Pets can't tell us what's wrong so vet visits can be stressful

Or, as I've been wondering lately, how does being a veterinary patient compare to being a human patient?

As someone who has been immersed in "vet land" for the better part of two decades (and no doubt more to come), the experience of being a human patient highlighted some key differences.

Human healthcare is highly specialised when compared to veterinary care.

As a general practitioner, I commonly perform routine surgeries on my patients.

These range from surgical desexing and dentistry to wound repair and lump removal.

My wonderful GP did not perform my surgery, instead referring me to a specialist.

The specialist was not just a surgeon, but a surgeon whose life's work is devoted to one area of one part of the body in one species.

While we have a growing body of veterinary specialists who undergo additional extended periods of rigorous training (such as specialists in internal medicine, emergency and critical care, surgery or avian veterinarians), veterinary GPs do a lot of work that would be performed by a specialist in the medical field.

It's given me a new appreciation for the complexity of the work vet teams do.

Being wheeled into an operating theatre is nerve-wracking at the best of times.

Imagine if your surgical team were all members of a different species, with whom you could not communicate verbally?

We cannot reassure animals by explaining that the risks of a procedure outweigh the benefits; that complications are unlikely; that this medication will take away the pain; that we are performing surgery to help them.

Instead, veterinary teams rely on gentle patient handling and, increasingly, medications to reduce patient anxiety.

It's good we don't have to worry about our patients driving or operating heavy machinery after anaesthesia and major surgery, as they're not good at adhering to post-operative advice.

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Like paediatricians who rely on parents to ensure young patients don't over-extend themselves in recovery, veterinarians rely on pet guardians in the post-operative period.

Even then, it only takes a split second for a recovering animal to jump over a fence, splash around in a puddle or climb onto and leap off furniture before they've fully healed.

Veterinary teams often need to resort to devices like Elizabethan collars to prevent animals from licking their wounds or chewing out their stitches.

It is much easier to follow post-operative instructions when you have some awareness of what happens if you don't.

I also have the benefit of knowing that my post-operative confinement is temporary. I'll be able to run around at the park in due course.

Another big difference is the bill.

I paid up front for my GP consultations, but not for the procedure. Those costs are covered by Medicare, which is in turn covered by government revenue and tax payers.

There is no Medicare for animals. For this reason, veterinary teams have to charge clients for the services they provide - hospitalisation, anaesthesia, surgery, pathology and pain relief.

I was a tad envious of my medical counterparts, as they didn't have to have that often challenging discussion on the costs of care.

As I was discharged, I noticed the medical team had displayed photos of their animal companions in the waiting room.

We may have our differences, but like vet teams - human healthcare workers often share their lives with animals.