by Laurie Hess
“This is truly amazing,” Marnie said, giddy with relief.
I offered Lily a wedge of sweet potato through the bars of her cage. She hastened over to retrieve it. Still a bit weak on her back legs, she stumbled backward and fell over with a plop.
“Easy, girl.”
That Lily was recovering right before my eyes was unquestionable. It was what I’d been hoping and praying for. Still, I couldn’t quite piece it together. From the lead test, it was definitively clear that Bob’s older glider had been exposed to lead, but when—and where? Not on Simon’s farm. Lily was the one sick glider I’d treated who I knew absolutely hadn’t been born and weaned there. And now, I held the results of Baby G’s blood test in my hand. It was negative for lead. Baby G’s body held no trace of the toxin. This further suggested that Simon’s farm, at least, was likely not the source of exposure. This would relieve him, and yet there were still the mall kiosks and other aspects of the operation to consider. I couldn’t draw any more conclusions until another glider tested positive for lead.
“I need to call Hannah,” I announced to Marnie, “and ask her to run a lead test on her glider from Winslow Mall.”
I JOINED ELLIOT for lunch in the back boarding room. He was watching cartoons with Chloe the rabbit. In between bites of chicken salad, I checked my phone like an obsessive teenager. “It’s been over an hour,” I groaned. “When’s she going to text me back?”
Elliot laughed at me and reached a hand into Chloe’s cage. He tenderly scratched her floppy ears. “I’ve made a decision,” he said, distracting me for the moment. “I’ve decided to adopt another cockatiel.”
“What about Scarlet?” I said with a mouthful of salad.
“She’s going back with me to Rhode Island. The cockatiel is for my mom and dad. I hadn’t realized how much they’d bonded with her when I was away at school and how much they miss her now. They still have her empty cage hanging in the living room. And Mom’s got a picture of her taped to the fridge.”
“Oh, that’s sad but sweet,” I said. “Trixie was such a sunny delight. Do you need help finding another cockatiel?”
Before Elliot could answer, we were interrupted by the buzz of my phone with a text message.
“The results of the lead test!” I blurted.
Hannah had responded with one single word, leaving no room for question or interpretation: positive.
There it was, confirmed. The glider adopted from Winslow Mall was also positive for lead. I’d now made a definitive connection between at least two of Simon’s gliders sold at two different locations, the Johnson Valley and Winslow Malls. The when and where of exposure were still very much a question mark, but the cause—lead poisoning—was solid.
“Send out an alert on Vets Connect,” I said to Elliot, “and if any vet currently treating a sick glider calls the hospital, especially in those cities where Exotic Essentials distributes, tell them they should immediately test for lead. If the reading comes back high, advise them to treat them as they would any animal positive for lead exposure. They should start injectable lead chelation with calcium EDTA to bind up lead in the bloodstream and then send the animal home on oral lead chelation with dimercaptosuccinic acid. The animal’s kidney and liver values need to be monitored too, with blood testing to ensure that no additional medical treatment is necessary, and of course any affected animal should be given supportive care with syringe feeding and fluids if it isn’t eating on his own.”
“Will do,” said Elliot as he packed up his lunch.
I added, “If anyone has questions about the source of lead exposure, be sure to emphasize we still don’t know what that is. For now, we just want to get the word out before any more animals are lost.” Elliot and I hurriedly left the boarding room and sped off in opposite directions. I was nearing the waiting room when I heard Colette sternly say, “Doctor Hess is unavailable for comment right now.”
“Well, we want to know why this hospital is supporting an abusive company,” a woman argued back. “She said on Facebook they haven’t done anything wrong, but we saw the TV report that says they’re making animals sick.”
Dang social media, I thought as my stomach tightened. I hoped these weren’t the voices of protesters like Hannah had encountered at her hospital in Long Island. The critical emails and phone calls were bad enough. I reluctantly turned the corner to discover a woman and her teenage daughter standing shoulder to shoulder in the waiting room.
