Pride and Joy

By Tammy A. Parker, DVM

Tammy A. Parker, DVM is a 1993 graduate of the University of Georgia College of Veterinary Medicine. Currently employed at Loving Hands Animal Clinic in Alpharetta, Georgia (a suburb of Atlanta), Dr. Parker is responsible for exotic animal medicine and surgery. She acts as an advisor for the Georgia Department of Agriculture and volunteers her skills at the Chattahoochee Nature Center Wildlife Clinic. She is an active member of the Association of Avian Veterinarians.

“How do I get myself into these things?” I thought as I peered at the finch lying on a turquoise towel. I had been hired as a new graduate, by a retiring owner who wanted an exotics veterinarian for this now five-doctor practice. The new owner was less excited about exotics and more about the bottom line. “You can have any equipment you want, if your exotics can pay for it,” was his decree.

New graduates have a wonderful mix of cutting edge knowledge and optimism. I had plenty along with a healthy dose of confidence. We would have the best exotics practice in town if I had any say. I didn’t expect my second official bird case to be an egg bound finch. Even worse, it belonged to my old boss’ best client, who had done the arm-twisting to get me hired. He had told me the stories, but neglected to tell me she was an avid finch aficionado-lots of birds, most under 12 grams.

The appointment book had only said bird with difficulty breathing. My head swam with ways to diagnose respiratory diseases-the blood work, the radiographs, the cultures and the endless array of treatments.

What presented was a very tiny zebra finch who could not stand. With the real patient in view, out the window went the large volume of blood tests for disease. Now was the time to choose my tests and steps extremely carefully.

Many times the devil is in the details of a good history. Time is important especially in the case of downed birds, but one must go through all the steps if at all possible. Whisking a bird away and submitting them to a barrage of tests can be what you and the owner wants, but close observation of the patient is first and foremost. Pride’s owner luckily was observant and savvy. She was able to explain that Pride was on an “egg laying kick” again. “Just yesterday, she seemed to be cranky and ready to lay, “she explained. “Today, she’s not doing well. And Joy, her mate will never live without her Doctor.” No pressure at all here, I thought as I shifted on my stool. Probably egg binding, I wrote on my notes.

The owner outlined the things she had done including warming Pride up and moistening her vent. “Nothing has seemed to help,” she concluded.

I picked Pride up gently and took a quick feel of her abdomen. Sure enough, I felt a firm round abdomen. Pride appeared to be tired even with this quick assessment.

“Well,” I began, “We need to confirm this is an egg and not some sort of soft tissue mass. We need a radiograph. It is probably best to get it while supplementing her oxygen, “ I added as an afterthought. To add another complicating factor, Pride was on a mostly seed diet and probably had little calcium available for the large amount of muscle contractions her oviduct had been undergoing.

While the films were developing, I found doses and diluted drugs for my small patient. She was going to receive fluids, injectable calcium supplementation, and oxytocin to encourage her worn out muscles to give one more try at expelling the egg.

The films took another puff of wind out of my sails. There was an egg all right, but it was half again as large as it should be. Only a surgical approach would work in this situation. If we were lucky, I could deflate the egg by making a hole with a needle into the eggshell. Next, I would need to aspirate the contents of the egg. If the shell were soft enough, the side would collapse inward and the remains either expelled by muscular contractions or pulled from the oviduct if Pride was handling all of this well anesthetically.

If we weren’t lucky, I would actually need to open Pride’s abdomen and perform the bird version of a caesarian section.

Both approaches required anesthesia and some time. I wasn’t too optimistic that Pride would survive, but knew with certainty if something wasn’t done fast she definitely would not. After discussing the options and poor prognosis, the owner said, “Well, do what you have to do. I know you are good. If she dies you’ll have to euthanize her mate Joy. Did I mention he wouldn’t live without her?

Deep sigh. “I’ll do my best,” I said, partly as a reply and partly as a prayer.

Feeling a great stopwatch over my head, I hurriedly prepped Pride and inserted a small tube into her cloaca. A magnifying loop and light helped me visualize everything at least in conure size. I managed to get good sights on the egg and then pierced it. As the contents poured into my syringe, I realized how tense I was. Pride appeared to be breathing with greater difficulty and I felt even greater time constraints. If at all possible, I had to get the shell out. I told myself firmly, “You have one shot. Do it and do it right.” We all breathed easier when the shell was free.

That relief was short lived for now we had to recover our tiny patient. With any animal, a major problem with surgery is the heat loss from the patient. The smaller the patient, the more heat loss occurs and the greater the risk of hypothermic death. My technician had warm towels and an ICU area all set up for Pride. She came around slowly, but surely.

I explained to her owner that she wasn’t out of the woods yet. It will be at least another forty-eight hours until I will feel she should be OK. In the meantime, we need to be sure she’s eating, drinking, defecating, warm, and, oh yes, gets her antibiotics. I thought the owner, a heart patient herself, would have a heart attack when I announced I wanted her to give injectable antibiotics. She blanched, but stood firm. “Tell me what to do.”

A week later, Pride looked and behaved 100% normally. The owner was thrilled and I couldn’t help but be proud of myself. It felt, and still feels, wonderful to know you had some small part in helping one of God’s smallest feathered creatures continue to bring Pride and Joy to their human.

©2000 Tammy A. Parker, DVM