Suki the Siamese, happily at work in happier times.

Nineteen Years: The Voice May Be Stilled, but It's Still a Voice

 

April 26, 2018-- Veterinary licensing and regulatory board systems may not be much, but for most vet victims it's all we've got. On this 19th anniversary of Suki's passing (April 26, 1999), it's more important than ever to speak up and speak out to the government entities who are charged with protecting the public but may in fact be more concerned with protecting those who harmed and killed our pets. Below are my citizen comments for the Texas Board of Veterinary Medical Examiners (TBVME) submitted in January of this year with the hope that these words and the words of so many others devastated by the loss of their family members at the hands of incompetent, negligent and abusive veterinarians will someday, some how, some way, be heard by somebody at the state level who is truly interested in making a difference.--JC

January 16, 2018

To the Texas Board of Veterinary Medical Examiners:

When my cat Suki was killed by a Texas veterinarian in April 1999 I was plunged into a nightmare that not even the most imaginative horror writer could have conjured. Apart from having to live with the knowledge that a vet misused his education and skills to actually harm rather than help a family pet--which was horrifying enough--I also had to deal with a board system that ensured that there would never be Justice for Suki.

I refused to accept that fate, and instead chose to go public with Suki's Story that told chapter and verse, with supporting documentation from his own records, how Edward J. Nichols of Crestway Animal Clinic had mistreated my innocent cat so badly and for so long that to this day, not one veterinarian on this planet has ever been able to explain why this vet did what he did. Not even the vet himself. Instead he resorted to revisionist history, blame shifting, personal and professional defamation, threats and lies--all tactics that he has used for almost two decades, including filing an abusive SLAPP suit in 2005 in a years-long failed attempt to enforce prior restraint through a permanent (unconstitutional) injunction which was denied by the courts and affirmed at the appellate level.

Try as he might and despite his millions, Suki's killer cannot suppress the truth.

But it wasn't surprising that he thought he could. After all, he had had help from a system that deliberately looked the other way. Like so many BadVets before and since, he walked scot-free from all accountability despite a mountain of verifiable evidence ranging from repeated breaches of the Professional Standard of Humane Treatment to insanely egregious record keeping violations.  According to the then-reviewing Board Secretary (and now thankfully license-free vet due to his own problems with controlled substance record keeping), Suki was "an old cat."

Later, when I asked the Board attorney at what age is an animal patient no longer entitled to the Professional Standard of Humane Treatment--I really needed to know so that I could pass on that information to others who also needed to know--he was silent. He remained silent during all the subsequent times I asked him that question.

Maybe you, as a Board, can choose to be silent when tough questions asked of you are too uncomfortable or unanswerable, but we, as victims, cannot. The Texas veterinary board system failed Suki and me, and if the last almost 19 years are any indication, it continues to fail many people who had no idea that incompetent, negligent, and abusive vets can and do get away with inflicting pain, loss, grief and yes, horror, first on our pets and then on us, using a board system that has repeatedly proven its allegiance to its own industry instead of the public they are charged with protecting.

When vet victims experience the double whammy of 1) losing a pet to veterinary malfeasance and then 2) watching a state agency use their power to protect a veterinarian rather than the public, there's not much to reassure veterinary victims.

Except this. These are hopeful times. Real life horror stories of abuse of power that were once untold, unacknowledged, and carefully protected from public view are being exposed. You may have the power, but we have the truth. We will speak that truth to power forever and we will do it in the disinfectant of daylight, so that the veterinary consumers of Texas can decide for themselves which side is more interested in protecting their animal companions. 

Thank you for your time.

On This Very Special Night, a Gift of Thanks from Suki and Me

Christmas Eve. For me it was always the most magical day of the year, especially as daytime turned to dusk, dusk turned to dark, and the dark would yield gloriously to twinkling lights everywhere, yummy aromas coming from the kitchen, and a friend stopping by for dinner and a movie. We would settle in for a night of wrapping presents, good food and conversation, hot chocolate, and – if Suki was very, very good, and of course she always was, even if her “help” at present-wrapping made more work for me – a tiny crumb of a Christmas cookie as a special treat. All was well with the world. 

Now that picture is like a yellowed image from an ancient, crumbling book, from a life I can barely remember anymore. The life “before” – as we who have been through this nightmare refer to it – our pets were lost to veterinary negligence, malpractice, incompetence, arrogance, stupidity, and yes, outright abuse, taking from us our pets, our trust, our money, our jobs, our peace of mind, our sense of safety, and in some cases, our futures. 

There is one tiny bright spot for me on this date. Guess which day Edward J. Nichols of Crestway Animal Clinic in San Antonio was notified by certified mail from the Texas Board of Veterinary Medical Examiners that he was under investigation in Suki's case? That's right – Christmas Eve. How's that for serendipity? I'd like to think one very special Siamese had a hand in that, with a little help from all the other defenseless souls harmed or killed by their own monsters. I think of that every December 24, and smile at Suki's last little gift to me for all those wonderful Christmas Eves that will be no more.

Of course I will think of Suki tonight, overseeing the decorating and cooking, yowling in the kitchen as she got a whiff of her special baked organic chicken, pacing in front of the oven, reminding me of those old Mervyn's commercials with a customer pressed against the glass saying “Open-open-open.” I'll remember her sitting in my lap, our eyes locked on each other's, with the Snow Pas de Deux from the Nutcracker Suite playing in the background. Remember this moment, I said to myself, etch this forever, take this picture. And of course, real pictures of her, countless of them, under the tree, by the tree, in the tree (Suki was a climber), sitting in her little condo, decorated with its own miniature tree and cat ornaments, cat toys, cat everything, everywhere. 

But most of all, tonight I will think of all the others I have met along the way, going through the same neverending nightmare – some for years, others just now arriving in a club that nobody would choose to belong to. I get sweet notes from them, these victims from everywhere. One writes, “Keep the faith. I will always have you and Suki in my heart.” Another says, “I am grateful to have you understand what it feels like to have your world shattered, your life forever altered and I do not feel so alone it in knowing you are out there.” And more, and still more. They keep me going on my darkest nights. 

I am so grateful for my longtime fellow advocates, plus a whole new wave of smart, savvy fighters putting up web sites, blogs, and Facebook pages to help make sure that someday, eventually, there will be no place for the monsters to hide. I started my site in 2000 so that nobody going through this endless hell would ever feel alone. I am here to tell you that you are not. Not ever. You and your precious companions – whose names would take up this entire blog – are always with me, every day, every night. Especially on this night. On this very Christmas night. 

Much love to you and your companions, and many thanks to all who work so hard to make sure that our stories are never forgotten.

Suki and Julie, our final Christmas Eve, 1998. Her tree was never put up again.

YouTube video: Christmas Canon - Trans Siberian Orchestra