I am what you might call a people pleaser. I operate mostly on intuition and empathy. In my case, this manifests as a near-pathological aversion to any kind of discord in a one-on-one setting (though only up to a point … beyond which feathers will fly).
As a veterinarian, my affinity for fair dealings and my dedication to compassionate conflict resolution means I work very hard to make all my clients—even the great big meanies—deliriously happy with our services.
This is exhausting work, as you can imagine. By no means do I recommend this dubiously effective coping mechanism. In fact, in our profession, I consider this trait a character defect; one that makes those of us afflicted with it prime candidates for burnout. But that’s how we roll–every single day.
Perhaps this is why I sympathize with snowflakes.
What is a snowflake?
In case you are unfamiliar with this oft-abused term, let me attempt to define it for you. According to the online Urban Dictionary, the most widely accepted definition for the slang term, “snowflake” is: “A very sensitive person. Someone who is easily hurt or offended by the statements or actions of others. This has nothing to do with politics. Snowflakes can be liberal or conservative. Whether it is a compliment or an insult is a matter of opinion and depends on the context.”
Like a literal snowflake, the expression describes someone so delicately designed they seem almost tragically destined to drown in a puddle. Their behavior may be considered complex, beautiful, and unique; but also fragile, unreliable and, ultimately, not long for this world. Sound familiar?
Caution: rant in progress
So, you can imagine how difficult it might be to own and run a practice when one’s heightened sensitivity to client satisfaction conflicts with the reality of snowflake conduct. People can be weird, after all, and their personal preferences are often at odds with the impossibility of perfection in animal healthcare.
But to be entirely honest, my near-obsessive attention to others’ gratification had not been an overriding issue for the first five or six years of my tenure as practice owner. I have always found ways to assuage the unreasonably sensitive and keep clients from launching themselves off ledges. It is a talent many of us share given our fear of friction.
Interestingly, however, all that started to change a couple of weeks into the pandemic. I can even picture the client whose extremely needy behavior kicked off a marked decline in my ability to suffer super-sensitive fools and placate the uncooperatively intense. Maybe I have lost my touch in my middle age, or maybe I have just lost my tolerance for those who are unabashedly “extra” in a veterinary setting … but I’m honestly over it.
Yet I digress because this column is not about the kind of clients happy to upbraid veterinary workers for nonexistent transgressions or suffer from an extreme deficit of self-awareness. It is more about those humans who need their hands held so hard we end up white-knuckling our way through the workday. These are the snowflakes I speak of.
Snowflakes in action
Let me describe a common snowflake scenario so you might better understand: I had just acquired a patient with a rare congenital renal disease. Unfortunately, my preferred specialist for these disorders is a 90-minute car ride away. Not only did I elect to meet my client before office hours on my day off to discharge this hospitalized patient so as to accommodate her appointment time, I found myself sucked into organizing the client’s car to protect her leather seats and setting up her GPS so she could manage the drive. I then endured 15 minutes of tears before being asked to actually accompany her to the appointment. All of which could have been forgiven were it not for her temerity to then pout over my lack of commitment to her pet’s feelings.
Now, this may sound outlandish to some of you, but to others, this kind of behavior will surely come as no surprise. As I said, people can be needy, and we can be strangely accommodating when clients are otherwise kind and grateful. But what’s really strange is the expectation for this kind of extreme hand-holding is becoming increasingly common.
The human healthcare disparity
Here is another example: One of my “snowflakiest” clients is a young pediatrician. She’s lovely in most ways, but God forbid she does not receive a return call within the hour. Her demanding behavior is especially bizarre since my conversations with her indicate she in no way treats her patients’ parents with anything close to the same degree of deference she expects from me. This makes me wonder: Is it something about our industry that is just a little “off”? Is it the family pet factor? Or have we simply spoiled them rotten?
As one of my exasperated associates complained after a client repeatedly berated her over the length of time he had to wait for his pet’s care, “I wanted to tell him I’d wedged him into my schedule at a moment’s notice, undertaken sophisticated diagnostics to identify his pet’s disease, initiated appropriate treatment, scheduled follow-up care with a specialist, and improved his pet’s comfort … all in one morning. Can your GP do all that?”
Why the double-standard?
Much of it is absolutely unique to our evolving relationships with pets. When I have probed my clients’ psyches seeking explanations for this mysterious disparity between how we handle human children and pets in a healthcare setting, I have come to a few impressive conclusions:
- The failings of human healthcare have long since been established. Expectations are comparably lower for pediatric care.
- Pets are often perceived as uniquely defenseless and, therefore, more deserving of special protections.
- Our culture’s epidemic of loneliness coupled with a declining birth rate and deferred parenthood has created conditions whereby the human-animal bond has developed into something rather more intense than previously observed.
The burnout factor
It is troublesome, to be sure, since when we do not tie ourselves into knots trying to oblige our clients they are wont to accuse us of all kinds of unwholesome things. Failing to love animals and being “all about the money” are among the more delightful things we are likely to read in our online reviews when we do not meet their exacting standards for Acceptable Veterinary Behavior.
What gets me the most is the whiplash. They treat us like we are the most amazing people on the planet when we cave to all their quirky demands and then turn on a dime, characterizing us as the most evil of villains when we set the most basic of boundaries. Really?
It’s a recipe for burnout. Those of us especially afflicted by the curse of the inner snowflake-appeaser are drawn in by the adoration-fueled highs only to be crushed by the “I’m so disappointed in you” lows. As I have said before, it is not a trait to aspire to.
Snowflake strategies?
Clearly, how to handle the snowflake is not something I’m super-qualified to address—not yet. One thing I do know for sure, though, is I hope never to adopt the embittered, distanced, adversarial behavior I’ve seen some of us revert to by way of staying sane.
Not that I blame anyone for going there if that is what they need to do to survive, but to be honest, I would rather exit the profession than play that role. I mean, despite it all, I still have a soft spot for snowflakes … but I think I’ll just try and stick to the saner ones, thank you very much.
Patty Khuly, VMD, MBA, owns a small animal practice in Miami, Fla. and is available at drpattykhuly.com. Columnists’ opinions do not necessarily reflect those of Veterinary Practice News.