Animal Anecdote

Lessons From Veterinary Gaslighting

What happened when a vet used my love for my cat against me

Although I was concerned when my cat had to be hospitalized because of problems caused by her inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), I was confident she would be okay. After all, a few years earlier, she had an operation at that same clinic, and she got the best of care for a week from a veterinarian she loved.

Unfortunately, that care was not what she received this time around. Maybe it should have been a red flag when her dedicated vet wasn’t available to see patients anymore because his role at the clinic had changed. But why would it? People get promotions all the time and besides, the clinic had an excellent reputation in the community, so surely the other veterinarians would be just as good as the one I’d built a relationship with, right?

I could not have been more wrong.

In fact, the incident was so traumatic that, although it happened years ago, I cannot even hear the clinic’s name without somehow getting upset. The experience was bad for me and bad for my cat, but it did teach me some hard truths about veterinarians that I never expected to learn.

Veterinarians May Not Be as Compassionate as You Would Like

When I took my kitty to the clinic that day, I was optimistic, despite the fact that someone else would be taking care of her. I spoke to the vet in-depth about what was going on since it was decided a hospital stay was necessary, and she explained the exploratory procedure and treatments she would be performing. I received an estimate for everything she thought my fur baby would need.

It seemed promising. Like the veterinarian that had taken care of kitty during her last hospital stay, this one called me every evening with an update on how things were going. But this time things were different. After the first two days, it seemed that there were more and more things that needed to be done, more and more tests kitty needed to have at hundreds of dollars a pop. I would agree each time because, well, what else could I do? I loved her. I wanted her to be well and I wasn’t ready to lose her. The veterinarian seemed to know what she was doing and it sounded like she was diligently trying to find out what the problem was.

My ear became frostbitten from the chill coming through the phone.

Except there were no answers to be had, no end in sight. Test after test, invoice line item after line item, the vet didn’t seem to know any more about what was wrong with kitty than she did the day I took her there. On the sixth day, she called and asked to do even more tests and I expressed my frustrations about not having any answers yet, as well as my concerns about how bloated the bill was becoming.

With that, the tone changed. I was chastised for even putting money into the equation because obviously people who truly love their pets don’t worry about such trifles. Didn’t I want her to get well? Wasn’t I interested in being a good cat mommy? Didn’t I love kitty enough to do anything I could to save her?

Of course, all of those things were true. But it was also true that all of the testing that had been done up to that point hadn’t yielded any answers at all. As guilty as I felt in that moment, I told the vet I thought it was best to not do anymore tests and just continue with what we previously agreed on.

My ear became frostbitten from the chill coming through the phone.

Subsequently, the nightly updates came to an end. I would call the clinic and the vet wouldn’t call me back. I did speak to a nice technician that told me everything was fine and the vet would be in touch soon.

Soon never came.

A Veterinary Clinic Is a Business First

Not having heard from the vet since that last conversation, I was thrilled to get a call from the clinic a few days later. But the call did not come from the veterinarian with news about my kitty; it came from the business office. The bill was significantly higher than the estimate after the battery of tests the vet conducted and they needed me to come in that day to discuss how I was going to pay. They informed me they could set up a payment plan for me if I wasn’t able to give them a lump sum that day.

My first response was to ask what any cat mommy would: “How is she? Is she okay?”

I was in this strange state of not knowing if this was…a joyous reunion or a grief-ridden goodbye.

The woman on the phone said she couldn’t give me any information on that. I asked if I could speak to the vet who was caring for her. No, she wasn’t available.

So I made the trek to the clinic having no idea what to expect. I didn’t know if I was going to be bringing my fur baby home with me or if I was merely going there to settle a bill that possibly included a cremation. I was in this strange state of not knowing if this was a happy or sad occasion, if I was having a joyous reunion or a grief-ridden goodbye.

When I checked in at the front desk, I was immediately shuffled to the business office to get a payment plan set up. Though I was shocked that the bill was more than twice the amount of the estimate they gave me, I couldn’t be concerned about that.

“How is she?” was all I wanted to know.

No information would be forthcoming until I signed on the dotted line. Then a technician brought my cat in to me and said she would need water shots because she was dehydrated, and some medication to help her heal from the procedure. I was thrilled to see my kitty again. Though she seemed so lethargic and weak, she was alive and I was elated.

