Going to Melbourne for 4 years to pursue my veterinary degree was one of the scariest things I have done, but also some of the best years of my life. A large part of that is due to the people I met and the friends I made through the program. We always like to say that our year level was something special; we all had our own friend groups as is wont to happen in a class of 120+, but everyone in our class was friendly, interactive, and open. We liked each other and went out of our way to support and help each other as much as we could. Some of the people I have met through this degree are those that I would consider some of my best friends now.

We lost one of our classmates to suicide a little over a year ago, four years after we graduated. It was like we collectively had the wind knocked out of us and our hearts broken in one fell swoop.

I remember waking up to the news on our class Facebook group - the quickest way for us to all be informed - and the shock I felt followed by numbness. I didn't know how to process the tragic news, it didn't feel real, it couldn't have happened, it wasn't fair. I drove to work and prepared for a full day. It wasn't until my former housemate and close friend from vet school messaged me directly about Flynn's loss that the floodgates opened. I retreated to our staff room and sobbed. He was so young, only 27, and he was gone.

Everyone in our class was understandably distraught, but I had moments where my grief over Flynn felt complicated and almost unearned. I had read the stories my classmates shared, happy memories of Flynn and his effect on their lives, but I did not feel like I had anything meaningful to contribute as my memories seemed small and inconsequential. I liked Flynn very much, and while we were friendly, I wouldn't categorize us as friends. He was one of the youngest in our class and I was one of the oldest, so I thought of him as one of the "babies" - someone to be watched over and protected. He was my first ever assigned partner in the program, and I remember him brightly suggesting that we meet "in the arvo" and then having to patiently explain what that meant when I stared blankly at him. I remember the wacky antics he got into with his friends - dressing up in head-to-toe bodysuits to make us all laugh during lecture, his spectacular yet terrifying unicycle show on "Talent Show Night". I remember commiserating with him when we had the unfortunate luck to situate ourselves in the coldest spot in an enormous tent that we shared with at least 10 other people on a camping trip along the Great Ocean Road. I remember the two of us attempting to brave our way through cutting onions for the O-Week barbecue and trying valiantly not to cry. I remember him good-humouredly trying to explain the Australian Rules Football to me. I remember him easily accepting that his preconceptions against Americans were perhaps ill-informed, as evidenced by the amazing Americans we had in our class. I remember him being game to play a slightly eccentric character for a (somewhat lackluster) group presentation. I know there were any number of smaller conversations we shared, nothing earth-shattering or life-changing, but simply pleasant exchanges that anyone can have with a friendly acquaintance on a regular basis. He was really just such a nice "kid" in my mind who seemed so happy-go-lucky and willing to have a chat with everyone. I had liked him - after all he, like the rest of my class,  had been a regular presence in my life for four years - but I still questioned my right to mourn his loss because I wasn't as strongly linked to him.

The other aspect - one that I think we all struggled with - was how we lost Flynn. There is no question that our chosen career and the daily struggles that come with it had played a large part in his depression. The fact that one of our own had been suffering to the point where he felt it was necessary to make the choice to ease his own pain was so tough to swallow. I can't speak to how everyone else feels, but to me it almost felt like we had failed him, that we had missed the chance to "save" him and help him through it. Of course it's more complicated than that, but suffice it to say that the possibility of losing one of our own at this point hadn't even been on my radar, and now we were scrambling to check in with each other to make sure no one else was going through this alone.

At this stage it has been well-documented in any number of reputable publications that veterinarians are four times more likely to take their own lives. When Dr. Sophia Yin - a well-respected veterinary behaviourist - took her own life, it sent shockwaves through the veterinary community. Flynn was the first loss I have experienced on a personal level in this field, but I know of four vets who have taken their own lives through my own personal connections and social circles.  I have seen two of my younger colleagues despair over a career that they had always dreamed of pursuing, crushed under the unrealistic expectations of clients and the immense pressures they placed on themselves. I have witnessed and experienced firsthand the kind of emotional abuse heaped on the backs of veterinarians. Only yesterday I had a client angrily tell me I was a waste of his time just by virtue of not being the person he wanted to see. I was initially taken aback but was able to laugh it off because I have a good support system in my work environment and in my personal life, and I am lucky enough (because it's luck, not willpower) to not suffer from depression. Not everyone has those privileges.

Yesterday, a major Australian TV program covered the topic of suicide in the veterinary field, with Flynn's family and friend helping to raise awareness and funds to ensure that veterinarians are able to reach out for and receive support if they need it. It was a difficult video to watch, to witness the still-raw grief of his parents, but also amazing to see their strength in trying to ensure that his loss is not in vain and to help prevent what happened to their son from happening to anyone else. And for my part, I will continue to donate every year to honour Flynn's memory.