Even though I'm a brand new veterinarian and shiny new gross pathologist, I've got more than two decades of experience as a scientific professional behind me. As a result, I just assumed that I should be doing certain things in my own workflows. For example, I always call the referring veterinarian when I finish a necropsy, usually even before I write my report, and let them know my preliminary findings. Sometimes I don't have a veterinarian contact, so I talk to the poultry house manager or the owner of the beef cow. But the important point is that within a few hours of submitting animal remains for necropsy, our stakeholders get a brief report directly from me. I also started calling vets who submit biopsies, mostly to let them know they sent us an alien baby tissue sample in a woefully inadequate amount of formalin and it would take us a few more days to properly fix the tissue before we could cut it in.
Since making these phone calls seemed to be reasonable and minimally professional, and really didn't take much time at all, you can imagine how astonished I was to learn that the previous holders of my particular job never did these things. Never. Necropsy cases might be open for weeks, and the results never discussed with anyone. One previous pathologist put a sign on his closed office door (the office that I occupy now) stating that he was not to be disturbed for any reason. He never answered his phone either.
My office door is always open. The super nice but very large microscope that I use was deliberately positioned on the desk so that it formed an imposing physical barrier facing the door. I moved it to a small desk on the other side of the room. The light from the windows can be a bit bright sometimes, but I felt that was a small price to pay for getting rid of the physical wall that was between me and everyone else.
I'd been happily rolling along for several months, picking up the phone just about every day to talk to our referring vets, who are located all over the state (I had to put up some maps of counties and cities in Arkansas so I could figure out where these folks were located). Since I assumed this was basic professional courtesy, I was unprepared when one of those vets, who works in a three-vet, mixed animal practice that sends us a ton of necropsy cases, told me that I was a "breath of fresh air" and that I couldn't ever leave the lab. She called me a "treasure." Not much can leave me speechless but I found myself stammering out a reply. And in fact, this happened more than once. Nobody else called me a treasure, but several vets told me that they were extremely appreciative of my efforts to reach out to them about their cases.
Shortly after that, I noticed that vets were calling me. And they were calling to... chat. They would describe some puzzling case they were working on in their clinic then ask my opinion on this or that diagnosis or treatment, often prompting me to look at the phone handset and think, wow, they think I know what I'm doing here. But my geological science background made me very comfortable with exploring a problem with multiple hypotheses that may be overlapping or even mutually exclusive. I can do that with vet med problems too. I am not a naturally glib person, but I love to gab about science, and I always learn new things when I talk to fellow scientists. It seems that my veterinarian colleagues out there in clinics across the state like to gab too, and have decided that I'm either a resource with decent suggestions, or at least a good listener.
I relayed this to the lab director, and he paused then somewhat incredulously said, "You mean to tell me that the vets are calling to talk to you about patients that are still living?" I paused, surprised, and said, "Yes, I think that's exactly what I'm telling you." And he said, "Nobody in your role in this lab has ever accomplished this."
Accomplished simply because I chose to be an engaged professional.
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