Gorilla Doctors

Category: Field Procedures, Monitoring Visits | Date: Feb 07 2008 | By: admin

Nzeli injured and resting, just before she received treatment, in Bwenge Group, Rwanda.

I jumped out of my chair when my cell phone rang. So much for a quiet Sunday morning. First an earthquake—which had sent me running outside for fear that the roof of my little house would collapse—and now the phone. I glanced at my watch. It was 10:51, and the caller was Veronica, the field coordinator for the Karisoke Research Center in Rwanda. The combination could mean only one thing: emergency in the field. We typically hear of problems in mid-morning. Sure enough, Nzeli, an adult female had been found down, unable to move.

Nzeli picks up her injured left foot to inspect and clean the wound.

I quizzed Veronica while grabbing my field clothes, filling a baggie with raisins, and slapping band-aids on my toes (a routine precaution.) Hadn’t Nzeli left Bwenge Group with a young silverback, Twizere? Yes, but she had just reappeared. It seemed she preferred to be with Bwenge. Were the injuries new? The trackers described a bad injury to one foot, with whitish tissue exposed. There’d been several aggressive interactions between Twizere and Bwenge—maybe Nzeli had got caught in the middle. It sounded to me as if the injuries could be several days old.

Nzeli, alert but depressed, not eating, and unwilling to move on the day her injuries were reported.

I was the only gorilla doctor in town, but I knew Elisabeth (the vet tech who works for the park service, ORTPN) was in her office, working on a report. Bwenge group wasn’t far away. Elisabeth could join me quickly if needed. Nzeli’s condition could be serious enough to warrant intervention with anesthesia, which we’d plan for first thing the following morning unless I found the gorilla in dire straits. I loaded our three medical bags into the truck and got halfway through our gate before I realized I’d nearly forgotten the penicillin.

Nzeli’s right foot was badly injured at some point when she left Bwenge for a lone silverback, Twizere.

At 1:00, I had my first look at Nzeli. She sat in a hunched position, occasionally picking at wounds on her hands and feet. When she got up to reposition herself, she used her knees instead of her feet. I could see a deep triangular gash across the bottom of her right foot, and her toes were very swollen. She had a similar nasty wound on the heel of her left foot. Gorillas normally recover from fight injuries, but these appeared several days old and possibly infected. No wonder Nzeli hadn’t moved since the trackers arrived five hours ago.

Nzeli crawling away, walking on hands and knees, after receiving a dart of antibiotics.

I called Elisabeth to discuss the options. We could intervene with anesthesia or antibiotics today, or wait until tomorrow and see if the gorilla’s condition worsened—but we risked losing Nzeli. Twizere could challenge again; Bwenge could move quickly. She couldn’t keep up. If we anesthetized her, our main goal would be to give antibiotics and clean the wounds. We’d also be able to collect samples and prove or disprove infection. But the results take time. I chose to dart Nzeli with penicillin and recheck tomorrow.

Nzeli’s injured feet the day after penicillin treatment.

While I was preparing the penicillin dart, the group moved away to feed and Nzeli followed, crawling on her knees. We found her easily. She stopped to eat a few bits of vegetation—a good sign that she hadn’t entirely lost her appetite. With the rest of the group far ahead, I knelt and waited for Nzeli to turn her head away from me. In just a few minutes, the opportunity came. She grunted when the dart hit, turned back to pull it out of her thigh and glance in my direction, then continued her slow crawl.

Nzeli examining her wounds.

>Elisabeth joined me early the next morning. I brought the full medical kit again, just in case. But I felt optimistic. Antibiotics are often highly effective, especially in our setting where we use them sparingly. Unless Nzeli was much worse, we’d give her time to respond. When we were about halfway up the mountain, the advance trackers radioed good news: Nzeli was with the group. We walked that much faster until we caught up to the gorillas. Nzeli looked remarkably better, still crawling, but her toes were less swollen and she was eating.

Nzeli eating the day after antibiotic therapy.

In appearance, Nzeli’s wounds, while still very severe, looked healthier and more manageable, the kind that will heal on their own with plenty of cleaning and grooming—by the gorillas, of course. The fact that Nzeli had regained her appetite also gave us confidence that she could keep up with the group. I was glad we’d made the decision to try penicillin, and that it had worked. The pain wasn’t gone, but the antibiotics had reduced her risk of developing a life-threatening infection, and being left behind,

Nzeli four days after therapy, wounds healing.

I was equally relieved that Bwenge and his group seemed so calm. Any time we intervene, there’s the risk that the gorillas will become wary of visitors, especially of those who carry dart guns. I knew that neither Nzeli nor the others had seen me fire the dart—and that’s the key to working with them as a vet. Hide the equipment. Yet they must smell the medicine at the puncture mark where the dart hit. I often wonder what sort of communication goes on after one of our very rare interventions.

Nzeli cleaning her wounds.

On the second day after the penicillin dart, Veronica reported that Nzeli had an even better appetite and could move more quickly, though still on her hands and knees. The gorilla had a bit of diarrhea, which we attributed to the antibiotic. When I checked her on day three, Nzeli had begun to walk gingerly on her left foot while continuing to drag the right one. She cleaned her wounds, resting on her back and holding with her damaged feet up in the air, exposing them to air and sunlight. Was my intervention with antibiotics necessary, given that our mandate is to intervene only when the problem is life-threatening or human-induced? I’ll never know for sure. One thing is clear: she’s better.

Share This