When the vet's dog gets sick

Or how to overcome compassion fatigue

There is a phenomenon that happens in the animal services field, of a particular kind of burnout. I first heard the term when I was a lowly shelter worker. Yes, that was my job title: ‘shelter worker”. The term is: “compassion fatigue”.

As a shelter worker, I was responsible for a wide range of duties, from taking animals off the hands of the humans relinquishing them, to feeding and caring for the animals, all the way to killing the animals. I use the term “killing” vs. “euthanasia” in honor of one of my shelter managers. She was a tough, brutally honest woman who trained us to use the verb “kill” when talking to the public to prevent any sugar-coated niceties, like “don’t worry, we will find your family dog of 8 years a wonderful new home”, when in fact, we were going to walk him straight back to the euthanasia room to be killed because he was an unlikely adoption candidate and our kennels were full.

“Compassion fatigue is a term that describes the physical, emotional, and psychological impact of helping others — often through experiences of stress or trauma. Compassion fatigue is often mistaken for burnout, which is a cumulative sense of fatigue or dissatisfaction from having too much work or too many responsibilities. WebM

Compassion fatigue is experienced by those in the service professions: healthcare, first responders, animal shelter workers, and veterinarians, and is often described as secondary trauma, taking on the trauma that others are suffering. My description above is a perfect scenario in which compassion fatigue may develop. Another perfect scenario is the past three years on planet Earth during the global “pandemic”.

The symptoms of compassion fatigue are the following (from the Canadian Medical Association website):

• feelings of helplessness and powerlessness in the face of patient suffering

• reduced feelings of empathy and sensitivity

• feeling overwhelmed and exhausted by work demands

• feeling detached, numb, and emotionally disconnected

• loss of interest in activities you used to enjoy

• increased anxiety, sadness, anger, and irritability

• difficulty concentrating and making decisions

• difficulty sleeping and sleep disturbances like nightmares

• physical symptoms like headaches, nausea, upset stomach, and dizziness

• increased conflict in personal relationships

• neglect of your own self-care

• withdrawal and self-isolation

• an increase in substance use as a form of self-medication

In the shelter, we knew when a coworker needed time off by their mood swings. Outbursts of anger were common, sullenness, irritability, carelessness at work, and a loss of their sense of humor, even dark humor.

An interesting observation I made in veterinary school, was that I never once heard the term “compassion fatigue” mentioned. I certainly witnessed it in the orthopedic surgeon throwing a Makita drill at a technician’s head, the technician wrestling a dog down with more force than necessary, a doctor kicking the side of a horse, or the rumors of an alcoholic resident. These were outbursts of anger and unusual behavior that were taken to be a normal part of the job, yet were anything but normal. With the increase in suicides among those in my profession nowadays, these behaviors are a call for help amidst a culture where one is just supposed to bite their tongue, swallow hard and carry on.

I was one of the lucky ones who learned about compassion fatigue early on in my animal services career. But knowing about something does not make one immune from developing it. It does help one to identify the signs and know when to take steps to mitigate the phenomenon.

For the past 3 years, I was one of the ones who carried on through the lockdown, going out and being of service to my patients all the way through the pandemic. I used my creativity and the fact I practiced in Florida where we have beautiful outdoor weather for the most part, to maintain my ability to continue treating my patients. I also made myself available to people who were needing euthanasia services for their beloved pets and could not bring themselves to just “drop them off” at a clinic and not hold them as they took their last breath.

As the world opened back up, into a new sense of normal, I found myself exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. And, to be honest, I checked off most of the bullet points in the list above. Spring 2023 came around and I decided that I was going to make the summer of 2023 a time of radical self-care and restoration.

• I would not take on any new clients.

• I scheduled weekly pilates classes and weekend walks in the parks with my dogs.

• I pulled out old teachings on the Wise Woman ways and started drinking nourishing herbal infusions on a daily basis with a group of women from my online community.

• I scheduled a comprehensive diagnostic blood profile for myself, what a concept.

• I found a new salon and restored my hair back to its vivid red.

• I picked out a science fiction book to read and put away all the nonfiction books that had stacked up at my bedside.

• I decreased my time on social media, quite easily by the way because the less I was on, the happier I became.

