Compassion Fatigue in the rescue field is defined as emotional exhaustion, caused by the stress of caring for traumatized, abused, or sick animals. To give you an idea of the epidemic that is now sweeping this nation, the average suicide rate in America is 1.5 per 1 million in workers. The suicide rate for an animal care worker is 5.3 in 1 million (says the American Journal of Preventive Medicine). This rate is the highest and is only shared by firefighters and police officers.

Compassion Fatigue is very real and people are taking their lives because of it. As an animal rescue worker, I want to help rescuers identify Compassion Fatigue, raise awareness of how dangerous it is, and the steps you can take to save yourself, a colleague, or a loved one.  I also want to bring awareness to those who are not in the animal rescue field; I’d like to explain things that you can do to help because you might just be the only one that recognizes the signs.

Some signs of Compassion Fatigue are chronic physical exhaustion, depersonalization (detaching from yourself), irritability, self contempt, guilt, weight loss, headaches, difficulty sleeping, isolation, unwanted thoughts or flashbacks, sarcasm, your humor becomes somewhat disturbing, you begin to feel that what you’re doing doesn’t matter, or you’ve picked up some self destructive habits. Compassion Fatigue is NOT PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) but you do start to take on some of its symptoms.

This is not to say that Compassion Fatigue only happens in the animal care field. Compassion Fatigue is found in all areas of care taking, like nursing home care, cancer patient care, veterinarians, school teachers and many more. In this blog and those to come, I’ll be focusing on animal rescue workers and the affect Compassion Fatigue has on them. Keep in mind, Compassion Fatigue doesn’t just affect that person, it affects their family, friends, coworkers, and more; they just don’t realize what it is.

It is detrimental to catch these signs before it’s too late.

Today’s blog will focus on one way to protect yourself from becoming overwhelmed and lost in the madness before you even start.

We will be focusing on boundaries.

Setting boundaries not only keeps the work from bombarding you with pressure and uncertainty, it also helps you learn your limits. We all have limits, no matter what anyone says. No matter what you think- you cannot take on the world, especially by yourself. Not in this field.

You have to know your boundaries and your limits, learning on the fly in this field could be deadly for some. For example, which field would you handle better? Fostering healthy animals, fostering sick or injured animals, doing fospice (Fostering a hospice animal- one that is currently at the end stages of life), or could you do field work? There are many varieties of field work, which range from going out to capture stray cats for spay/neuter and then releasing them back or at the opposite end of the spectrum, going to devastated areas to rescue animals left behind.

Keep in mind, not all rescues have all of these areas. I work for a No Kill Community shelter, which means- no matter the case, they don’t put an animal down unless they have to. If it’s been abused and it is aggressive, they try to rehabilitate it. If it has an illness that will eventually be fatal but still has a good quality of life (with medications usually), they don’t put that animal down to make space. Instead, they send it to a foster home equipped to care for that animal until the time comes. If a natural disaster happens, they don’t euthanize the animals to evacuate- they send them to foster homes ready to give up space until the disaster is over. They also go into communities that do have to do this, empty their shelters and bring them here to save lives.

It isn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, but they do it, for the animals. In situations like these, this is where you make your choice. What can you handle?

It’s okay to say no and it’s okay to be afraid.

But what if you’re already in a field you cannot cope with, what do you do then? Talk to someone, your manager, your friends or coworkers; let someone know what’s going on. Taking yourself out of the situation is the best thing you can do for you, let another volunteer take your place. There is no shame in taking a step back to regroup- in the long run it is better for everyone; including the animals.

Learning what you can and cannot mentally cope with is imperative. That’s your first step. Talking to someone is equally important. You’re not alone, you’re not at fault, you’re human- doing the best you can do with what you’ve been given.
This very brief example is one of many to come. If you have questions or areas you’d like to see covered in this series, please comment below. Join me March 24th for the next Compassion Fatigue discussion.

 If you or someone you know are having thoughts of suicide, please speak up. Know that you’re not alone.
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National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

I was about 5 years old when my mother decided it was time for me to learn how to pray. Praying as you know, is a big part of faith- or at least it is to us. She started out with the Lord’s Prayer, she would pray and I would repeat.

This went fine- I eventually memorized it. But deep down inside, something didn’t sit right with me. The Bible was a big deal, I knew that. I also knew God had it all under control- so who was I to question. Also, mom was mom; she knew what she was talking about.

However the more I said this prayer- the more it bothered me. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. We had just finished our nightly prayer beside my bed when I turned to her and asked, “Mom, where is He?”

