I’m back to blogging.
This time, my blog is taking an *unexpected* turn, one which I want to document in detail. I’m going to be 29 in a few months. While, by this point in our lives, many of my friends are married with a baby or two and a mortgage, I find myself preparing to sell the majority of my worldly possessions and move to Europe with a suitcase of clothes, the beagle, and a few treasured books.
I guess we all deal with aging in our own special ways.
Earlier this week, I received notification of acceptance into the veterinary school at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland. I start in August and will be living in Scotland for 4 years before graduating with a BVM&S (the fancy sounding international equivalent to our DVM). The University is accredited by the AVMA, so I plan on returning back to the states to practice, unless of course, I get caught up in old world romanticism…
Gaining acceptance into veterinary school is not only a lifelong dream of mine, but a wild surprise. Knowing how competitive veterinary programs are, I initially wasn’t going to apply to any. I moved to Denver last August with every intention of finding my soul-mate amongst “my native people.” I enrolled in a vet tech program at the Bel-Rea Institute for Veterinary Technology, got a job at the YMCA, started volunteering at the Denver Dumb Friends League, and was hired as an exam room assistant for a local veterinary clinic. I was ready to work a 9-5 vet tech job, fall in love, get married and start the family. I figured I could work in the field and always go to school to be a doctor at some undetermined time in the distant future.
Nine months later, I’ve grown bored of waiting for Mr. Right and am not finding the same satisfaction in my technician training. I want more. I want to learn more in school, I want to diagnose, and I want to perform surgery! In a passionate moment of self-realization, I declared that I would pursue my dream of becoming a veterinarian and put love and babies on the backburner for a few more years.
I cried when I thought about tiny pieces of my ovaries turning to scar tissue at the end of every month and my decreased chances of having children in my mid-to-late-30’s. Then, I quit crying and started researching veterinary programs for which I was qualified. I found several in the United States and a few in Canada, Europe and the Caribbean. I ran into work one afternoon, late, fueled on 6 shots of espresso and excited about my new life plan.
I was explaining the possibility of going to veterinary school and the frustration I felt with the representative from the University of Glasgow who told me that I wouldn’t be a competitive candidate. I scoffed because, clearly, she did not understand me, or what it mean when I said I was going to do something. My supervisor overheard me and offered to put me in touch with a student she knew at the University of Edinburgh. I contacted the student and the admissions office for additional information. The university responded quickly and informed me that they were accepting late applicants. Thinking it would be a good way to get some feedback for my applications this fall, I threw my name in the ring, along with a personal statement, my CV, copies of transcripts and personal references.
One week later, the University contacted me with a letter of acceptance, provided I formally apply and successfully finish my current term at Bel-Rea.
Between studying for finals and working, I completed the application, sent in the paperwork to request transfer of my GI Bill to the University of Edinburgh, and started looking for a furnished flat to rent. I’m on a bit of a time crunch and slightly overwhelmed, but I’m more excited than terrified and more joyful than anxious, so it is a good balance. I plan on bringing the sidekicks out, but not until Christmas. I think the beagle will like exploring the Highlands with me and I don’t trust my mom to babysit my cat for 4 years. She just isn’t a cat person.
Stay tuned. I can’t promise much, but I can almost guarantee entertainment and the token photo of me up to my shoulder in a cow.