My Cat Has Better Healthcare Than I Do

James is a 20-pound tabby with a big personality and, until recently, a very small urethra. A few weeks ago, he ended up in the emergency hospital with a urinary obstruction. He was stable, uncomfortable, and unimpressed. I was stressed out, sleep-deprived, and fully bracing for chaos.

But the chaos never came.

While James was still in the hospital, the specialty vet electronically sent detailed updates to his primary vet. When complications came up post-op, his primary vet reviewed the plan, prescribed the necessary meds, and followed through without punting anything back. Everyone seemed to know his case, take it seriously, and work together to make sure he got what he needed.

It was surreal.

Because somewhere between admission and discharge, I realized that my cat was getting better healthcare than I’ve ever had as a human patient. Or, honestly, even as a physician.

Coordinated. Competent. Electronic.

It’s hard to overstate how smoothly the logistics went during this latest hospitalization. The specialty team didn’t just say they’d update his PCP — they did it, electronically, before I even asked. His outpatient vet received the records in real time and acted on them. No phone tag. No “you’ll have to call them for that.” No “we don’t prescribe meds from another facility.”

And it wasn’t even the first time veterinary medicine made me feel this way.

Last summer, James needed a cardiac workup. He had a same-day echocardiogram, full radiologist interpretation, lab work, and a printed summary with a diagnosis and treatment plan — before we left the office. The total cost was under $1,000.

That same summer, I also needed a cardiac workup — for a new arrhythmia. It took over two months to get scheduled. I had to ask repeatedly just to find out what the test showed. And it cost nearly $10,000.

Two separate systems. Two separate workups. And the only one that felt coordinated, compassionate, and efficient was the one provided to my precious fur baby.

I’ve Never Been Heard Like This

What I didn’t expect was how seen I would feel throughout the process of James' hospitalization. Everyone listened. Every question was taken seriously. I wasn’t made to feel dramatic, or pushy, or irrational for advocating for my cat’s care — even when I brought up logistics, behavior changes, or subtle shifts in appetite.

It hit me harder than I expected.

Because I’ve spent years navigating healthcare — as a physician, as a patient, and as a caregiver. And I’ve never had this many people listen to me without needing to fight for it. Not once. Not when I brought my own symptoms to the table. Not when I managed a family member’s decline. Not when I offered clinical context as a fellow physician.

It was veterinary medicine, not human medicine, that finally made me feel heard.

The System Isn’t Perfect — But It Works

Of course, veterinary medicine has its own barriers. Cost can be crushing. There’s no equivalent of Medicaid. There are no safety nets. But in terms of the actual delivery of care — communication, coordination, respect — the system worked shockingly well.

There was no deferral, no fragmentation, no fax-machine absurdity. There was thoughtful, consistent, and humane care.

And I can’t stop thinking about it.

Because if we can offer that kind of continuity and compassion to a 20-pound tabby recovering from major surgery, why is it still so hard to do the same for people?

He’s Fine. I’m Grateful. And A Little Furious.

James is doing great now. He had his perineal urethrostomy and bounced back without complications. His appetite is back. His fur is shiny. He’s napping aggressively in sunbeams like nothing ever happened.

I, on the other hand, keep thinking about the fact that he had a smoother clinical course, a faster diagnosis, more continuity of care, and a clearer discharge plan than I’ve ever had for my own body.

And I keep thinking: If my cat can have that kind of care, maybe people should too.