I wasnât trying to grow.
I was just trying to survive.
The coffee was cold again.
The phone wouldnât quit.
And somewhere under a mountain of sticky notes,
a follow-up Iâd promised last week was dying of neglect.
I didnât want another system.
I just wanted my brain back.
If I could fix a few small things,
maybe Iâd stop waking up at 3 a.m.
wondering what Iâd missed this time.
â Send a follow-up after a hard visit
â Remind folks to come back
â Check that someone actually rebooked at the desk
That was it.
Nothing fancy.
Just enough help to stop the slow leak of guilt, fatigue, and cash.
Then one night, long after I shouldâve gone home,
I was digging through a pile of charts,
trying to find my to-do list.
I grabbed my flashlight so I wouldnât wake the dogâ
and thatâs when I saw it.
A thin line of light in the wall,
right between âCall Mrs. Thompsonâ and âBuy more syringes.â
I froze.
For a second, I thought I was dreaming.
I blinked, rubbed my eyesâ
but the light stayed.
I pushed the edge with my thumb.
It creaked open.
Inside looked like Santaâs workshop.
Only instead of toys,
there were SOAP notes that wrote themselvesâneatly, calmly, without me.
Follow-ups sent on their own.
Reminders went out right on time,
like little elves whoâd finally had enough of my chaos.
At first, I thought the door was just for meâ
one exhausted vet clawing his way through another twelve-hour day.
But then I noticed something.
The solo vets were breathing again,
their notes finishing as they spoke.
The two-to-four-vet clinics started moving in sync,
no more guessing or silent resentment.
The five-to-ten-vet teams stopped dropping rechecksâ
the cracks quietly filled themselves.
And even the big eleven-plus clinicsâ
the ones that used to feel like ten mini-kingdomsâ
were suddenly speaking the same language.
Thatâs when it hit me.
It wasnât just a secret door.
It opened onto a quiet bridgeâ
and beyond it was a world I never knew existed.
A world where nothing slipped through the cracks.
Where follow-ups happened on their own.
Where calm wasnât a reward for burning outâ
it was how every day began.
Clients who used to vanish?
They came back like nothing had happened.
Follow-ups Iâd forgotten?
Already sentâ
and they sounded human,
not like some robot pretending to care.
No dashboards.
No buttons.
No training.
It just⊠worked.
Trust rebuilt itself quietly
while I was still catching my breath.
Even the front desk started smiling again.
It felt like magic, but it wasnât.
It was reliefâbuilt right into the day.
And thatâs when I realized:
I hadnât found a tool.
Iâd found peace in the middle of the work.
Now the clinicâs busy,
but my headâs calm.
Thereâs no more chaosâ
just quiet, steady flow.
The notes write, the follow-ups go out,
the team hums,
and I finally get to be a vet again.
Calm brain.
Busy clinic.
No panic.
đ Fill in the simulatorâ20 quick questions, about a minute.
See what I saw.
Feel what I felt.
And decide for yourself.