My heart was pounding out of my chest. I waited for a red light and opened it.

The words went blurry. I was hyperventilating, making loud crying noises. “Congratulations and welcome to the OVC class of 2027!”

I was so sure I was meant to be a veterinarian. That was certain. What I had no idea about was whether I was ready to be a vet student—and nobody thought to ask me that question before I got here.

So if you’re heading into vet school, or still working toward it, this is the advice I wanted before I got here.

I’ll skip the part where I ask if you’re ready to be a veterinarian, because I know you know that answer by heart. You’ve rehearsed it through every job interview, every vet school interview prep session, every CASPer scenario. You feel it in your bones, and I wholeheartedly believe you! But before you get to be a vet, you have to survive 4 to 5 years of vet school first. It will be a full-time job whether you like it or not (mad respect for my colleagues who are doing this with kids and/or another job on the side. I honestly don’t know how you do it. You've already reached a level of enlightenment I can't fathom, like Chang in my previous article).

Vet school is NOT for the faint of heart. Let me tell you what you’re walking into.

1. It will take a toll on you, mentally and physically.

Late nights are part of the deal, unless you have practiced good study-sleeping habits (which I haven’t mastered). I’m talking regularly getting to bed at 12am, and that’s on a normal week, not even around test season. Unfortunately in vet school, test season is basically always, so do with that information what you will.

Imposter syndrome also hits different when you’re surrounded by a room full of other high-achieving, type-A people. We’re all suddenly small fish in a very big, very intimidating pond, which is both humbling and completely terrifying at the same time (if you feel like the big fish in the room, congrats, now you have to deal with the risk of becoming insufferable. Just kidding. Kind of).

Then there's the emotional weight of it all. We have a course called "Art of Veterinary Medicine," and although I sometimes dreaded going, it turned out to be one of the most real and useful things I've taken. It teaches you that diagnosing and treating an animal is only half the job. The other half centers around the client, involving navigating hard conversations, impossible dilemmas, and moments where an owner wants to do something you completely disagree with. For example, an owner with cost concerns requests euthanasia for a healthy dog with behavioral issues. Things get real heavy around here.

Remember CASPer? That was just the beginning of your lifelong journey as a high-EQ empath. Vet school is full of those scenarios, and when you’re practicing as a veterinarian, those skills come back aggressively and with real stakes. You’ll constantly be weighing stakeholders, ranking priorities, making calls that don’t have a clean right answer. It's a good skill to build. Just don't let it turn you into a people-pleaser who forgets to include yourself in the equation. More on that rant another day.

2. The studying is a lot. Like, a lot a lot.

More than undergrad, more than grad school, wayyy more than you’re probably picturing right now. In my past three years, I’ve learned 500+ new terms covering bacteria, viruses, parasites, diseases, pathological processes, anatomical structures, etc etc etc. Your human-sized brain will feel full to the brim, and then it will keep getting fuller, until you feel like nothing is sticking anymore (and then sometimes, that same full brain will surprise you, like when a technician asks you the fluid rate for a cat spay and the answer just comes out. Phew, dodged that one!).

Before vet school, I had to pause my undergrad and work for 8 months to meet OVC’s Ontario residency requirements. During that time, I truly missed school, and probably romanticized studying the way you only can when you’re not actually doing it. That feeling has not returned a single time in three years of vet school (hah).

One time, I was so sick of studying, that I told my mom (fully translated from Vietnamese): “If I ever come to you saying I want to do more schooling after vet school, please remind me of these cursed days, so I don’t stupidly dive head-first into that bottomless pit again.”

And Mom was like: “for real? okay 🙂”

3. Grades will humble you.

The academic rigor ramps up fast. First year is the transition year, so it will be manageable. Second year hits hard with tests almost every week—the classic Wednesday-and-Friday duo, which I like to call "double it and give it to the next crying vet student". Third year is the same rhythm, just harder across every single course. Then in fourth year, you face the NAVLE, which basically translates to Nightmarish Agonizing Veterinary Licensing Exam (unofficial name).

Your grades might drop from what you’re used to, with 80s and 90s from undergrad turning into 60s and 70s. You might even fail a test somewhere along the way (I have, it wasn’t fun, but you get through it by being a persistent, stubborn little leech who refuses to let go of the ultimate veterinarian dream). It’s also a pretty grounding reminder that your grades are not your worth. That’s something I’m still working on. A lot less than before, but still, it’s a tough thing to unlearn.

