What can we do for you today? -- Sam Berube
August 21, 2026
Sam Berube, AVC 2027, travelled to Port Hope Simpson as one of the student participants on the Chinook Project. As part of the experience, the students craft various pieces of writing.
The journey to veterinary medicine is different for everyone. Some of my classmates describe a straight path, a story that starts with them holding a toy stethoscope to their stuffed animals, and being realized when their acceptance letter arrived during a work shift in a veterinary clinic. By comparison, I’m a late entry to this field, with the path only coming into focus during the second year of my undergraduate degree. I’ve often felt behind due to this late start, as though I have no business practicing medicine.
Imposter syndrome is commonly discussed in the veterinary community. Medicine is so broad and deep as a subject that total mastery is impossible; the best doctors review literature and research effectively to best apply the collective knowledge to each individual patient. Without this ability that is often taken for granted in the age of the internet, it is easy to slip into feeling like the amount one knows is insignificant compared to the vast sea of information beyond one’s reach.
Additionally, much of vet school is dedicated to interpreting blood tests run through complex machines and reading x-ray images produced using state of the art digital equipment. When stripped back to a stethoscope, a penlight, and the clinician themselves, it often felt like our exams couldn’t provide the answers owners were invested in.
I often found myself saying, "Well, to know for sure, we would need..." This uncertainty is often not well-received by owners from my prior experiences, but in Port Hope Simpson the people we worked with were incredibly understanding. They recognized that we only brought limited supplies and were doing our best to care for their pets.
Surgery was another field for imposter syndrome to creep in. In my experience, owners don’t typically watch surgery, much less in an operating room that consists of a folding table, milk crates, and a headlamp for a light source. At first, I was deeply anxious about operating on a beloved pet right beside the owners. I felt like no training and preparation could fully prepare me for the individualities of each case. Some animals would bleed slightly more or less, some would have variations to anatomy; every case had its own areas of ease and friction. However, the owners’ support was incredible and it would be an understatement to say that I’m grateful for the learning experiences they allowed me. Through watching their pets' surgeries and asking insightful questions, they engaged with our team in a way that both deepened my learning and, I hope, elevated their experience.
Over the course of the week, I found myself growing more confident in both my medical and surgical skills, and gaining comfort with the idea that we didn’t need to have all of the answers to be able to provide value for the pet and owner during their visit. This has also carried forward and changed my outlook now that I’m back on PEI. I feel more confident in my ability to come up with a plan that can improve the comfort of the patient even as more definitive answers are being found. The best tool I’ve found to accomplish this has been open communication with pets’ owners.
People bring their pets to a veterinarian for a variety of reasons, ranging from seeking advice to surgery to vaccines… or just a conversation about pet health. Although it is a cliche, it’s still true to say that the goal that unites vets with these owners is a shared desire for animals to live longer, happier lives free of suffering. My perspective about this shifted when I realized that perhaps some of my desire for answers came from my own curiosity rather than this shared goal. Now, I make sure to start appointments by asking, “what can we do for you today?”.
Listening to owners about what they need for their pet, and coming up with a plan that suits the pet, the owners, and me has allowed me to avoid the trap of needing the most complete answer. It is a skill that I believe will greatly enhance my practice, and I’m grateful to have developed through my experiences on the Chinook Project.
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