Amy Conroy sat alone in a veterinary exam room, hands clutching a bottle of water and eyes blinking and watering. Her 16-year-old cat, Leisel, was having trouble breathing. Now, wait for an update.
The door opened and Laurie Maxwell entered.
Ms. Maxwell works for MedVet, a 24-hour emergency veterinary hospital in Chicago. But when she sat down across from Mrs Conroy on a Monday afternoon in May, she explained she wasn’t there for the cat. He was there for Mrs. Conroy.
Ms. Maxwell is a veterinary social worker, a job in a little-known corner of the therapy world that focuses on alleviating the stress, anxiety, and grief that can occur when a pet needs medical care.
Pets no longer exist on the periphery of the human family—to take one example, a 2022 survey found that nearly half of Americans sleep with an animal in their bed. As this relationship has intensified, so has the anxiety when something goes wrong. Those feelings can spill over into animal hospitals, where social workers can help pet owners work through difficult choices, such as whether to euthanize a pet or whether they can afford to pay thousands of dollars for their care.
Although still rare, animal hospital social workers are growing in their ranks. Large chains such as VCA are beginning to use them, as are major academic veterinary hospitals. The service is usually offered free of charge. About 175 people have received certification in veterinary social work from the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, which is a center for the field.
Ms. Maxwell, who oversees the work of five social workers at five MedVet locations, also helps with busy shifts.
In the room with Ms. Conroy, Leisel’s owner, Ms. Maxwell asked one of her key questions: “What role does it play in your life?”
Mrs. Conroy smiled. “Well, that’s a terrible thing to say, because I’ve had other cats,” she said. “But she’ll be my favorite cat I’ve ever had.”
Ms. Conroy said that when she brought Leisel home from a shelter in 2010, the cat was so scared that it took two years before Ms. Conroy would touch her. Now, the two are closely related.
“I have social anxiety. And it can be quite exhausting at times,” Ms Conroy told Ms Maxwell. “I feel like he has social anxiety. We share it, you know that?’
“Your soul cat,” said Mrs. Maxwell. “I think it’s a once-in-a-lifetime cat.”
Down the hall and around the corner, Dani Abboud, a social work student, sat on the floor to talk to Gloria Reyes, her 11-year-old son, Jesreel, and her 8-year-old granddaughter, Janiah. They were visiting Sassy, their 12-year-old pit bull, who was experiencing critical complications from bladder surgery.
“Where were you earlier?” Mrs. Reyes asked Mch. Abboud with a laugh. Hours before, he had struggled to decide whether to euthanize Sassy or accept her for a second surgery. “If I didn’t see life in her eyes, then maybe,” he said. “I can’t put her down.”
“You know what’s in her heart,” Mx. Abboud said.
Social workers’ main job is to tend to pet owners, but veterinarians and technicians — essentially nurses — say they also help. “I would go home and really wonder what happened to a client,” said Dr. Amy Heuberger, chief of the emergency department at MedVet in Chicago. Now, she said, “I can take care of more animals in one shift because I know the clients are still being taken care of.”
Elizabeth Strand, director of the University of Tennessee’s veterinary social work program, said having a therapist on staff becomes a selling point for attracting vets and other workers. The industry is a high-stress area and suicide rates among vets are higher than average.
After leaving Ms. Reyes and the children, Mch. Abboud, who uses their pronouns, turned his attention to Evrim Topal, whom they had been helping earlier in the day. Mrs. Topal had brought her family dog, Zoro, a 16-year-old cockatiel, because he was having trouble breathing. An examination revealed that Zorro’s condition was not going to improve.
A.D. Abboud joined Ms Topal in a “comfort room”, which MedVet reserves for euthanasia. Ms Topal said her emotions were mixed when she first arrived. “I don’t think I was prepared to make that decision,” she said. But after talking about it, she felt at peace.
Moments later, an assistant wheeled Zorro into a cart. A plastic mask delivered oxygen. She took Zorro in her arms, while Mx. Abboud moved the oxygen tube so he could breathe easier. “Está bien, está bien,” Mrs. Topal whispered to Zorro.
After Mrs. Topal spent some time alone with Zorro, she rang a bell to let the staff know she was ready. Dr. Heuberger joined Mx. Abboud in the room.
“Thank you guys for being here,” Ms. Topal said.
Dr. Hoberger knelt on the floor and administered the lethal drugs. After a few seconds, Zoro’s breathing stopped.
