Dead Hearts, by Stars:
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"Compassion fatigue: a.k.a secondary traumatic stress (STS), is a condition characterized by a gradual lessening of compassion over time. It is common among individuals that work directly with trauma victims such as nurses, psychologists, first responders, and health unit coordinators."
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In my internship's last module, we went over this phenomenon. I don't think we have it as bad as doctors and nurses, though - if an ER patient comes in critical condition, you imagine lots of frenzy, perhaps a gas mask and immediate surgery to fix whatever's wrong. They must immediately begin to try to save the person's life; they put everything they've got into saving lives. To fail after such intense work, well...
Wildlife rehabilitation is different. There are no rushing gurneys, no prepped surgery suites. Boxed animals are brought into the exam room and looked at with little fuss. Broken bones, concussions, even abnormal coldness - all can spell euthanasia for a wild animal. And it makes sense, in a morbid way, because A) We only have so much room. We can't take in an animal with little chance at survival when there are others more securely rehabilitated, B) Even if we save the life, if the wrong body part was harmed or amputated - if a necessary appendage for survival in the wild is taken away - they have no chance of being successfully released, and C) Sometimes, they are already so far gone it would be kinder to pull them. Pulling the plug on a human is a horrible concept, and only done after every available resource is exhausted. With animals, if the condition they come in is bad enough, there aren't any resources to draw from in the first place.
This isn't to say that we don't try at all to save animals. One great, recent story is about a Great Horned Owl that was caught in a barbed wire fence, and quite literally tore a hole in his wing. It took many months, but the tissue healed, live feeding trials were a success, and the owl was released with a scar in his wing but able to fly quite confidently.
On the other hand, we got in a common raven about two months ago, who seemed like a good candidate for release. We fed, housed, and medicated him for over a month, hoping he would get better, but began to notice that he was still too vocal, kept gaping for food, and, while self-feeding a bit, wasn't displaying proper raven behavior. Our vet suspected blindness, so we took him out into an aviary to test him. Her hypothesis was correct - the raven was completely blind. He kept waking in circles, and didn't even attempt to fly. A bird like this would never last outside our facilities, so after a month of treatment, he was pulled.
I wouldn't say I have compassion fatigue. It's true that I don't feel much when we can't save an animal, but that was to begin with. It's with people like my boss that have been doing this for years that should have it. But no one really does. Everyone laughs a lot and jokes around, but I suppose it is in the workplace. It's at home where this would be revealed.
I've noticed one way that staff copes with all this death is to adopt a rather dark sense of humor. They don't poke fun at any animal's bad luck, but they crack some jokes that you feel bad at for laughing. For instance, we make bets based on how bad someone's hematocrit reading will be, or just before a live feeding, give the poor mice's their "Last Supper."
I would like to clarify we never play with the animals; we never mishandle or grope them to, say, see how that joint works or flap their wings, dead or alive. We are always prioritizing their comfort - like it would be so much easier to administer Fatal + in the jugular, but we don't do that because A) It's more painful in such a sensitive area, and B) They can see us there. Much better to cover their head and use a leg, back, or wing vein.
Back to the actual topic.
I want to say I don't have compassion fatigue. I mean, it's true that I don't react as strongly to death as other people, but I never really did in the first place. It was just something I accepted. This animal is not going to recover no matter what we throw at it, I'd tell myself. It's death is inevitable. All we can do it assist it on its way. We have to move on. There are actual animals with an actual chance of surviving that need my attention more than some doomed life.
However harsh it sounds, I've reread and re-edited the previous paragraph multiple times and I feel it best represents how I feel. But I have been thinking, and after my whole experience with this internship, I know myself better than this than to think I actually haven't changed at all. At the beginning, if an animal was pulled, I'd be really quiet for a while, and it would take me a bit to rebound back into happy-go-lucky form. Now though, I'm more or less indifferent to the whole thing. I do the whole "Bad Luck" thing, then go on my way. So, in this regard, I do actually have a mild case of compassion fatigue.
Now that I think about it, compassion fatigue and cynicism are pretty closely related. Maybe I've just gotten more cynical since I graduated high school.
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I didn't want to end on such a downtrodden note, so I'm going to add a comic I found in the newspapers at work (we use the newspapers as substrate for the condos and reptariums).
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Also, I've been quite the photographer at work throughout the summer, and I've compiled a lot of photos of interesting wildlife. I think what I will do is go back to my old high school hobby of researching an animal/plant every week, just for the sake of knowing. But now, I have my own photos!
(I'll probably still use some online stock though; hard to get a shot of a flying raptor with a camera phone)