I went to the pharmacy to get the prescription filled, along with instructions on how to administer the water shots. Finally, I felt like someone cared about something other than money in this situation and was taking my cat’s health — and my feelings — into consideration. Still I didn’t know what was going on, and I wanted to find out if the vet had discovered what the problem was and what the next steps should be.

Part of me hoped they…would grab their pets and run to another vet.

Veterinarians Don’t Necessarily Have a Good Bedside Manner

I went back to the front desk and asked if I could speak to the vet. The receptionist had to go check to see if she was available and, after a minute, came back and said the doctor would be out when she got a chance.

I was hoping I would get some answers. I was hoping we would get some compassion. At the very least, I was hoping I would get a conversation in private.

I was stunned that none of those things happened. Instead of taking me to a private exam room to speak — hell, I would have settled for a discussion in the bathroom — she yelled across the front desk of the increasingly busy waiting room that she had no idea what was wrong with my cat or what to do about it.

“I’m surprised she’s still alive,” was the nonchalant parting wisdom dispensed as she walked away.

I was humiliated. Part of me could only hope that the two dozen people in the waiting room with fur babies in tow didn’t hear what happened. Another part of me hoped they did — and they would grab their pets and run to another vet.

Which was exactly what I did.

Veterinarians May Not Take Responsibility for the Problems They Cause

She was home; she was safe. After I carefully and lovingly gave her water shots for almost two weeks, as well as the medication she needed, she was on the mend. I was determined to make sure she had a full recovery and for whatever was left of her life, she would be a pampered and happy kitty.

Then the itching started. And some loss of fur. I assumed it was fleas and gave her some Frontline for a few days, but there was no difference. Despite my reluctance to deal with another vet so soon, I found a clinic that only worked with cats and took her in for an examination to find out what was going on.

Ringworm.

After speaking to the new vet about kitty’s history and what her daily life was like — she was an indoor cat that had no contact with other animals and little contact with people who had animals — one thing was clear: She had contracted it while in the care of the previous vet. The new vet gave me detailed information about options for treatment. I also talked to her about kitty’s IBD and discussed the possibility of a homemade diet making a difference — something the previous clinic didn’t support at all, favoring Science Diet instead. I was pleasantly surprised at how open the new vet was about a homemade diet and she even gave me suggestions on how to handle it.

My words oozed with the disgust and disappointment I felt about the vet’s behavior during the incident….

I couldn’t have been happier. I had a solution and things were going well. Fast-forward several months and not only did kitty love the new diet, she was losing weight and was able to be taken off the IBD medication that she’d been on for years. Things had really turned around for kitty and I put the experience with the other vet behind me, until….

I could not believe my eyes. They actually had the unmitigated gall to send me fundraising literature to help them open their new building.

Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?

I was incensed. I could feel the smoke blowing out of my ears from the inferno of anger that had formed inside of my brain. You stuck me with this exorbitant bill much higher than the agreed upon cost, made me feel guilty for not wanting to make it even higher, never bothered to tell me what was wrong with my cat, made it clear you didn’t give a shit about her one way or another, and you have the nerve to ask me for a donation?

As a writer, I did what writers do when we’re angry: I wrote. It was a long, scathing nastygram to the clinic’s president detailing the entire ordeal blow by blow. My words oozed with the disgust and disappointment I felt about the vet’s behavior during the incident and the fact that, to add injury to highway robbery, my cat had contracted ringworm in their care! But somehow they thought months after I asked them to forward my cat’s records to another vet that I was actually going to send them a donation?

It felt good to get all that off my chest. I thought that was the end of it. But then a few weeks later, I received a letter from the office telling me they didn’t have any record of my cat being treated for ringworm — of course they didn’t; the letter made it clear why — and that this particular veterinarian had the halo of utmost prestige covering her, so therefore it was best for me to find another clinic.

My first instinct was to respond, but cooler heads prevailed. I had to keep things in perspective. Kitty was doing amazingly well, with a new spring in her step, and the new vet was wonderful to work with. Years later, my fur baby would make her trip to the Rainbow Bridge and I’m convinced that the homemade food gave me that extra time with her — which means that, in a sense, the horrible experience we had with that clinic actually benefited us. It certainly taught me some important lessons, even though that was an extremely tough education.

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