VET HOSPITAL
By Vivian Lo, OAA, MRAIC
“I think the only treatment left is to euthanize.” My vet had just examined Tiny, my 29-year-old turtle, and this was his verdict. My mind went blank.
It was two years ago, on the last day of May when my red-eared slider turtle suffered a prolapse[1]. She was bleeding, which meant this was an emergency case. The vet clinic arranged for me to bring in my turtle the following morning. It was a small Toronto neighbourhood vet clinic, and my turtle had been a patient there for decades. However, the emergency vet on duty was new. His suggestion to euthanize followed an X-ray and a blood test, which indicated that she would have to undergo risky surgery. I did not want to make such a hard decision unless I was very clear about her medical situation.
I decided to seek a second opinion. I searched online for a 24/7 veterinary emergency hospital with an exotic veterinary specialist who could diagnose my turtle. I finally found one in Guelph.
It was late afternoon when we arrived, and the sun was neon red with thick reddish-yellow smoke particles suspended in the air (because of the 150 wildfires in Quebec). The specialist vet gave us a clearer explanation of my turtle's situation and suggested possible medical procedures. I had a sense that my turtle’s prognosis indicated less than a 10% prospect of survival. However, I still wanted to consider all the possibilities. This second vet referred us to a third 24/7 vet emergency hospital in Newmarket, where there would be an exotics vet team to look after my turtle.
I knew the clock was ticking.
We arrived at the stand-alone Newmarket clinic at midnight. It was flooded in the waxing moonlight, with the same consistent haze. I parked my car next to the building. The Guelph vet had already sent my turtle’s file to them, so the staff greeted us at the door and directed us to the examination room by the waiting area.
It had been almost 15 hours since our visit to the first vet clinic.
The waiting area was spacious. The furniture was arranged in a way that let pet owners sit in groups, or sit alone, according to preference. The walls were covered with photos of the vet team with different animals. A candle was placed at the reception kiosk with a sign indicating that an animal had passed away if the candle was lit. Fortunately, it was never lit during any of my visits. The waiting room was similar to what you might find in a the human clinic, but warmer and more comfortable—except that the examination room had a stainless-steel observation/ surgical bed instead of a cushioned examination bed.
My turtle’s bloodwork result looked really bad. She had lost a lot of blood and was under high stress because of the long trips. This vet hospital, like the other two, suggested that the “cheaper dead-end" solution might be best. I used my limited first-year university-level biology and zoology knowledge to ask various questions, still looking for every possible opportunity to save my turtle.
A CT scan in the Newmarket hospital showed that the Toronto vet clinic had wrongly interpreted its initial X-ray. The first vet had told me that, apart from two shelled eggs, over one-third of the turtle’s body appeared to be “empty,” which indicated that she might have too much fluid inside her body due to serious inflammation. The CT scan indicated that the empty space was in fact numerous egg follicles (no shell yet) inside her body. It looked like surgery was the only way out for my turtle, since the two eggs and all her egg follicles, together with the ruptured reproductive organs, had to be removed, which meant that she could no longer lay eggs.
My turtle would need major surgery in order to survive; however, her blood results showed that she was too weak for surgery, unless she could receive a blood transfusion. This involved more risks: finding a turtle of the same species to donate blood, preventing blood clots during transfusion, and avoiding complications after blood transfusion. Age was also a factor. My turtle’s 29 years was equivalent to 60–62 human years.[2] Would she be able to survive the surgery, and fully recover? Every step was risky and we did our best to cautiously move forward, one small step at a time, starting with finding donor turtle(s)—on a late Friday evening. I found two donor turtles (as backup) at the aquarium where I buy turtle food.
On the way home, we saw a rainbow appear in the greyish sky.
It turned out that my turtle was blessed and surrounded by many passionate and kind-hearted people. A couple of days later, we later heard from the Reptilia Vaughan (a reptile zoo). The zoo team responded to my odd request by lending us four huge and healthy turtles to be blood donors. The surgery took place a week later.
The surgical observation areas were for staff only, so I could only peek in for split-seconds at a time, when the staff went in and out of the room. Unlike hospitals for humans, we were also not allowed to see the recovery areas in the vet hospital. The staff would bring our pets out to the examination room to let us briefly meet with them and observe their condition. We spent most of our time in the waiting area where pet owners would talk to each other, although we had never met and didn’t even have the same types of pets. There were cats, dogs, parrots, roosters, hamsters, minks, lizards, chameleons, snakes, etc. In previous vet visits, the sound created by my turtle’s shell knocking against her container always attracted other pet owners’ (and pets’) attention in the waiting area. Casual interactions like this among pet owners did relieve some of the stress and anxiety in the room.
Both the blood transfusion procedures and the surgery were successful and my turtle even woke up half an hour after the surgery, which amazed the vet team. I had brought some of my turtle’s food, including earthworms, to feed the four turtle heroes after the blood transfusion. My turtle was discharged from the vet hospital two days after the surgery, with check-ups every other day, then once a week and later every two weeks.
My turtle finally 100% recovered in two months. The dedicated vet team congratulated me, and especially my “miracle turtle” on our last check-up visit. What my turtle and my family had gone through during those days was beyond words and quite a roller-coaster ride physically and emotionally.
My long experience in (human) healthcare environments has made me aware of the need for comfortable waiting rooms. The same is true for animal clinics. I’m grateful for the comfortable surroundings provided in all the clinics we visited, which made this experience especially meaningful for me. . . . And Tiny is especially thankful.
For more information:
MORE TURTLE ARCHITECTURE:
A turtle’s residential requirements are not complicated, since they carry their homes around with them. However, the Humane Society also advises that, even for turtles, the larger domestic environment has special requirements:
Turtles will not survive in a small dish with a plastic palm tree. They need the right lighting, temperature and water filtration system. Countless pet turtles die from being kept in inadequate conditions.
– https://www.humanesociety.org/resources/thinking-getting-pet-turtle
NOTES:
1. For turtles, a prolapse is a serious and potentially life-threatening condition.
2. Red-eared box turtles can live 15 to 30 years. Other kinds of box turtles usually live for 20–50 years, but have been known to survive for 100 years. The Humane Society suggests: “Turtles may seem like low-maintenance pets, but [. . .] they require years (sometimes decades) of specialized care.”