygiene to them. They didn’t ask questions. Although I was with them for only ten minutes, it felt like ten hours. They paid and left my clinic looking grim.
After two weeks, I got a letter from the Australian Veterinary Council accusing me of not thoroughly examining an animal and causing unnecessary pain during vaccination.
I responded in detail to the Council, which granted me a licence to practice as a veterinarian. My explanation was accepted, and I was assured that my method of working was proper. Although the Council approved my examination approach, I still wanted to understand why the dog’s owner criticised my work.
She accused me of subpar work as a doctor and of criticising my attire and manner of speaking. Her disapproval might have stemmed from my Sri Lankan accent and casual outfit, which may have made it hard for her to see me as a qualified vet like the familiar Aussie Vets. At first, I was very angry with Mrs Cleveland, but over time my anger shifted to gratitude.
Initially, I seldom kept detailed records of animal examinations. However, after this incident, I began thoroughly documenting each patient encounter. I realised that addressing accusations and comments could enhance our communication with pet owners more than simply concentrating on the animals. Over my thirty years as a veterinarian, the first formal complaint I received motivated me to refine my approach.
I realised that professionals like me should be more attuned to pet owners’ reactions, as they often feel their pets’ pain more intensely than their pets do.
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