Leave on a High Note

"Nice doing business with you!" is how we ended last Tuesday, the way we usually end each shift as I hurry off to cross the Bay Bridge and pick up my kids.  Except this day was my last at the shelter, and dog, bags, and office belongings in hand, I burst into tears.  After four and a half years at the shelter I'm moving on-- to grow, to take on a huge challenge, and to reach for another opportunity. And while I'm leaving on a high note, it hurts  to leave. It feels like a brake up, the it's-me-not-you kind I've seen in the movies.

By our count Jane and I together performed 2,400+ spay and neuter surgeries, 23 enucleations (eye removal), a few leg amputations, and 1 penis amputation.  I always looked forward to coming to work; despite complicated surgery rosters or long exam lists, we always managed discuss current events or pop culture, or ponder the obscure or hypothetical over surgery.  Because we made it fun and had a shared mission, this job rarely felt like work. We got our fair share of students, both aspiring veterinarians and veterinary technicians, who energized us with their enthusiasm, curiosity, and drive. Even Theo was into our workflow, warming and monitoring patients as they recovered.

For my boys, my work at the shelter defined me as a veterinarian.  Each day they would ask about the animals and whether or not I was able to help them. They participated in fostering young animals, and came to work with me on occasion. I hope they learned that a job helping and caring for others is stimulating, meaningful, and fun.

In leaving a workplace, I have never felt sentimental about the place or the organization that employed me.  It's leaving the people that pains me most.  So much of our lives are spent with the people at work, and if you choose well and are really lucky, those people become your extended family.  The last four years have been a transformation for me, both personally and professionally, and Jane has been my sounding board, marriage counselor, and general provider of wisdom and realness through it all. I will miss our 14 hours a week together a lot.

For the strong work, fun, and memories, I cherish BACS.