It makes sense why grades are put on such a pedestal as the main factor in getting into vet school. I used to disagree with this, because there is so much more to a person than a grade, and let’s be honest, students can strategically pick easier courses to boost their numbers. But I’ve come around to understanding the logic behind it: if you don’t have the study habits to carry you through weekly tests, you are, to put it plainly, fully-freaking cooked.

4. You will have to do uncomfortably gory things.

After first year, I thought I might want to be a pathologist. I liked anatomy labs and figured I had a strong enough stomach to handle whatever came next. Then our first full post-mortem necropsy lab arrived.

I was mortified.

[Content warning: gory description ahead. Skip to the next section if you’d rather not. TLDR: vet school labs can get bloody and intense.]

The smell of formalin, flesh, and blood hit me the second I walked in. It was nauseating to the point I felt like my stomach was churning butter, a feeling I’ll never forget. We learned how to do a full necropsy on an animal. And when I say full, it is exactly what it sounds like. No parts were left unexplored. The head portion was the hardest for me personally, though it's also one of the most critical to know, since that's how you collect samples for rabies testing.

I've linked the postmortem examination and rabies sample collection steps for reference if you are interested, and I am adding a very sincere warning: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, I REPEAT, DO NOT. Save it for the pathology labs please, you’ll have plenty of time then to feel organs.

I know it’s easy for me to say all of this from the other side. But I want to be honest with you in a way that vet school ads won’t be: getting in was actually the easier part. Surviving it, let alone succeeding, requires a kind of endurance that no GPA, no CASPer score, no interview session can measure.

Not everyone who starts will finish, and that’s okay. But the ones who make it through aren’t the ones who never questioned it. They still Googled “Alternative career options to veterinarian” at 2am and showed up the next day.

You already knew this path was hard, and you chose it anyway. So hold onto that: the reason you started, the reason you keep going. Because in the hard moments, that’s your light.

If you read all of this and still feel ready…

then go for it! Full speed ahead! Success train coming through, choo-choo! 🚂

(just maybe pack some snacks, because lunch is not always guaranteed1)

Quick recap from Part 1: learn on the job, do your tasks well, know protocols, take care of yourself, and AVOID the Q-word. Survived all that? Congratulations! I deem you ready for the next challenge.

6. Ask for feedback (diligently!)

Six months into my first emergency job, I was not happy. Not with the job, but with myself. I kept making silly mistakes, and I was convinced I wasn’t a competent employee (hello imposter syndrome). So I worked up the courage and finally asked the owner veterinarian and the head technician for feedback. Here’s how I approached it:

"I've been here for [insert time]. Is there anything you think I can improve on, or something I still haven't been doing well? If you're too busy right now, I'm happy to talk about this some other time. I just really want your feedback so I can grow."

Now, I apologize, but I don’t remember exactly what they said (I’m notoriously known for having a 2-second memory). However, I do recall the feeling of relief afterward, and a noticeable increase in trust from my bosses. They were appreciative that I’d taken the initiative to reach out and to ask for feedback. So, by putting yourself up for thirty seconds of awkwardness, you get directions to improve, and impress your bosses. SCORED!

7. Be a team player.

For one, be adaptable and flexible. Say your colleague is stuck explaining something to a client. Meanwhile, another client rushes through the door with a collapsing dog. Although your usual task is cleaning and assisting at the back, you happen to be right there. With the clinic’s intake protocol already memorized (you did read Part 1, right?), you check with your colleague and swoop in to get the dog to the veterinarian quickly. BOOM—you just saved the dog, the vet, and your colleague all at once.

Once you've got your own tasks down, look for ways to improve the workplace. There was a receptionist at my emergency clinic who was exceptional at organizing the towel shelves (Diane, you are an angel). She was such a pro that when she left, everyone was complaining about how fast the laundry room descended into chaos. So be a Diane! Make life better for everyone!

Note: During COVID, our clinic had a strict no-clients-inside policy, which significantly reduced the quality of communication between clients and veterinary staff. So I made a brochure walking clients through the entire process: from pulling into the parking lot, to what happens inside the hospital, and the reasons behind long wait times. When the owner veterinarian saw it, she was in awe. My two cents: Think outside of the box and get creative!

