Best Careers 2009: Veterinarian

Overview. Do you sense that you have "the Gift": a thirst for scientific knowledge combined with a feel for interpreting the science in light of the animal and the owner? Of course, experience will help, but the gifted vet has a natural knack for knowing what to ask and how to respond, what to look for in the animal, and the ability to connect with both people and animals.

Alas, all this must sometimes be done under stressful circumstances. Just imagine having to tell someone that their dear Fifi has cancer and faces thousands of dollars of side-effect-laden treatment, with no guarantee it will work.

Other key skills: Because most vets do surgery and set a lot of bones, manual dexterity and coolness under pressure really help. Surgery is like dangerous carpentry—you don't get to cut the board twice. Whack the wrong thing—game over.

You also must have the emotional strength to deal with death, recognizing that your efforts are often dwarfed by the power of Mother Nature and Father Time. You also must be able to rebound from the inevitable errors you will make, or you'll become overly cautious or burn out.

If you do have the Gift, veterinary medicine is among the most rewarding careers. Beyond the joys of healing, being with animals, and sharing compassion, veterinary medicine offers substantial advantages over being a physician:

• You can work with a wide range of animals, from birds to horses.
• You usually get to perform a wider range of procedures.
• You can work in a wide range of settings, from urban to rural and from solo business to large research lab.
• Most veterinary medicine is fee-for-service, so you aren't bogged down with lots of insurance paperwork, although that, alas, is changing.
• Demand for veterinarians is increasing.

A Day in the Life. (Most days aren't as varied as this and don't cram as much in, but this should give you a sense of the range of activities a small-animal vet might encounter.)

Like many vets who have been at it a while, you own your own practice. A couple of vets, vet techs, and front-office staff work for you.

You're in at 8 a.m. to see your overnight residents—perhaps a golden retriever you neutered and a terrier with pancreatitis that has to be on IV-feeding for four days. You also want a few minutes to chat with your staff before your office opens at 8:30. You feel the need to open that early because many of your customers want a before-work appointment.

Your day starts quietly enough with a routine exam, including vaccinations and answers to such questions as "Is it worth spending the money on super-premium cat food?"

Next, a dog comes in with gastrointestinal distress. You sense that it's probably just something disgusting the animal has eaten, but you check for worms or something more serious. You have your tech inspect the feces.

When the morning rush subsides, you do two surgeries. First, you have to amputate a digit to remove a nail-bed cancer and are delighted that the dog is immediately able to walk. Next, you remove some of an older kitty's rotted teeth. You're confident that when her mouth heals, she'll be back to normal.

Then, a man races in with a bleeding, yelping spaniel. Before the owner says a word, it's clear that this dog wasn't hit by a car; it was bitten by another dog. The owner, in tears, blames himself—"I've always felt funny about that dog park." You put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and then quickly turn to examining the dog for signs of anything more urgent than the wound. You see that one of her shoulder bones is dislocated. You anesthetize the dog and inform the patients in the waiting room that they'll have to reschedule because of an emergency. You deftly replace the dislocated bone and clean and stitch the wound.

After more routine cases, an owner returns to ask about her cat's test results. It's severe heart disease, and the choices aren't good. Give no treatment, and the cat will have only a month or two left. Or the owner can opt for expensive treatment with a 50-50 chance of the cat gaining a couple of quality years. You patiently explain the options but see the owner's pain and hug her.

Finally, there's an ambiguous case. Despite a thorough exam, blood, urine, and imaging tests, and invoking your best intuitions, you're still not sure. You even got a consultation with a specialist. The owner asks, "What now?" You lay out the options, and the owner asks, "What would you do?" You honestly reply, "I'm not sure. There's no right or wrong here. It's a personal choice, and that's up to you."