“I’m Dr. Laurie Hess. Can I help you?”
The woman stepped forward. “My daughter and I are here to protest the abuse of sugar gliders in the region. Live animals should not be sold at mall kiosks like cell phone covers or handbags.”
“A shopping mall is not a home,” her daughter chimed in.
“I appreciate your concern for these animals, and let me assure you that this hospital does not condone abusive practices. I’ve dedicated my whole life to caring for exotic pets, and I take very seriously my responsibility to make sure that any animal admitted under my care is not harmed or abused. I don’t believe Sugar Buddies is doing either.”
“Well then why are the animals dying?” accused the teenage girl.
Her mother looked at her proudly and shot back at me, “Yes, why are they dying, doctor?”
“That’s an important question, and I assure you I’m working closely with the company that sets up the adoptions, along with other vets and pathologists across the country, to determine the cause of illness and death and to prevent additional ones.”
“And have you?” asked the woman.
I really wanted to say that I thought I had, but until I could determine how Simon’s gliders were coming into contact with lead, I couldn’t say a thing. “Not yet,” I apologized.
“That’s what I thought,” the woman sneered, then took her daughter by the arm. “Let’s go, honey.”
Once the dissenting mother-daughter duo were back in their car, I turned to Colette, “If anyone else comes in carrying a protest sign, tell them what I just told those two.”
“Got it.”
I pulled my phone out of my lab coat and dialed Simon.
“I have news. We’ve identified the cause of the illness in at least two of your gliders.”
“Really,” he said eagerly. “What is it?”
I didn’t hesitate. “They appear to be suffering from lead poisoning.”
“Lead?” Simon questioned. “How? From where?”
“That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me. I still haven’t determined the source of exposure. All I know for sure is that one of your gliders adopted from Winslow Mall has tested positive for lead. Another glider I’m currently treating at the hospital has also tested positive for lead. She’s not one of yours, but she was brought in with a baby glider adopted from Johnson Valley Mall.”
“Is that one positive for lead too?”
I paused. “Unfortunately, she died yesterday at my hospital before I could test her for lead exposure.”
Simon drew in a deep breath. “And what about the baby you took from my farm? Is he testing positive?”
“No,” I lightened. “He tested negative for the toxin, which leads me to believe that—”
Simon exhaled, “They’re not being exposed on my farm.”
“Most probably not. At this point, that’s a viable conclusion, but we can’t really conclude anything—absolutely—yet.”
“Lead poisoning?” Simon said again after a moment of thought. “You’re sure?”
“I am. The blood tests show high levels of lead toxicity with no room for doubt.”
“So now what?”
“We look for anywhere those baby gliders of yours are coming into contact with the metal.”
“Where do we start?”
“Let’s start with the possibility of exposure on the trucks,” I said. “When the gliders are loaded onto the trucks, they’re housed in transport cages, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Who supplies these
cages?”
“I do.”
“Do you know what they’re made of? The reason I ask is that we only started testing the gliders for high levels of lead after an Amazon parrot showed up at the hospital with lead poisoning. He’d been chewing on an old metal toy in his cage. We noticed that the symptoms of the sick parrot and the sick gliders were nearly identical. Sugar gliders similarly love to suck, chew on, and use their teeth to climb their cages. If your gliders are chewing on wires that contain lead, then—”
“All our cages are made of stainless steel,” Simon cut in. “And they’re brand new.”
“And do you use the same stainless steel cages on all the transport trucks that leave the farm?”
“Every one. We’ve been using the same cage supplier for years, and we’ve never had a problem with them.”
“Okay,” I said. “What about the water on the trucks? Any chance the tanks are contaminated? Are the animals exposed to water at any point that may be running through old contaminated pipes?”
Simon thought about it. “I fill the water tanks on the trucks myself with the well water I use on the farm. It’s the same water I drink. I have the water quality tested twice a year for contaminants—nitrates, bacteria, pesticides. I pay a private lab to do to it, and it costs me a near fortune.”
“Do they test for lead?”
“They do—in the well and in the plumbing in the old farmhouse. Reports are always clean. One spring the well flooded after a major rainstorm hit us, and we worried about contaminants from the runoff, but the tests came back clean then too. The farm isn’t at all as rural as it used to be; the watershed has been sewered for at least a decade.”
“Okay, then,” I ruminated, “back to the trucks. Could there be lead in any of their feeding bowls? Is their food stored in any potentially lead-contaminated containers?”
“Nope.” I could almost hear Simon shaking his head. “Everything we use is stainless steel, and for that reason—it’s the safest material.”
“Alright,” I said mentally shifting gears. “Let’s walk through the possibility of lead exposure at the mall kiosks.”
Simon sighed. “I can’t think of anything I saw at Winslow Mall that would be exposing them to lead either. The animals come straight off the trucks in the same cages they were transported in and they stay in those cages until they’re adopted and go home with their new owners.”
“Are the animals sent home with anything that might contain lead? Any chew toys?”
“No, we don’t send them home with toys. We do supply new owners with a take-home starter kit that includes a bag of pelleted food, some vitamins and a calcium supplement, a BPA-free plastic water bottle, and specific instructions on glider care.”
“None of those things would contain lead,” I mumbled to myself. I sank back in my chair. We were getting nowhere—again. I picked up the list of distribution points on my desk and studied it for what felt like the hundredth time. My eyes scanned the list and settled on the scribbling in the margin—the scattering of cities that didn’t have a yellow mark through them. The locations that were, so far, immune.
“Wait a minute,” I said slowly. “The gliders that are transported to Miami, Chicago, Detroit, Tulsa, and St. Louis—so far, none of the gliders adopted from these locations have become sick or died. What if”—I was thinking out loud now—“we assume that those animals have not been exposed to lead whereas the gliders in the other locations have.” I paused and turned it over in my mind.
“Then?” asked Simon.
“Then there must be some variation in their care. Simon, can you think of anything particular about how the baby gliders that go to these locations are transported or sold? Anything at all?”
“I’ll make some calls.”
WHILE SIMON MADE his calls, I made mine.
“Lead poisoning?” Bob said after a moment of silence.
“We put Lily on calcium EDTA and fluids all morning, and you just won’t believe it until you see her with your own eyes. Bob, she’s actually jumping around her cage.” I started to tear up, thinking about her miraculous transformation.
“Are you certain? I don’t want to get my hopes up. Yesterday,” he paused, “yesterday was really tough.” His voice dropped to a near whisper.
“I promise not to put you through that again. Lily’s not dying. She’s going to be okay.”
Bob must have broken every speed limit between his shop and the hospital, because he came flying through the doors in practically less time than it takes me to check my blood sugar.
Tears welled up in his eyes, too, as soon as he saw Lily climbing the walls of her intensive care cage. I opened the small door, and she leapt into the air and landed on his chest. He scooped her up and held her close. Lily looked up at Bob with black, jellybean eyes, and he touched the tip of her pink nose with his own. “You really scared me,” he cried. “I thought I was going to lose you, too, and what would I do without my best girl?” Lily wrapped her long dark tail around Bob’s wrist, as if to comfort him and securely set anchor.
He snuggled her for as long as she could stay still. Then she let out a joyful squeak and scampered up Bob’s arm. Before I registered what was happening, she launched into the air and landed on top of my head.
Bob laughed. “Oh, there she goes. I’m sorry, Doctor. Let me get her.”
“I’m used to this.” I reached up and retrieved her from my nest of curls. “Plus, I’ve never been so happy to have an animal in my hair.”
Her movement proved to me that her back legs were regaining their strength and that she was recovering faster than I could have hoped for.
I handed Lily back to Bob. “I think she’s ready to go home.”
As I prepared Lily for release from the hospital, writing up instructions for her in-home care, I continued to sneak looks at Bob and Lily’s sweet reunion. I interrupted their back-and-forth play only to advise, “Monitor her appetite and energy level, and ensure that she’s eating. You may need to hand-feed or syringe-feed her until she’s eating well enough on her own again. If she begins to show any indication that she’s lethargic or weak or if her appetite decreases, call me immediately.”
“Of course I’ll call if anything seems off.” Bob said as Lily broke free of his grasp and scampered up his arm. Bob playfully caught her before she made it to his shoulder.
“Gotcha.”
“Other than that,” I said, watching them, “just enjoy each other.”
It was clear to me that Bob and Lily had made the same unspoken promise I’d observed between countless pet owners and their pets over the years: unwavering devotion. Even when they’re sick or challenging or when they simply inconvenience or frustrate us, we make an agreement with our pets to stand by them, no matter what. I considered that this same understanding extends to our human friendships too. I thought about Marnie and our bond and how, even if she left the hospital for another job, I’d support her absolutely. Our friendship would endure wherever we were because of the unspoken agreement we’d made with each other over the years, again and again, to never let go.
I remembered seven-year-old Sam Ellison, who had made the same promise with his pet, Robbie, a lop-eared rabbit I’d treated a couple of years ago.
“There has to be something you can do. Sam can’t lose his best buddy. Not now.”
We were standing just outside the examination room, and I followed Mrs. Ellison’s gaze down the hallway to the waiting room, where her son sat quietly looking through the holiday classic Stranger in the Woods. Though I never want to give anyone a difficult diagnosis, sometimes it has to be done. The hard truth was that Sam’s lop-eared rabbit had thymoma, a tumor in the chest cavity that can be very hard to treat. It would require more than a simple biopsy and removal. Radiation treatment would likely be required to shrink the tumor, and maybe even surgery would be needed to get it all, which is always risky and expensive and never a guarantee for a cure.
“Since my husband and I separ
ated, Sam won’t go anywhere without Robbie. Most of the time, Robbie’s the only one Sam will talk to,” Mrs. Ellison said.
In my head, I’d been cycling through treatments and expenses and a questionable prognosis even with the best of attempts, when I snapped back to attention. The only one he talks to? If Mrs. Ellison meant she had a hard time communicating with her son, I could certainly relate. There are days when I feel like no matter what I say or how I say it, I still can’t get through to Brett and Luke. Clean up your room. Do your homework. Feed the pets. I repeated the same requests over and over, but the boys seemed to have selective hearing. I was guaranteed a response only when they heard the word “food.” But that’s how most parents feel, isn’t it?
Mrs. Ellison continued sadly, “Everything between his dad and me—it’s back and forth, unsettled. We’re trying to work it through, but I think Sam feels lost, like nothing’s within his control, and his family is falling apart right in front of him. Robbie’s his one, true thing that he can depend on. I don’t want Sam to lose him too.”
My heart pulled toward Sam. “I will do everything I can to help make sure that your son doesn’t lose his friend, but,” I said honestly, “this is going to be a long process. With or without surgery, treating Robbie will likely involve syringe feeding, medications, fluids, and visits here at least once a week, possibly for several weeks. It’s a big-time commitment and a significant expense.” And maybe more than Sam’s parents could take on, I thought, while also trying to salvage their marriage and tend to their young son.
Mrs. Ellison nodded. “I understand what you’re saying, and in a way it makes the most sense to forgo treating Robbie. It would be more convenient, less expensive. One less thing to shoulder right now. But what would that teach Sam? That pets are dispensable? That relationships aren’t worth fighting for? Our children listen to us, but more than that, it’s what they see us do that they really learn from.”
Humbled by her words and their truth, I walked back into the examining room and looked down at Robbie. To treat this sick rabbit, I’d have to begin by placing a catheter is his leg, a breathing tube down his airway, electronic leads on his limbs to measure heart rate, and a temperature probe in his rectum—a lot for the little rabbit to take. I put my hand on the top of Robbie’s head and gently stroked his soft, downy ears. He relaxed under my touch, and his breathing steadily slowed down and became more regular. Hang in there, little guy. Your friend needs you.