8. Make connections!

I’ve learned that in most fields, your career is shaped heavily by your connections. I KNOW I KNOW, as a fellow introvert, the idea of putting myself out there used to fill me with dread. But it has to be done. Who knows, once you get past the discomfort, you might just find a lifelong friend or mentor!

The staff who train you will be your mentors not just during your time there, but long into the future, if you nurture those relationships. If you see someone being open to your questions and willing to teach, make an effort to chat during the quieter moments. You can even take it a step further and ask if they'd be up for a coffee or a short chat outside of work.

Note: These connections are crucial if you ever apply to veterinary school, since most schools require letters of recommendation. A great letter comes from a meaningful, lasting impression, so keep those connections in mind!

9. Polish your customer service skills.

Unfortunately, you cannot escape humans in veterinary medicine. I’ve grudgingly rolled up and down that hill a couple of times.

Customer service skills will benefit you far beyond the job. If you've looked into vet school applications, you've probably heard of the CASPer. This is a test of your EQ and your ability to navigate ethical dilemmas involving PEOPLE (I can hear the introverts crying). But here’s the thing, it is a skill, and skills can be learned, right at the front desk with clients. To do well on the CASPer, and in this profession, you need to balance the needs of everyone involved. And to do that, you need strong customer service skills.

You will meet difficult clients in this field: frustrated ones, heartbroken ones, unreasonable ones. So always keep this in mind: your job is to help, not just the animal, but the owner too. Picture a client whose senior dog has a splenic mass, while also grieving his mother and drowning in debt (Warning: this scenario will DEFINITELY come up in vet school). Imagine how you would feel as this client. Shitty? Conflicted? Guilty? Overwhelmed? Feel all of those, and let your empathy lead. Don't be a Ron Weasley.

Note: Full article on client types and how to respond coming soon. This topic deserves its own post!

10. The mindset I want you to have…

Tell yourself this, again and again, whenever you make a mistake or feel like a failure:

It’s okay to fail. It’s okay to make mistakes.

Mistakes make you human, and they’re some of the best opportunities to grow. They don't mean you're not cut out for this, or not enough, or not meant to be in this profession. Whatever voice is saying all of this in your head, that’s your imposter syndrome talking. I want you to look at it in the face, slap it real hard, chuck it out the window, and keep going.

As well, give yourself some grace. That doesn’t mean shrugging things off like they never happened. It means learn the lesson and move forward without beating yourself up. Don’t let your mistakes stop you from becoming the vet you’re meant to be.

Veterinary medicine has enormous learning curves, and anyone you look up to has made mistakes that have kept them awake at night (either in tears or in cringe. I’ve had a fair share of both). You will get there, with patience for yourself and perseverance in improving every day.

Note: See my reflections, written during the early days at the emergency clinic:

2nd-day:

I don't know if it's just me, but it always feels hard whenever I finally understand something. Like I finally got the hang of the ACA stuff at the back, I felt so comfortable, but that took like two months or something. Now I've moved to receptionist, the first day of training I thought I got it. On the second day, which was September 8th, I felt so overwhelmed and couldn’t manage without others’ help. I'm not sure if it's me, or just that I'm not used to it yet, or that it was a super busy day.

But I know I'm trying my best, and I know I will only improve. That’s what I have in me. I need to respect that it'll probably take another two months to finally get used to the job. So next time, learn how to organize your stuff, do things one by one like Diane said, take some patience during calls to get the correct information, then put the info on the desk for the vet quickly.

You can do it!

1-month:

It’s now almost a month. I’m not completely there yet, but I’m getting there. I start to do receptionist stuff faster and more easily now, getting into gear. But I still lack experience. I can’t be like Faith (another colleague) yet, not because she learns faster, but because she has more experience than I do. I just gotta accept this is where I am. It’s not a competition, it’s a marathon, and I’m trying my best. I just need to calm down, empathize more, and ask for feedback more.

Wow, I have always been a reflective soul.

In summary, BELIEVE IN YOURSELF, and allow time for things to stick.

In Part 2, we covered: ask for feedback, be a team player, make connections, develop your customer service skills, and above all: believe in yourself and keep going.

That’s a wrap on the Newbie at Emergency Clinic series! If you’d love more series like this on any aspects of veterinary medicine, drop a comment and let me know!

