Six weeks? Is that were we are now?
I don’t even know anymore.
We had to take Gizmo to the vet today. Something is off with him. He’s moulting, but badly, I’ve never seen it this bad in the 28 years he’s coexisted with us. He’s lost a large patch of feathers on the nape of his neck and he’s itchy…like crazy itchy. He has a heart problem, and he’s very old for his species, 32 years old; the expectancy is 25-30. At the vet clinic they often express that they have never had a patient of his species of that age, and then that they can’t quite believe he is that old. He’s very energetic for an old guy.
I’ve been monitoring him for a week or two since it became apparent that it wasn’t a normal moult and that something else was going on. Hoping that it would resolve. But it hasn’t, it isn’t. I know that itchiness can be something external, or it can be something internal. The skin on his bald patches looks healthy, so I had a hunch it wasn’t external. There are any number of health issues that can cause a bird to self mutilate and kick, chew, or pull feathers out. Heart, blood flow, anaemia, kidney….
So it’s been an anxiety ridden decision to take him in.
Anxious because I am more stressed about what’s going on in the world than I think I care to admit. And the longer we drag on, the mores stressed I am finding myself to be. I’m stressed because I am trying to help others with resolving out of the ordinary situations that we find ourselves in at the hatcheries, but I’m handcuffed because I can’t go there to “see” what’s going on. Helping remotely is frustrating. Stressed because I can’t see what the fall holds and how we are going to manage to meet the normal programs needs. Stressed because I am still desperately trying to get my last batches of marking done so students can get their marks for graduation…whatever that looks like this year for them. I’m stressed because some people turn into jerks when they are stressed, and others are just always jerks and don’t change at all.
I’m pretty good at pushing things into a box on a high shelf, but boxes eventually fill up.
The directions at the vet clinic were to walk up to the door, knock, set the cage on a table outside, and then step back on or behind the yellow X on the porch.
Here I stand.
And then I wait in the truck until the vet calls me from inside to discuss.
Gizmo is kinda ok, kinda maybe not ok. We wait for the bloodwork and will take him back in for an ultrasound later in the week. His heart apparently didn’t sound good. He has a heart condition that we know about, but the vet is worried that his blood flow is turbulent and that could lead to kidney damage….and that this could be the root cause of the itchiness. I guess we wait until tomorrow to hear on the results of the kidney enzymes.
On the upside, he’s gained weight, which surprised me because I was concerned that his constant agitated itching and preening was stressing him and overtaxing his little metabolism. Turns out he’s eating and holding his weight well at least. When a little animal starts losing weight things can go downhill really fast.
I suppose one other upside to the way things are right now is that I don’t have to worry about travel for months and that means that I can easily (as easily as one can put three separate syringes into the beak of a small shark) give Gizmo his (now multiple) medications twice a day without worrying about timings or trying to figure out a way for Kirk to get the liquids into him.
She wants me to bring him back for an ultrasound later in the week. She felt it was too much handling for him to do anything more today; it would be too much added stress.
I hate the world right now. And I understand it more than I wish I did. Stress is starting to bubble out of the corners I’ve stuffed it into. I’m feeling a little less tough than I usually do and I’m having a harder time answering those “How are you doing?” questions that I usually just brush aside with a “Oh, I’m fine”.
I’m not feeling fine.
And if I say I’m feeling fine these days…I’m probably lying.
(119/365)