On a day in early spring

Hello dearest,

I am writing to you whilst sitting in front of a fire, wine glass on the side, after the loveliest of conversations one could have with two strangers. I met them this morning, in the B&B I booked to celebrate that I am here, in this country that I not quite yet call home, for six months now. This wonderful couple is celebrating that their youngest is soon to flee the nest, and that they will have all the time to explore the world with just the two of them again. I on the other hand, am perfectly happy to go out exploring on my own.

Shropshire (where I am) is what you imagine when you think of the English countryside: rolling hills of green grasland dotted with white little fluffs of sheep, every now and again interrupted by woodland. The tranquility seems inevitable, even when it rains. Today has been one of those in-between days of early spring. When the sun is out, it is clearly spring; the daffodils are in bloom and the lambs joyfully jump around, but when clouds prevail, a cold wind reminds us that it is winter, still.

Six months

I have made it on my own for six months now. Me. Well, me, and my collegues, and John and Sarah (my landlord & -lady / interim grandparents), and although not helpful practically but essential for moral support, Buster, of course. After all, you’re a little less insane when you talk to your pet than when you talk to the voices in your head. And then there’s the everlasting support via phone conversations of friends and family in Holland. So maybe I have not made it on my own. But I have been here for six months now, and I’m feeling better than ever, so reason to celebrate nonetheless.

I know I have been horribly neglecting my duty to write to you, to keep you posted. And I promise it is not because I did not want to share what was going on. It is that I was not allowed to. And when I was allowed to share, I was not ready yet. (And after that, I don’t really have an excuse, sorry!)

Decision time

Have you ever found yourself in the position where you turned out to be someone different than who you that you where?

I have. In the last two months. It took a while to be able to confess that to myself. And a little while longer to say it out loud. And then a lot longer to write it down.

Long story short: the farm department of the practice I work at, closed. Since I was 50-50 mixed, so doing half farm animals, half small animals, my job was at stake. They offered me to either move to a different practice, which meant moving two to three hours away and starting all over again, or become a full time small animal veterinarian. And that decision was not as easy as it may seem. My head needed time to catch up with my feelings.

You see, before I started vet school, the decision was made: to get into vet school, I agreed that I would choose the farm animal track. I did my research, and decided that was the way it was going to be: I was going to become a farm animal vet. Seven years later, that’s how I graduated, as a farm animal vet. Allowed, but not as capable, to do small animals as well. Given that I had a fairly keen interest in small animals as well, I set out for a job as a farm animal vet or maybe a role in a mixed practice. So I did. But I always thought the farm vet would come on first. Until it did not.

Hindsight

Mixed was too much for me. I am too much of a perfectionist. My growth as a vet was slow, because my brain was constantly learning on two different tracks: small and farm. I was overwhelmed. And as it turns out, I am a little princess too. The charm of trying to wash the muck of your wellies in a stream to get clean before your next farm visit is lost on me. I’d rather have running water. Or better yet, each farm has his own pair of wellies and overalls, like in the Netherlands. (Yes, I blame Utrecht for being spoiled.)

Anyway, after thinking long and hard about it in the Peak District (getting away from it all is always a good tactic), I came to these conclusions:

1. The team I have here is amazing.
2. I don’t want to move and start over again, I am only just finding my feet here.
3. I love sheep. And I love cows. But what I do not love, is the actual work that being a farm vet entails.
4. I don’t want to leave this place yet, I am not done here (more of a feeling than an actual thought)
5. I am probably (slightly) crazy

So I stayed. As a fulltime small animal vet. For now, at least. And honestly, I felt relieved. After that, the practice came with more news: we were dropping the out of hours too. No more being on call, or at least not for a little while.

Balance is beautiful

Do not worry, I still work late at least one night a week. As a friend lovingly told me “every practice has a shit magnet”. So leave me one hour per week that I have to cover on my own, and I will attract something that will make me stay late.

But the rest of the week, I am finding my ground. There is yet so much to learn, especially because in the last four years of my university career, only eight weeks were focussed on small animals. However, I enjoy it. It suits me. And I am able to enjoy seeing farm animals again instead of immediately panicking about what I don’t know yet. I can just happily shout “look at the cows!” (like these of the lovely B&B I stayed at), and not worry about that one cough and whether it is caused by lungworm or IBR or Histophilus somni and what do I do to figure that out and for treatment?! etc.

I wouldn’t say I care less about the small animals, but there is a little less stress involved. Instead of taking my job home with me every day, now it is maybe once or twice a week. Which is far healthier, for both myself and my patients. The quality of care is better when I’m well rested and happy. A balanced work-personal life is essential for that. And I’m feeling good about it. About myself, about all of it. It feels like I’m sinking deeper in myself, like I’m getting to know myself better. And I am excited for what the future holds.

So here’s to many more days exploring and developing myself as a small animal vet, or at least for now!

Liefs,

Karen+Buster

Ps. Buster bonus: