Compassion fatigue is an overused buzzword. But it’s appropriate nonetheless. For all of you who work in the animal biz, you know this well. You don’t need me to tell you how much more likely you are to work longer hours for less pay than your human service counterparts. And you don’t need me to quote your actuarial stats for the dreaded “burnout” you’ve witnessed among your colleagues.

And if you work as a volunteer in this arena (as I know many of you do), you certainly don’t need me to tell you how underappreciated your work tends to go—save by the animals whose limited cognitive abilities render an appropriate expression of thanks to it’s most basic: a purr, a nuzzle and, lest you revel too much in their praise, even the occasional bite.

You also don’t need me to remind you of your frustration over the Sisyphean task before you every day as you do your part to right the world’s wrongs—one creature at a time.

I know it sucks sometimes. But it beats the alternative, right? A desk job or a sedentary life, the concern that you should be putting your money where your mouth is. We don’t have to contend with those issues. We tend to sleep OK, I think—and that usually outweighs the risk of burnout.

I know you don’t need to hear another handwrung post on the evils of backyard breeders, puppy millers, untimely euthanasias or underappreciative clients. You get those all the time.

So this one is more an indictment of vets and pet service personnel who occasionally take themselves and their mission too seriously and consequently court burnout in an inefficient spree of “save-the-worldism.” 

I’m one that often counsels clients against much of the same behavior. When I recognize a client’s pathological tendency to take on too much work on behalf of a population of cats or a cadre of rescue dogs I’ll say something. Occasionally, I’ll see myself going the same way and take my own advice, too.

If you look at this blog as a “diary of a burnt-out vet,” I think you’ll discern cyclical patterns in my stress levels I believe are typical of others in this field and related animal endeavors. I’m actually considering mapping my “Vet Stress” blog entries on a calendar to identify patterns in my own personal behavior.

I’m the first to admit that professional burnout is a fear of mine and that recognition of one’s faults in that direction is the first step in reversing its effects. That’s why I look to those in my profession who model the kind of behavior I want to emulate: people who love their work and stress out minimally when things fall apart.

As a rule, these individuals display an ability to divorce themselves as much from the finances of animal medicine as humanly possible. When pets die, they know they did their best and they don’t beat themselves about the head with a stack of textbooks thinking they should have known better.

Which is not to say I want to be a heartless, money-grubbing, know-it-all vet. But I’d like to hang out long enough in this profession to say I made choices that balanced my sanity with my financial survival and professional satisfaction. For example, I’d like for once not to have to consult my budget and my weekend schedule of hospitalized patients before throwing a dinner party.

I know vets who don’t have to do this. And while you might not consider their lives as blog-worthy as mine, I think I’d trade places with them in a blink of an eye if I could get myself to follow their lead.

After all, how long can some of us live like this? How long can we work at breakneck stress pace at the expense of our own comfort and sanity? Maintaining the right foothold on that highwire business consultants call “the balancing act” is the key. And if you need a cautionary tale to prove the point, here’s a recent one:

One of our clients, a cat colony devotee, recently burnt out in spectacular fashion. So tired was she during a late night trapping session she forgot to put her large SUV in park. Opening the hatch set it in motion and it rolled right over her. She’s still in ICU.

While you my not think of this as burnout, that’s exactly what it looks like to those of us who know her well and care about her well-being. Something like this had been looming for months.

Watching her tragedy unfold had the eye-opening effect on all of us you might expect it would. That’s why I’m here to remind you to go home a little earlier. Come in a little later. Check your phone messages and emails a little les assiduously. And, most of all, hug your family a whole lot more. Ultimately, we all need to live to fight another day, right?