operate in a veterinary hospital that exposes every move to the visiting public. But when I took care of Patch, it was all very new and exciting in a terrifying kind of way.
So there I was, with knees trembling and lip wobbling, the bird laid out on the surgery table in front of me, with the skin over his left shoulder area plucked like Sunday's roast chicken to create a sterile field, and the camera perched over my shoulder to capture our triumph or disaster.
The producer wasted no time in taking control of the situation. âCould you move a little to the left, please? You're casting a shadow over the bird. Hold on. Don't start yet, the light isn't right. Could you just put that surgical drape down over the bird again? We'd like to try a different angle this time.â The Australian hobby weighs less than eight ounces and the length of its body from head to tail is about ten inches. The people and camera equipment surrounding me made my patient seem even smaller.
Feeling slightly tense, I made my first cut through the skin beside the breastbone and collarbone, and then tentatively delved into the underlying muscle mass. Blood seeped into the wound, but not as much as I had expected. Wherever possible, I tried to separate, or blunt dissect, the muscle fibers rather than cut through them. An alarmingly large grouping, or plexus, of assorted blood vessels and nerves appeared. Though my surgical instruments were deep in the bird's chest, the hole I had made was tiny, like a keyhole, making my frustratingly thick fingers feel even clumsier than usual. No concert pianists in my family.
I felt around for the fracture ends for what seemed like an eternity, conscious of the camera whirring away. Finally I located one end of the broken bone and inserted a metal rod into its cavity, which I drove up and out through the soft tissue of the shoulder. Lining up this end with the other broken bone end, I reversed the pin and pushed it into the bone. I had to be careful. If I pushed too far I would enter the chest cavity and pierce the bird's heart. That would make exciting television. Fortunately, I managed to align the fracture ends successfully, and the pin sat nicely within the bone.
At this point, our senior raptor keeper asked if I would be cutting off the length of pin, which currently protruded from Patch's shoulder. To relieve the tension, I said flippantly, âNo, if we leave it sticking out, it will be easier to catch him when he flies past.â I still wince when I remember hearing myself say that on national television.
All that was left now was to sew up the butchered muscle and skin. This part of the surgery went quickly. Much to my relief, Patch and I both recovered uneventfully from the procedure. We kept the falcon confined in a small cage to give the bone ends time to knit together. During the initial postsurgical period, he received antibiotics and analgesics in his food. Patch's appetite was good and after three weeks we decided to X-ray his shoulder. Though the alignment of the fracture ends was not perfect, the bone had healed. A bird's higher metabolic rate allows fractures to mend much faster than in a mammal. We removed the pin and Patch entered rehab, much like an injured human athlete.
The raptor keepers devised an exercise regime for Patch, gradually increasing his workload over time. He was initially encouraged to take short flights between perches within a room to see if he could actually maintain height. After mastering this simple exercise, he was moved to a larger aviary with a greater distance between perches. While aviary flight gave us some idea of his capabilities, we needed to build up his fitness and see how well he could maneuver in flight. So we placed leather anklets on his legs that were attached to a long line called a creance. The next step was to allow him to fly free.
This stage of rehabilitation for Patch resembled the methods used by falconers to train their birds to hunt
So there I was, with knees trembling and lip wobbling, the bird laid out on the surgery table in front of me, with the skin over his left shoulder area plucked like Sunday's roast chicken to create a sterile field, and the camera perched over my shoulder to capture our triumph or disaster.
The producer wasted no time in taking control of the situation. âCould you move a little to the left, please? You're casting a shadow over the bird. Hold on. Don't start yet, the light isn't right. Could you just put that surgical drape down over the bird again? We'd like to try a different angle this time.â The Australian hobby weighs less than eight ounces and the length of its body from head to tail is about ten inches. The people and camera equipment surrounding me made my patient seem even smaller.
Feeling slightly tense, I made my first cut through the skin beside the breastbone and collarbone, and then tentatively delved into the underlying muscle mass. Blood seeped into the wound, but not as much as I had expected. Wherever possible, I tried to separate, or blunt dissect, the muscle fibers rather than cut through them. An alarmingly large grouping, or plexus, of assorted blood vessels and nerves appeared. Though my surgical instruments were deep in the bird's chest, the hole I had made was tiny, like a keyhole, making my frustratingly thick fingers feel even clumsier than usual. No concert pianists in my family.
I felt around for the fracture ends for what seemed like an eternity, conscious of the camera whirring away. Finally I located one end of the broken bone and inserted a metal rod into its cavity, which I drove up and out through the soft tissue of the shoulder. Lining up this end with the other broken bone end, I reversed the pin and pushed it into the bone. I had to be careful. If I pushed too far I would enter the chest cavity and pierce the bird's heart. That would make exciting television. Fortunately, I managed to align the fracture ends successfully, and the pin sat nicely within the bone.
At this point, our senior raptor keeper asked if I would be cutting off the length of pin, which currently protruded from Patch's shoulder. To relieve the tension, I said flippantly, âNo, if we leave it sticking out, it will be easier to catch him when he flies past.â I still wince when I remember hearing myself say that on national television.
All that was left now was to sew up the butchered muscle and skin. This part of the surgery went quickly. Much to my relief, Patch and I both recovered uneventfully from the procedure. We kept the falcon confined in a small cage to give the bone ends time to knit together. During the initial postsurgical period, he received antibiotics and analgesics in his food. Patch's appetite was good and after three weeks we decided to X-ray his shoulder. Though the alignment of the fracture ends was not perfect, the bone had healed. A bird's higher metabolic rate allows fractures to mend much faster than in a mammal. We removed the pin and Patch entered rehab, much like an injured human athlete.
The raptor keepers devised an exercise regime for Patch, gradually increasing his workload over time. He was initially encouraged to take short flights between perches within a room to see if he could actually maintain height. After mastering this simple exercise, he was moved to a larger aviary with a greater distance between perches. While aviary flight gave us some idea of his capabilities, we needed to build up his fitness and see how well he could maneuver in flight. So we placed leather anklets on his legs that were attached to a long line called a creance. The next step was to allow him to fly free.
This stage of rehabilitation for Patch resembled the methods used by falconers to train their birds to hunt
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