“The xrays show that the bigger of the bones in his wing is broken. If he’d broken the little one, we would have just splinted and bandaged it. But big ones need surgery.”
The wildlife carer’s face falls as I speak. She has had long experience with vets and understands that a broken wing is a death sentence for wildlife. I hate being given wildlife cases; not that I don’t love the animals, it’s just I have to euthanase like 90% of them. Most of them are genuinely not treatable, but some of them could be treated if only someone would pay the (sometimes vast) cost for it. Hundreds, sometimes, if it's surgery. It’s one of the worst parts of my job – and birds, in particular, are hardest for me. At least I didn’t have to explain to a naïve owner why we had to euthanase; at least the wildlife carer knew that a bird with a broken – or misaligned – wing in the wild was a far worse ending than a quiet peaceful one in hospital. For a few seconds she wears an expression of devastation, the same one I had about an hour ago when I took the kookaburra away from her and went to Dr Boss, disheartened, visibly upset, wishing I didn’t have to end another life.
I hurry on to say, “Anyway, he’s just recovering from surgery now.”
She looks at me, dumbfounded. “…What?”
“Oh, we’ve put some pins through the bone and used some moulded plastic to form an external fixator. He can go home with you tomorrow. In about four weeks we’ll re-xray, then take the pins out.”
The smile spreads from her mouth to her eyes. “Wow. Thank you!” she exclaims. “Thank you so much!”
It would be so easy to take the credit. But I explain, “Dr Boss wants to gain experience in several orthopaedic surgeries, so he is now giving good wildlife candidates for surgery a go. It’s purely for our benefit; we gain experience so we can do better on future patients, and as a plus these birds get a chance.”
Her happiness and her laughter follow me down the corridor as I head back to the hospital. The nurses are taking turns in covering reception or kennel duty to see the little patient. I see Dr Boss up ahead and hurry to thank him, but he turns around and says, “Thanks Chryso. Make sure you bring me all the broken wings from now on. Purely for our benefit, of course.” He is grinning from ear to ear.
“Sure thing, Boss, we need lots of it, right?” And my face hurts from smiling.
The wildlife carer’s face falls as I speak. She has had long experience with vets and understands that a broken wing is a death sentence for wildlife. I hate being given wildlife cases; not that I don’t love the animals, it’s just I have to euthanase like 90% of them. Most of them are genuinely not treatable, but some of them could be treated if only someone would pay the (sometimes vast) cost for it. Hundreds, sometimes, if it's surgery. It’s one of the worst parts of my job – and birds, in particular, are hardest for me. At least I didn’t have to explain to a naïve owner why we had to euthanase; at least the wildlife carer knew that a bird with a broken – or misaligned – wing in the wild was a far worse ending than a quiet peaceful one in hospital. For a few seconds she wears an expression of devastation, the same one I had about an hour ago when I took the kookaburra away from her and went to Dr Boss, disheartened, visibly upset, wishing I didn’t have to end another life.
I hurry on to say, “Anyway, he’s just recovering from surgery now.”
She looks at me, dumbfounded. “…What?”
“Oh, we’ve put some pins through the bone and used some moulded plastic to form an external fixator. He can go home with you tomorrow. In about four weeks we’ll re-xray, then take the pins out.”
The smile spreads from her mouth to her eyes. “Wow. Thank you!” she exclaims. “Thank you so much!”
It would be so easy to take the credit. But I explain, “Dr Boss wants to gain experience in several orthopaedic surgeries, so he is now giving good wildlife candidates for surgery a go. It’s purely for our benefit; we gain experience so we can do better on future patients, and as a plus these birds get a chance.”
Her happiness and her laughter follow me down the corridor as I head back to the hospital. The nurses are taking turns in covering reception or kennel duty to see the little patient. I see Dr Boss up ahead and hurry to thank him, but he turns around and says, “Thanks Chryso. Make sure you bring me all the broken wings from now on. Purely for our benefit, of course.” He is grinning from ear to ear.
“Sure thing, Boss, we need lots of it, right?” And my face hurts from smiling.
You're Boss is completely awesome!!!
ReplyDeleteHad another (unsuccessful) vet nurse interview a couple of weeks after I last saw you and they were telling me how they euthanase most the wildlife they see even those that don't need expensive surgery/treatment coz there's not enough wildlife carers around to take them, but with unwanted stray kittens/cats they vaccinate and desex them then let them go. Does this happen often? I was aware about the wildlife but I was pretty sure unwanted cats were also spose to be euthanased... at least that's how it worked at the RSPCA. And this clinic is right near one of the yarra river parks, a major wildlife corridore... I mean I hate that any of the animals have to be euthanased but there are reasons for it. Least the cats are not reproducing I spose. I guess the Vets in charge make their own rules.
*I mean "your"! Obviously.
ReplyDeletehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trap-Neuter-Return
ReplyDeleteIt's a much debated theory. The theory is that the envionment can only handle a certain number of strays. If you euthanase a feral cat, a new breeding animal will just move into the territory. Whereas if you release the desexed cat, it will continue to fill that niche and defend the territory against breeding animals - but cannot reproduce. Over time the population should decline because they cannot breed, and the rest are adopted or die for other reasons.
That's the theory. I don't know how I feel about it yet, but my clinic is starting to show support for it.