Until next time…

It wasn’t just squirrels; I loved spotting birds in the wild too. My best friend in university was an avid birder. She would wake up early every weekend, bring her binoculars to a nearby trail, and watch birds for hours. She knew so many species, some just by the sound of their calls alone. Katherine showed me the beauty of birds. She opened my eyes to a world far beyond the pigeons and sparrows, the only two species I’d ever known growing up in Viet Nam.

Curiosity, it was. Of the beauty and the majesty of animals. How different they are made, yet how fully alive they all are, going about their business, unaware of the circle of life pressing in around them. I mean, who am I to say I understand it better than they do? But curiosity, at least on the surface, was what drew me to animals.

One time, a sparrow flew into our backyard in Viet Nam. Our backyard had two big cây cau (betel nut palm trees), so animals often found refuge there. A bat once took a nap on the large leaves and accidentally flew into our house. But this time, a little sparrow had fallen from somewhere and couldn’t walk, couldn’t fly. Had it tumbled from a nest? I couldn’t find one, but I was in Grade 2, probably three-four feet tall, and the trees were more than quadruple the height of Victor Wembanyama.

My maternal grandmother carried the bird inside, and I remember freaking out: What if it dies? How do we take care of something this tiny? Grandma dropped a bit of sugar water onto the bird’s beak to check its response. It was conscious, just not flying. We sat with it for about half an hour, not knowing whether it would get better. But it did fly away, after all. Maybe it was just shocked after hitting the walls or something.

(Warning: the next section contains animal death and some graphic details. Please skip ahead to the next line break if you’d prefer.)

Another time, I think I was seven. I was on the back of my other grandmother’s motorbike in a narrow market alley, the kind so thin only a single car could pass through. Vendors pressed in on both sides, calling out prices and haggling with customers. We had stopped briefly to pick up vegetables for dinner. As I looked out at the busy alley, I noticed a tiny kitten on the road. It was so small. I felt connected to it; I was a tiny kid too, after all.

Then, very suddenly, a motorbike shot through the alley.

When I looked again, the kitten was still on the road. Blood was spurting from its tiny head. Its cries thin and unceasing. I froze. My grandmother, unaware of what had happened, drove us away.

I have travelled back to that moment, on and off, for years, and never once left it feeling lighter. What if I had told her to stop? What if we had scooped the kitten up and rushed it to the vet somewhere? Would it have survived? Would she have allowed it, or waved it off as just an animal, a lesser life form not worth the trouble? I’ll never know. My fear got in the way of potentially helping that little one, and I’ve carried that regret ever since. It doesn’t get talked about enough: how in certain places and cultures, animal lives are not seen as precious, but as something lesser. A life not worth considering.

I have recurring nightmares about not being able to save an animal. Sometimes it’s that kitten; the image of its suffering still burned into my mind. Sometimes it’s a squirrel seizing on the pavement; I pick it up, helpless, not knowing what to do. Sometimes it is my own cat. I dream she has cancer I can’t cure.

It is, truly, my absolute worst fear: to stand in front of a suffering creature and have nothing to offer.

Perhaps that fear, more than anything else, is what drives me to become a vet. Not just curiosity. Not just love. I want to learn and be trained so that when I see an animal suffer, I don’t freeze. So I can do something to end its suffering; either help heal it, or help it leave pain behind with more peace than that kitten in the alley had.

I know this is something I will struggle with, and will have to make peace with at some point. Because sometimes, even when you have given everything you have, even when you have tried your absolute f*cking best—you still can’t save them. And that’s just the universe moving in its wondrous, mysterious way. “It’s time,” it says. “That being’s life and death belongs to me, not yours to carry.”

Is that a healthy mindset, or just a coping mechanism? I honestly don’t know.

Cancer isn’t solved yet. Neither is human ego, nor our stubborn inability to let go of what we cannot control. But I need to keep reminding myself: I’m here to help in the best way I can, not to rewrite the fate already written in the stars.

Trust me, I’ve been there.

The first time I ever worked in a clinical setting was at an animal emergency clinic in Burlington, Ontario.

I was exposed to the gory stuff from the get-go. I saw chaos daily: On-call veterinarians stabilizing a hit-by-car dog on the table while simultaneously guiding technicians treating a respiratory distress cat in the corner, and juggling difficult euthanasias and time-sensitive toxin ingestions in between.

