Arguments

I am not a naturally confrontational person – I am British, slightly shy and not especially self-confident, which means I am effectively Arthur Dent (except I prefer coffee to tea).

I am generally pretty popular with clients, though it makes my humility gland twinge to admit it, and I used to joke this was because I was a “toadie” in that I agreed with everything clients said.

This isn’t completely true, though. I just try to keep in mind taking your pet to the vets is stressful – clients are worried about what they are going to hear about their companion and what it may cost them. I generally tried to see things from their point of view while explaining mine.

Don’t panic

I quickly learned, almost all of the time, people will calm down if you are calm in return, and acknowledge they feel aggrieved and show you understand why they are upset.

This doesn’t mean agreeing with them, but it does mean showing them some respect and empathy for their situation.

That’s not to say I have never exchanged cross words with clients, though, although I can count the number of occasions on both hands. Some of them were completely my fault and I cringe about them to this day. Other occasions I remain proud of and hope I would behave the same in future.

Don’t be influenced

Another thing I learned relatively quickly, but only after falling for this trap, was not to let other members of staff rile you into an argumentative state before talking to clients.

Relatively early in my career, I was handed the telephone by a red-faced and extremely pissed-off receptionist, who told me – in colourful language – exactly the nature of the “effing effer” waiting for me on the other end of the line.

It turned out the client had received an unexpectedly large bill in the post and managed to rile every member of reception team with his aggressive manner.

By the time I had heard the stories of reception, I was handed the telephone with the expectation I would ”sort this [numerous expletives deleted] out”, so took up the telephone like a gladiator picking up his cestus, already spoiling for a fight with the client, after the way he had treated the receptionists.

Not my finest hour

Things did not go well. They escalated quickly, with shouting on both sides and swearing on one (not mine, fortunately). The telephone was angrily put down on me and I received one of the only complaint letters of my career.

The client had a legitimate grievance; however, all I was interested in doing was berating him for being rude, but in an extremely rude manner myself. My boss at the time sorted the whole thing out, and, eventually, the client and I were on speaking terms again.

But it wasn’t my finest hour – I escalated the whole situation, instead of defusing it, because I allowed myself to be spun into a frenzy first. Lesson learned.

Stubborn clients

On a second occasion, much later on, a colleague asked me to speak to a client who had rushed their young cat to the practice after it had been hit by a car. The cat had a fractured pelvis, with mild compression and slightly sacroiliac luxation; surgery would have been the ideal, but cage rest would also almost certainly work.

To my colleague’s distress, the owners wanted their pet euthanised instead, so she had come to find me in the hope a more senior vet could persuade them otherwise. My colleague was a recent graduate, and with the arrogance of age and experience, I assumed she simply wasn’t explaining the options well enough and agreed to talk to the clients.

I explained surgery would lead to quicker return to function, less pain and fewer long-term side effects, but the owner said that she didn’t want her young cat (two years old) to go through it. I understood money may be a factor, although the owner didn’t mention it, so I discussed cage rest and explained it could be difficult and frustrating to cage rest a cat, but it would be for a relatively short time compared to the rest of her cat’s long life.

The owner didn’t want her cat to “go through it”. I explained it would be uncomfortable, but that we had effective painkillers and, again, it would be for a relatively short period of time. At this point, the owner started talking about “how much all of this would cost anyway”, and I thought I had begun to get to the root of the problem.

Desperation

I thought again. I explained costs would not be high, because most of the care would be carried out at home, and we could try to keep check-ups to a minimum to keep the costs down. The owner said she didn’t want to be the one to put her cat through all that and wanted it euthanised. I explained, again, pretty much whatever we did from this point, those bones would heal if we could just keep her cat still and pain-free for six weeks. Nope. She wanted the cat euthanised.

Starting to feel slightly desperate, I offered to keep the cat in the practice at a cheaper rate than normal; nope, euthanise it. I looked at the cat on the table, giving every appearance of nothing being wrong from its prone position, purring while I tickled its ear. I sighed and suggested if money or care were the problems, we could consider rehoming the cat; never! The owner was worried the cat wouldn’t be cared for the same way.

I offered hospitalisation for an even lower price; nope. Euthanasia. I offered hospitalisation for the price of the drugs only; nope. Euthanasia. I explained the price I had offered was cheaper than the cost of euthanasia; nope. Euthanasia.

Biting my lip

My empathy skills were failing me because I could not understand the client’s point of view, so I didn’t know what I could say to save the cat. It wasn’t cost. It wasn’t the care. I had explained that the pain would be minimal again and again; she just seemed to think her pet was broken and, therefore, disposable.

I started to try to think of other solutions when it became clear she was not going to be moved from her position. I asked if she wanted to stay with it while I euthanised it, and she said she didn’t. A chink of light! Unethical, perhaps, but I was very prepared to take the cat home and look after it myself… until the woman said she wanted to take the cat home afterwards.

Rapidly running out of options and ideas, as well as reasonable forms of argument, I became blunter and more frustrated as time went on. I asked if she wanted me to kill her cat despite all the other options I had offered her. She said she did. I didn’t know what else I could do to get through to her, so gave up any pretence at remaining civil. I couldn’t see a way through this without ending this cat’s life.

Regret

I greatly resented being used as this client’s executioner. She left the room, and my nurse and I euthanised the cat as compassionately as we could.

When she re-entered the room, she ruffled the dead cat’s fur and asked me: “Do you think I did the right thing?“ Utterly flabbergasted, distressed and very angry at this point, I replied: “No, you didn’t.”

I left the room before I said anything I regretted, which is ironic because, to this day, I regret not saying: “No, you fucking didn’t.”

Even now, I wonder about this case – was I missing something? Why couldn’t I work out why the client wanted her cat euthanised? Could I have said something to make things turn out differently? I still wonder how much of the failing was mine.

Thankfully, I’ve never been in a similar situation.

Arguing with clients isn’t good for business, stress levels or professionalism, and it’s almost never the right thing to do. You, of course, may have a different opinion. Feel free to offer it; I’m not going to argue… much.