Ali Heywood is an RVN with over 25 years’ experience in education leadership, and quality assurance. She is passionate about shaping the future of veterinary nursing through quality education, compassionate leadership, and ensuring that the women in our profession can enjoy long, fulfilling, and sustainable careers.
Ali will be writing a series of blogs throughout 2026 linking to the BVNA Presidential theme of compassion and empathy. Check out Ali’s previous blogs here for the series so far.
Embedding empathy into every patient and client interaction
A while ago, my daughter ended up in A&E with a gallbladder flare-up. When she messaged me afterwards, the first thing I asked her was not whether the medical care had been good. It was: “Did they shout at you this time?”
That question has stayed with me ever since.
Because the reality was that she had probably received clinically appropriate care on both occasions she attended hospital. The difference was how she was made to feel whilst receiving it.
This week, I had a procedure myself in a Dutch hospital. The day before surgery, I received an automated text message reminding me what time I needed to arrive. It was efficient, clear, and entirely routine, but the final line simply wished me strength for my procedure.
That small sentence also stayed with me.
Not because it changed the medical outcome. Not because it was dramatic. But because for a moment, amongst all the logistics and clinical processes, somebody had remembered there was a human being attached to the appointment.
What stayed with me even more strongly afterwards was the nursing care itself. From the moment I arrived until the moment I was handed back into my husband’s care, the nurses looked after us with extraordinary warmth. Not dramatic gestures. Just constant, quiet attentiveness.
A hand briefly resting on a shoulder whilst checking if somebody was alright. A hot water bottle appearing without needing to ask. Somebody noticing discomfort before it became distress. Calm reassurance woven naturally into clinical care.
It reminded me very strongly of what I think of as old-fashioned nursing, not outdated practice, but deeply human care.
And honestly, veterinary nurses are exceptionally good at this.
It is the ability to make frightened people feel safe whilst still getting the clinical job done. To notice anxiety before somebody says they are anxious. To soften environments that could otherwise feel clinical, frightening, or overwhelming.
And I think we sometimes underestimate just how clinically important those skills really are.
In veterinary practice, communication is rarely happening in emotionally neutral situations. Clients may be frightened, guilty, sleep deprived, worried about money, distressed about their animal, or trying desperately to make the “right” decision under pressure. Whilst we are discussing treatment plans, diagnostics, procedures, or costs, they are often simultaneously trying to regulate emotion.
Research increasingly shows that compassionate communication reduces anxiety, improves trust, and helps people cope more effectively with stressful healthcare experiences [¹, ²]. Veterinary communication research suggests that empathetic interactions can strengthen vet-client relationships and improve client satisfaction and engagement [³].
We see this every day in practice, even if we do not always name it as clinical skill.
A client who feels judged may stop asking questions. A frightened owner may nod whilst understanding very little of what has actually been explained. Somebody overwhelmed with guilt may delay bringing an animal back because they fear criticism. Communication is not separate from patient care. It shapes decision-making, trust, consent, and adherence to treatment.
This becomes especially important during discussions around consent.
As veterinary professionals, we are trained to explain risk, procedure, prognosis, and cost clearly. But clients are not always hearing those conversations from a calm, rational place. They may be hearing them whilst holding a sick animal, trying not to cry, mentally calculating finances, or worrying they are being silently judged for the decisions they are making.
A technically correct explanation can still feel emotionally brutal if empathy is absent.
Sometimes kindness in practice looks incredibly small:
- slowing down slightly before delivering difficult news
- explaining costs without embarrassment or discomfort in your voice
- noticing confusion rather than pretending somebody understands
- giving people permission to ask the same question twice
- acknowledging that a decision is difficult
- sitting down next to the owner during euthanasia conversations, rather than standing opposite them
These are not “extras” around clinical care.
They are part of clinical care.
The same applies to our patients. Animals respond to tone, pace, handling, and emotional energy whether we realise it or not. Calm handling often creates calmer patients. Gentle restraint frequently improves safety and cooperation. Kindness affects welfare.
And I think veterinary nurses are often at the centre of this emotional translation work within practice. Nurses notice when clients are panicking even whilst saying they are “fine.” They soften frightening moments. They bridge communication gaps. They hold the room together emotionally whilst clinical decisions are being made.
That is not softness. That is skill.
Of course, nobody can maintain perfect emotional bandwidth all the time. Veterinary work is tiring, pressured, and emotionally demanding. There will always be days where people are stressed, overstretched, or simply exhausted. But perhaps that is exactly why kindness matters so much. In difficult environments, small moments of warmth become more noticeable, not less.
And often, those moments are created quietly by veterinary nurses.
A calm explanation whilst an owner is panicking. A softened tone during a difficult financial conversation. A hand resting briefly on a consult table whilst somebody processes bad news. A patient handled gently rather than hurriedly. A frightened client made to feel safe enough to ask questions instead of pretending they understand.
These interactions may appear small from the outside, but they shape how veterinary care is experienced and remembered.
Clients may not always remember every medication discussed or every clinical term explained during an appointment. But they will remember whether they felt judged or supported. Whether somebody seemed irritated or compassionate. Whether the practice felt cold or safe at one of the most emotionally vulnerable moments of their lives.
That is not separate from clinical care. It is part of it.
And perhaps veterinary nurses, more than anyone, understand that some of the most important things we do are not always the things that appear on the treatment sheet.
References
- Fogarty LA, Curbow BA, Wingard JR, McDonnell K, Somerfield MR. Can 40 seconds of compassion reduce patient anxiety? Journal of Clinical Oncology. 1999;17(1):371-379
- Malenfant S, Jaggi P, Hayden KA, Sinclair S. Compassion in healthcare: an updated scoping review of the literature, conceptualisation and practice. BMC Health Services Research. 2022;22:645
- Shaw JR, Adams CL, Bonnett BN, Larson S, Roter DL. Veterinarian-client-patient communication during wellness appointments versus appointments related to a health problem in companion animal practice. Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association. 2008;233(10):1576-1586