Heather Massey took her 9-year-old mixed-breed dog, Ladybird, to the vet. He began having seizures and a scan with an MRI machine revealed the bad news: a brain tumour.
Because of the poor prognosis, Massey decided to discontinue treatment at a veterinary clinic near his home in Athens, Georgia, and Lady Bird died four months later. The MRI scan and related treatment cost about $2,000, which Massey paid with a specialty credit card he had found during a previous veterinary visit.
That was in 2018. She is still paying off the debt with over 30% interest.
“Can I afford it? Well, no,” said Massey, 52, who is disabled and unemployed. “Was it worth it to me? Yes.”
Massey's experience illustrates a new reality of pet ownership: It costs money. For decades, veterinarians typically ran their own clinics, caring for generations of pets from birth to death. They neutered and vaccinated animals, removed thorns from their paws and noses. When animals got seriously ill, there was little veterinarians could do other than offer condolences and let them die humanely.
But in recent years, as people have grown attached to pets and are willing to spend money on them, veterinary care has transformed into big business, much like human care. Many veterinary clinics have been replaced by hospitals equipped with expensive MRI machines, state-of-the-art labs, and 24-hour intensive care units. Dogs and cats are often examined by highly trained specialists in neurology, cardiology, and oncology.
This high-tech medicine has spurred a booming market: Prices for veterinary medicine have risen more than 60 percent in the past decade, according to federal statistics. Private equity firms and large corporations have bought up hundreds of facilities across the country in a buyout spree that is reminiscent of corporations buying up doctors' offices.
Veterinarians across the country told The New York Times that corporate executives were pushing veterinary clinics to become more efficient profit centers: Vets were often paid based on how much revenue they brought in, creating incentives to see more pets, order more tests and upsell wellness plans and foods.
As a result, the situation is becoming increasingly unsustainable for pet owners, as most of them do not have pet insurance.
The Times asked readers to share their experiences with high veterinary bills and received hundreds of responses, including Sophia McElroy of Denver, who said she donates plasma and does freelance work to cover the ongoing costs of her dogs.
Nancy Partridge of Waynesville, North Carolina, is still chipping away at a $1,500 bill months after her cat was diagnosed with an inoperable tumor. “The cat's gone, and I'm still paying,” she says.
In 2015, Claire Kirsch was working as a veterinary technician in Georgia making less than $10 an hour, but her dog, Roscoe, and horse, Gambit, each needed emergency medical treatment, with medical bills totaling more than $13,000. Kirsch said the animals would have died if she hadn't opted for the additional care.
“I knew if I didn't try, I'd never be able to forgive myself,” she said.
Kirsch maxed out her credit cards, tapped into her husband's retirement accounts and took out personal loans. Roscoe survived for another three years; Gambit is still alive.
Veterinarians said in interviews that pet owners who complain about the bills don't understand how difficult it is to run a clinic. Veterinarians earn much less than their human counterparts and often go into debt after years of education. Veterinarian fees are rising in part because of the rising costs of drugs, vaccines and other necessities, as well as paying workers in a tight labor market.
And thanks to more advanced medical care, pets today can survive serious illnesses, like cancer, that were once unthinkable. Pets have access to surgeries and medications that can greatly improve their lives.
“We live in the most technologically advanced time in human history, and that's amazing,” says Dr. Tracy Dewhirst, a veterinarian in Collington, Tenn. “But it comes at a cost.”
Even routine visits can come with hefty bills. David Luce, an 86-year-old veterinarian in Los Altos, California, said he decided to retire one day in 2014, when he examined the dog of a longtime client. The dog had been admitted to the hospital because it had been vomiting. Luce said that normally he would have told the owner to take the dog home and give it small amounts of water. Instead, another veterinarian ordered X-rays, blood tests, IV fluids and hospitalization. Luce knew the client couldn't afford the bill.
“At that stage I realised veterinary medicine had changed to such an extent that I no longer wanted to be involved,” Dr Ruth said.
Veterinary clinics have become increasingly attractive to investors as pet ownership rises and surveys show Americans are willing to go into debt to care for them. About a quarter of general practices and three-quarters of specialty practices are now corporately owned, according to Bracke Consulting, which focuses on the veterinary-care industry.
In 2015, Mars, a corporate giant known for selling candy and pet food, acquired Blue Pearl, a chain of specialty veterinary clinics, for an undisclosed amount, and in 2017, it bought another hospital, VCA, for $9.1 billion. The trend is expected to peak in 2021, with more than 200 private equity deals, according to PitchBook.
Several veterinarians who have worked for corporations said they were pressured to land more business. One veterinarian in California said he left his job because he was told his “cost per client” was too low. Another in Virginia said he was told he needed to see 21 animals a day. A third in Colorado said he was surprised to overhear a manager say some of the veterinarians in his office needed to be coached on how to “get a yes from the client.” The veterinarians asked not to be named because they were concerned that speaking out would jeopardize their future employment prospects with the private equity business.
Other veterinarians said corporate ownership hasn't had any impact on the care they provide. Still, incentives can be hard to ignore, especially for beginning veterinarians, when pay is tied to the number of surgeries and tests performed, said Dr. Andrew Federer, medical director of a clinic owned by the chain National Veterinary Associates in Mentor, Ohio.
“The more you contribute to the hospital beyond your current salary, the more production bonus you will receive,” he said.
Only about 4 percent of pet owners have insurance, and even if they do, their options are limited: Pet insurance often excludes pre-existing conditions, making premiums higher for older pets who are more susceptible to illness.
Insurers can also change their terms. This spring, insurer Nationwide notified thousands of pet owners that it would drop their coverage, sending them scrambling to sign up for new plans that excluded pre-existing pet conditions. About 100,000 plans will be terminated, said Nationwide spokesman Kevin Kemper.
Stephanie Borger of Royal Oak, Michigan, said Nationwide had covered her cat's chemotherapy treatments, but was told the plan would not be renewed when it expired in August. The bimonthly treatments, which cost about $1,000, are not covered under any currently available plans.
“Now I feel like I have to choose between paying for my cat's chemotherapy or letting him die,” said Borger, who was able to find new insurance through a competing company.
In a statement, a Nationwide spokesman cited rising veterinary costs as the reason, saying: “We are taking this tough decision now to ensure we can remain relevant for even more pets in the future.”
Many veterinarians offer special credit cards sold by outside companies, such as the CareCredit card used by Kirsch and Massey. Last year, the Biden administration warned that these medical credit cards, also recommended by doctors and dentists, were putting many consumers into serious debt. A CareCredit spokesman said about 80% of cardholders paid off their debt before the interest-free period ended.
Some groups, such as the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, are studying ways veterinarians can perform common procedures more cheaply, and many veterinarians say they strive to offer a “spectrum of care” that offers open discussions about less expensive options.
For many people, the companionship of a pet is invaluable.
After Lady Bird died, Massey got a Labrador mix called Luna Bear. “I'm allergic to the very air we breathe,” Massey jokes. Luna Bear needs prescription food, which costs $6 a can, and anti-allergy medication, which costs $3 three times a day. Last year, Luna Bear had surgery on his leg.
The expenses totaled about $4,000, much of it paid on high-interest credit cards. But Massey, who suffers from severe depression and lives alone, says her dogs come first. “I pay the bills, then I buy food,” she says.
Ben Casselman Contributed report.
