Perks and Quirks of an Effective Career Mentor

Posted on December 2, 2009

Written by Dr. Jeff Zuba, Associate Veterinarian San Diego Wild Animal Park

Probably one of the most memorable aspects of my journey through the University of Wisconsin (undergraduate, graduate and veterinary school) was the career mentorship I received from a select number of professors and veterinarians. Even more meaningful was how they developed from being ‘just’ professors to mentors to colleagues and, most rewarding, to life-long friends.

Just like you, I had plenty of academic advisors (counselors, TAs, graduate students, upper classmen) and, with their targeted and insightful input, I was successful in reaching my goal of becoming a zoo and wildlife veterinarian. A mentor is more than just a scholastic advisor. They go beyond offering advice on coursework, career objectives, work experience and which internship to apply. A true mentor provides you with the secret handshakes and the tribal knowledge that will help you achieve your goals. Mentors are coaches, altruistic in their motives, and just seem to happen. Like brothers and sisters, root canals, learning the Kreb’s cycle and taking three semesters of organic chemistry, you may not have a choice in the matter – so, when it comes to mentors they have to choose you. They can be trusted with your personal ‘baggage’ and idiosyncrasies. They inspire, encourage and support. They also provided insight into the nuances of veterinary medicine, strengthened my weaknesses, taught me the benefits of a hard work and how to learn. They also invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner, offered a shoulder or an ear instead of advice, called me on my birthday and took me fishing.

One of my mentors is most memorable since he is a quite the character as well as being a great dairy practitioner. ‘Doc’ is a classic – my own personal version of James Herriot. Just like my father, and out of the same sense of respect, I cannot even imagine calling him by his first name so he will always be ‘Doc’ to me. I was fortunate for him to find me when I was a snotty nosed undergraduate looking for experience with a large animal veterinarian. Doc owned a dairy practice close to Madison and is still working part time today – he has been doing this for over 55 years! His character and nature reflect the long hours of a 365-day-per-year service, the harsh winters of Wisconsin, countless trips into and out of dairy uteri and the occasional, unexpected kick from an unruly patient. His hands are worn like an old leather boot and his fingers look like bratwurst because of all of the drama and trauma they have sustained from treating milk fevers and pulling calves. But also apparent in his persona is the satisfaction and sincere joy he has for his contribution in keeping his animals healthy and his clients in business.

Saying that Doc has his quirks is an understatement. He has unselfishly and unknowingly provided me with a chest full of ‘pearls’ of wisdom but it is his whimsical gravity that has kept me grounded as his student for 30 years. I cannot possibly recap the many veterinary experiences and tidbits of salient information he has shared with me since it would be like reading you the Merck manual. However, there are a few notable ‘pearls’ worth sharing. Doc knew I was a city boy and he always encouraged me to attend small town socials such as Future Farmers of America and Kiwanis events. During dinner at one of these functions in the cafeteria of the local middle school, panic developed at the other end of our long table. Mr. Shuster, a local dairyman with a unique Milking Shorthorn and Brown Swiss herd, got a plug of chicken firmly stuck in his throat and was having difficulty breathing. He was now standing with his urgent wife’s second digit down his hypoxic throat trying to dislodge the paltry piece of poultry. Doc calmly excused himself from our conversation (he always had a great story to tell) and coolly made his way toward Mr. Shuster, even offering greetings to some of the other farmers along the way. He looked at his bluish, two-legged patient and told Mr. Shuster that he was going to perform the Heimlich maneuver (I thought he said ‘Heineken’ at time) and wanted him to cough on the count of three. I remember the countdown with excitement but the velocity with which the chicken was propelled was even more memorable. Mr. Shuster was embarrassed and thankful, of course. Mrs. Shuster broke the tension by saying she was glad he was still alive because she could never do the first milking at 3:30 AM every morning. Completely unagitated by the whole scene, Doc sat down and said “Jeff, if you are going to be a good vet you will have to learn human medicine, too”. The next week I enrolled in my first ever CPR course. Doc is my hero!

One of my student duties when following Doc on his Saturday morning farm calls was to check the health of the dairy calves. If any of them had diarrhea, I would obtain a proper history and perform a physical including an evaluation of its hydration status. If suspicious, I would then obtain a blood sample for a PCV to prove or disprove my amateur assessment. I recall the first time I did this with Doc. After a few attempts, I was successful in collecting blood from the calf’s jugular and placed it in a red top tube for chemistries and micro-hematocrit tubes for the PCV. He said that we should spin it down immediately since we had to get over to the Gundersen farm because of a cow with a dystocia. I knew he had a well-equipped Ford F250 with the latest version of a chassis mounted Bowie vet pack but I was unaware of the presence of a field centrifuge. “You must be resourceful if you want to be a vet, Jeff”. Oh-oh, another lecture, I presumed. He walked over to the front of his pickup, opened the hood, grabbed a roll of duct tape he had hanging over the power steering fluid reservoir and instructed me on how to properly tape hematocrit tubes to the blades of the radiator fan. “Get inside and rev the engine to 4200 rpm for 10 minutes and you will have your PCV on the calves”. Doc is my hero!

At the San Diego Wild Animal Park, where I am privileged to work, we occasionally use what is simply called ‘The Doc Technique’ in our dangerous carnivores (bears, lions, tigers) during recovery from anesthesia. On Saturday afternoons, ‘Doc’s wife’ (that is what everyone in the community respectfully called her) scheduled free neuters and spays for the local farmers. By his own admission, Doc was not enamored with this community service since he was really only a part time small animal clinician and preferred his larger patients. He would typically mask induce the small farm cats, which made up the majority of his Saturday cases, with methoxyflurane and grumble his way impatiently through the intubation process until successful. The endotracheal tube (ETT) was stabilized using the classic technique of tying a length of one-inch gauze onto the ETT and then around the animal’s head. He would then use his leatherized hands to perform whatever contraceptive procedure his wife had scheduled. But, Doc lacked the patience of Doc’s wife, especially after he completed the surgery. He would place the anesthetized animal into one of the old stainless steel cages in the back room of the small hospital but did not like to wait for the animal to wake up to the point where the ETT could be safely pulled from the trachea. Instead he would untie the gauze knot from behind the head of the patient and then retie it directly to the bars of the cage. With this method, the recovering animal would self-extubate itself while Doc was off to do the next patient. “You must hustle if you want to be a good vet, Jeff”. I use the ‘Doc technique’ for different reasons but yet a similar purpose. It is clearly unsafe to extubate any anesthetized patient too early and our dangerous carnivores are no different in that respect. But it is even clearer that it would be unsafe to be next to a lion or tiger and have to extubate it too late! Enter the ‘Doc technique’. Doc is my hero!

I have numerous Doc stories, and remember them with fond personal and professional significance. I still call him to this day if I have a medical case that might be similar to what is seen in a dairy cow – not because I really need to but because I really want to. Doc is from a vanishing generation of talented, innovative, hard working veterinarians who paved the way for us and did so without the luxuries of today’s technology and medical advancements. I hope someday that a student of mine might remember my idiosyncrasies as a unique contribution to their professional growth. I know this is very important to Doc and now I better understand the significance of serving as a mentor for the next generation. I hope the readers of this newsletter have a ‘Doc’ in their career and that as you age in this fine profession that you too will become a mentor for a needy, snotty nosed student of the next generation. Choose wisely because hopefully they will be around for awhile.