• I got my violin restored and pulled it out and started practicing.

• I clipped recipes and began making food at home that me and my inner child craved: yummy salads, casseroles, and watermelon lemonade.

And a funny thing began happening. The outer world around me began reflecting back to me a newfound sense of self-worth that I had never before experienced. Clients made comments like “You know there is no one else like you out there,” “You are really special”, “Thank you so much for all you have done”, and “You are a miracle worker, an angel”.

I honestly cannot say whether people had always been saying these things and I just could not hear them, or whether my valuing myself had opened the door for others to value me. I even had a client offer to take me out for a full spa day at one of the nicest spas on Miami Beach. And I readily accepted!

This past week was especially interesting. My own dog, Mollie, is getting up there in years, a German Shepherd mix, 12 years old, entering her senior years. I made an appointment for her to have her aging eyes examined and a few days later an ugly mass popped out on her leg.

The eye doctor I took her to was a woman I had worked for 20 years ago as I was studying to become a certified veterinary acupuncturist. It was a blast from the past seeing her. She congratulated me for being “a trailblazer” and sticking by my convictions regarding acupuncture as she told me of a recent study she had read about acupuncture’s effectiveness. Then she high-fived me as she said, “Isn’t it great that we get to live our dream?” At that moment, my whole perspective shifted, my heart lit up and I responded, “Yes, it is!”

One layer of compassion fatigue lifted off.

The next day, I took my dog to have the mass removed by another vet I had worked alongside 20 some years ago. As I sat in the waiting room of his clinic, I realized it had been a long time since I had set foot in a conventional veterinary clinic. They had an emergency case come in which had set them behind. All the exam rooms were full and other clients with their animals in tow began filling up the reception area. Beagles were baying, chihuahuas were shivering in their human’s arms, and kittens were hissing.

I filled out the client information form. At the top of the form in a cheerful font was printed, “Be nice, be caring, be compassionate.” At the bottom were the words: “Please be nice to your veterinarian.” We are living in a different kind of world when people have to be reminded to be nice.

I sat there watching the vet zip from the exam room to the treatment area and back to an exam room, spending 10 minutes in one, asking the client if he had read the online article on his dog’s condition. The technician was efficiently taking animals in the back for fluid administration and expression of anal glands. It was a well-oiled machine, getting as much done as possible, extremely efficiently.

And I realized it was completely antithetical to the way I practiced medicine.

Once upon a time, I had practiced that way, when I worked in a clinic setting. I realized how I had carved out a way to practice where I could spend as much time with the patient and client as I required, talking to them, explaining and educating them, and giving them the chance to ask their questions and more importantly, to share their concerns.

My office is the home territory of my patient: the kitchen floor, the living room couch, the dog bed, the client’s bed, and even the bathroom. My patients are relaxed enough to fall asleep during their acupuncture treatment, and while they rest it gives mom or dad a chance to talk out their concerns, a therapy session of sorts.

I realized the way of practice, the Tao of practice, I had created over the past 23 years, a way of practicing that is humane for both me and my patients, is a blessing I have given myself and that has been right in front of me all this time.

As the technician called me and Mollie back to the exam room, another layer of compassion fatigue fell away.

Here I was, now in the position of the client, a crazy dog mom with her baby sitting in the exam room. I just wanted that ugly thing taken off as soon as possible. As I was speaking to my colleague, I realized what so many of my own clients were feeling and the angst that was filling their bodies.

And, once again, the compassion fatigue felt lighter, as my heart opened wider to the plight of my own clients, as I sat in that same space with my beloved dog.

I mentioned this to the veterinarian, and he nodded with a smile.

As he brought the mass out to me in a jar to be sent to the lab for biopsy he stopped to tell me, “I hope you know, all of those clients you refer to me are so loyal to you and really think a lot of you. That says a lot.” Another reflection from the Universe.

One last note, my dog Mollie, showing signs of aging, is who led me back 20 years in order to show me how far I had come. It is not the first time Mollie guided me through some insightful revelations. She guided me through a tough grieving period a few years ago by introducing me to the healing power of the flower devas, but that is a story for another time.

Be present for your animals. There is no telling what important teachings they may be giving you in that precious moment.

What healing journeys have your animals led you through lately? Please share below in the comments.