“Where is who?” She asked confused.

“God, where is God?”

“He’s in Heaven.”

“No He’s not- you just said He wasn’t.”

I’d just like to insert here that I was FIVE, we were southern with a thick draw, and I also had a hearing problem. I eventually had to have tubes put in my ears it got so bad. (Read A Collection of Love, by Judy Camby to find out more about my surgery.)

And we’re moving on..

She looked down at me, “When did I say that?”

“At the beginning! Our Father who aren’t in Heaven.”

With her thick southern draw and my bad hearing, art had become aren’t.

“No, I didn’t say aren’t. I said art! Our Father who ART in Heaven. God is in Heaven.”

I couldn’t tell then but I imagine now she was probably stifling a laugh.

“Oh-”

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I had been hearing it wrong this whole time. She seemed pleased she had explained it properly and I understood. She was about to stand when I turned back to her and asked, “So what kind of art does He do?”
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KJV!!

When I was in high school, my cousin and I decided to try a new restaurant. If you think I’m an extreme introvert now, you should have seen me back then. After we waited some time for a table we were seated and I began to take in the layout of the place. It was crowded and loud, your normal restaurant feel. Waiters were scurrying about to help their guests and people talked and laughed at their own table or booth.

Most teenage girls try to look cute and keep an eye out for ‘the one’ but let’s be real, I’ve never really been one to do all that. People were lucky I wore makeup and brushed my hair. Plus, I have more important things to do; like eat. I didn’t find Mr. Perfect that day, what I did find however was my topic for my next therapy session.

They sat us at our booth, we got the one at the end and I chose the side that had a fancy little hook up attached to the back of my seat. It was a plate holder; I’m not sure why I noticed it. The thing was almost packed full of plates. I sat down and started looking through the menu.

Our order had just made it out to the table when I happened to glance over into the crowd. There was a woman walking towards our booth, she was a waitress there and she seemed to be focused on something. She was a larger woman, very beautiful-with a strong personality. She moved through the crowd intent on getting to wherever she was going. She stopped literally right beside my seat in order to let someone from the kitchen pass by with a tray full of food and for a brief moment we made eye contact. Which I try not to do for many reasons, this is one.

While looking straight at me she said, “Excuse me honey, I need to go beat this..” (Well you know.)

So let’s stop right there for a minute. On a side note, I have never in my life fought another person, nor do I want to. I don’t like conflict, I don’t like screaming and yelling, I don’t want to be shoved or punched. In plain terms, I don’t fight. You could even go so far as to say, I can’t fight. I can’t walk without tripping and you’ve probably read my blog about the ‘one’ time I did decide to run- spoiler alert: It didn’t work out. I’m not agile in any sense of the word. I’ve seen a few fights and it seems to me you’ve got to have some pretty good hand-eye coordination, which is another thing I do not possess. So I know better, I’d get killed if I ever tried it.  I’m more of a ‘stand to the side in wide eyed disbelief as things unfold' person.

This is no secret either. I have told my family, friends, and colleagues point blank, “If you’re ever with me, don’t get into a fight. If you do, don’t expect me to get involved. I won’t. I’ll be over in the corner praying for you or calling an ambulance but that’s going to be the extent of my involvement.”

So that being said, I looked straight back at her and said, “Okay.”

I’ll admit, it was something of a bewildered ‘okay’, somewhere between ‘stranger danger’ and ‘check please’. The lady passed by me and was gone. I thought that was strange and mentioned it to my cousin who just laughed it off. I had no clue why the woman was upset and had no plans to get involved, I just hoped whoever she was going for was ready. She was MAD.

I had a mouth FULL of mashed potatoes when all those dishes I mentioned earlier came crashing over in a sudden whirlwind of hysteria. At first I thought someone had tripped and lost their food, until I looked over my shoulder just in time to see the waitress throw this other girl towards my direction.

And no, I don’t mean she pushed her in that general direction or that the girl moved willingly in the direction. This waitress THREW this stick of a woman out into the middle of the floor. In their sudden altercation they both tripped over one another and fell. So now the waitress is on top of the woman, they’re screaming and yelling; pulling hair. Then they began to roll across the floor as they hit each other, and rolled RIGHT INTO MY SEAT!