Despite the intensity, I loved it. Through the chaos, through the pressure, I was learning and growing so much. Working at this clinic ignited my passion for veterinary medicine, specifically emergency medicine.

But I still remember how hard it was starting with limited clinical experience.

So, I’ve put together 10 tips to help you survive (and succeed) at your first job in a veterinary emergency clinic.

This will be split into 2 parts since I want to share as much as possible! I want you to carry these tips through every shift, not just at this job, but into all the new experiences coming your way (and just you wait, there will be many!)

Wait...Tell me more!

1. Learn at least one thing per shift.

Make learning one thing your goal of the day (I’d recommend aiming for at least 3). This is SO important if you want to level up quickly! You can always improve yourself, and that’s also how your coworkers start trusting you with more responsibilities.

Remember to WRITE IT DOWN. Notes app, Google Docs, or a notebook, whatever works for you. Organize them into sections if you can (e.g. Drugs, Procedures, Animal handling, Diseases, Customer service/Communication, etc.). Sometimes I literally scribble on my hand or a small piece of paper at work, then transfer it to a bigger document at home.

Note: This also helps familiarize you with many “hard to pronounce, hard to remember” medical terms early on. I still struggle with “Levetiracetam”. That still sounds like a spell to me. Want seizures gone? LEVETIRACETAM!

2. Know your role inside and out, and do it well!

For example, as an animal care assistant (ACA), your role is to help vets and technicians handle the patients, provide nursing care, and keep the hospital clean and organized.

I know cleaning doesn’t sound…thrilling. But it matters so much! A clean hospital means nobody trips or slips on anything, or worse, spreads anything infectious. Organized carts ensure that when emergencies come (which is literally every day here DUH), you’re not running around in panic mode looking for supplies. YOUR work is keeping the hospital running smoothly!

Focus on mastering what’s in front of you, and you’ll quickly earn trust with more tasks!

Note: If you have never handled an animal before, or are struggling with this, I’ll make a separate post about how to improve on that. Stay tune!

3. Know the protocols!

This is especially important at an emergency clinic when things get hectic all the freaking time.

Note: Protocols will vary by clinic, but for example: Client walks in => Get number + name to make a kennel tag => Take pet in for technicians => Call client for history to book them in the system => Print clipboard info and hand to vets.

As well, know the protocols for some emergencies, especially the clinical signs that point you to something very serious. For example, if it’s a “straining to urinate male cat”, get the name/number quickly, then bring the cat straight to the vet to feel the bladder. This could mean the cat has a urethral blockage, and that’s BAD BAD BAD.

Note: I’ll make a separate post breaking down common clinical signs, what they could be, and what to do, so keep an eye out for that!

4. Destress ‘n’ Debrief after every shift.

Emergency shifts can be 6-12 hours, often late nights or overnights. And unless you have perfected the ability to exert healthy boundaries, you’ll probably stay later a few minutes to an hour when things are busy.

It’s A LOT, physically and emotionally. This is emergency medicine we’re talking about. You’ll see tough cases, and you’ll feel heavy things. That’s completely normal!

So make a relax-routine after a shift: shower (hot, cold, or none, whatever floats your boat), eat something good, and PLEASE get enough sleep (blackout curtains, earbuds, melatonin are your new BFFs).

If you have energy, reflect a bit. Ask yourself, how did that shift go? What did I learn? What can I improve? Anything I need to clarify with a coworker or vet? Write down just a few sentences.

Note: If you have a great memory or if you are too exhausted after a shift, reflect the next day. I usually just jot it down quickly before passing out so I don’t forget.

5. This one is special, because I love you all so much:

Never EVER, and I mean ABSOLUTELY NEVERRRR, say the word “quiet”.

As in “Wow, it’s so quiet today”.

If your coworkers don’t take you out immediately (pretty high chance), you probably will wanna die in the next few minutes anyway when 6+ emergencies come through the door AT THE SAME TIME (100% will happen).

I don’t make the rules. I just suffer the consequences.

This is it, your “starter pack”: learn, do your job well, know protocols, destress, and avoid the Q word.

In the next part, I’ll get into how to really grow into your role and become a person others can rely on!

Until next time…