It almost seemed to go in slow motion until I realized they were about to climb into my lap. I stood up quickly in my seat at the booth as they rolled under our table and then back out again. At that point, I’m done; I’m leaving. Or at least I want to but the problem is, I can’t. I’m cornered. They’re in front of me cutting off my only escape route, if I go across the table I land in someone else’s lunch, if I go over the back of my seat I land in a pile of broken dishes and behind me is a wall that goes at least eight feet before reaching the next booth. I’ve mentioned before I can’t walk or run, would it shock you if I told you I can’t jump either?  

Standing there on my booth seat I watched as this waitress tossed this girl around like a rag doll, under our table, over it- I couldn’t believe it. I looked at my cousin who was just as stunned as I was.

I remember yelling, “We need to leave.”

Like she could do something about it.

We were both stuck there as everyone watched these girls rip each other a part. Then out of the kitchen door tore this mass of testosterone (about 5-8 male kitchen staff) they flooded over the two women in order to pull them apart.

They were screaming, “Just stop.”

 I remember thinking, that’s cute.

Of course, the women didn’t listen and continued on. The show wasn’t over though, before these guys could get them apart another herd of men (who didn’t work there), crashed through the front door. They also had about five to eight guys in their group. Sorry I didn’t get a total count during all the commotion. These guys jumped the kitchen staff and an all out brawl ensued.

I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.  Dishes and trays are falling, people are getting up and moving (not me though, cause I’m stuck!)

I was in the middle of yelling, “This is ridiculous,” while simultaneously doubting my life’s decisions up until that point, when another herd of kitchen staff ran out to help the others.

One of the men that had burst through the front door yelled, “Get off her, she didn’t start it.”

So apparently these guys from outside knew one of the women and thought the whole kitchen staff had jumped her? I have no clue. I still to this day don’t know what the fight was about.

Someone somewhere had called the cops and I noticed them walk in the door. And just like that, it was over. Everyone shot in different directions and the fighting was done.

Likewise, I shot off my booth and headed for the door.  No way was I staying there another minute. There was nothing that would stop me from leaving-or so I thought-until I caught a glimpse of who was standing in the doorway. The waitress stood there holding the door open for people to walk through. I was so stunned, I accidentally made eye contact again.

Recognizing me she said, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the apology. Even more, I appreciate the fact that she didn’t involve me anymore than I had been.

I managed a nervous little laugh in response as I slid out the door away from her. I simply wanted to gain access to the car- where I felt safe; which I did.
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And do you know what else I gained access to from that experience? Food poisoning-I guess they were too busy with other things to cook the food properly. 

I was counting out pills for a customer that would soon arrive, when this man casually strolled in. I had never seen him before, he was somewhere in his sixties or seventies. He had a long white beard that rested on his button up shirt. I remember glancing up at him when he came in the door. The pharmacist met him at the register, where from out of his wallet he produced a paper prescription.

“I’d like to get this filled.” He said.

The pharmacist took the prescription behind the counter and started entering it into the computer. I had just finished counting the pills for my patient’s prescription, when I noticed the pharmacist stop typing. I glanced over at him to see him really looking this prescription over.

I figured the doctor had forgotten to sign it or something by the way he was looking at it. The pharmacist left the computer and walked back up to the register.

“Sir, this is a C2 prescription. I need to see your ID to fill it.”

On a side note, encase you don’t know, a C2 is a Controlled Substance.

The man shook his head like he understood and produced his wallet again, he pulled his ID out and then handed it over.

The pharmacist ran back up to the computer and began typing again. I was pulling up another prescription to fill when the pharmacist stopped for a second time. I looked over to find a puzzled look plastered on his face.

‘What now?’ I thought.

The pharmacist walked back down to the register, still looking at the ID.

“Sir is this prescription for you?”

“Yes.” The man didn’t seem a bit concerned.

I leaned on the counter and watched on, at this point I knew something was about to happen.

“This is your ID?” The pharmacist asked holding it up.

“Yes.” Still no concern.

“Do you go by another name?”

“No, why?” Now the guy seemed perturbed.

“Well, the name on this ID is different from name on the prescription.”

“Well I know that!” The man spit exasperated, “It’s a fake prescription!”

I heard it-watched it-still couldn’t believe it.

The pharmacist was taken aback and didn’t speak for a moment. Finally all that came out was, “Sir I can’t fill this.”

The man then proceeded to throw both of his arms over his head in utter disgust. He turned around with a loud huff and walked right out, leaving the pharmacist standing there with the prescription and ID in hand. The pharmacist turned and looked at me, still dumbfounded.

I was still resting my chin on my hand when I asked, “You want to call the cops or me?”

And people wonder why I am the way I am…