The Attack of the Killer Rhododendrons (38 page)

About halfway to the clinic, I came to an interesting realization. Sea turtles are heavy. Nowhere near full-grown, Roxy was still 12.5 kilograms, and she wasn’t equipped with a handle. I stopped beside a parked truck, put my foot on its bumper, and rested Roxy on my leg to give my arms a break.

In the clinic’s waiting room, I sat with the turtle on my lap while Ellen spoke with the receptionist. In a veterinary facility that is capable of treating both companion animals and large-bodied production animals, just about every sort of creature must come
through the door sooner or later. Even so, the receptionist’s eyes got wide when she looked at Roxy and me.

“I think there’s something wrong with my rabbit,” I said, trying to break the ice. The receptionist smiled in a way that said she didn’t think I was funny.

We were met by Mike Jeffery, the clinic’s veterinary radiographer, and led into the X-ray facility. Like all people involved in the care of animals, part of Mike’s job was to deal with the anxiety of owners. Ellen looked comparatively calm, but she must have been worried about what news the examination might reveal. I certainly was. In just over an hour, I had become very attached to poor Roxy.

With the turtle on its back, securely wrapped and positioned carefully on the X-ray table, Mike, Ellen, and I retreated to the safety of the shielded portion of an adjoining room. When the first digital image came up, Mike let out an “Oh my!” I am not an expert in radiography, and all my previous experience involved examining X-rays of humans, but even I could see that the situation wasn’t great. The tumours stood out from the rest of the image as bright white spheres. They were large and numerous. If Roxy had been a pet dog or cat, she would have been euthanized immediately.

Mike repositioned Roxy a couple of times and snapped additional images. He said that we might get additional worthwhile information by capturing X-ray images horizontally through Roxy’s body. The difficulty was that the machine wasn’t designed to do that sort of work. The device that emitted the radiation could be swivelled, but the imaging plate couldn’t. “I need a volunteer,” said Mike. I immediately agreed to hold the plate in place and walked toward a rack of lead-lined aprons that would, presumably, protect me. I had a choice: there were bright pink aprons and others decorated in camouflage colours. I picked one of the latter and felt that I was being embraced by a heavy soldier. I wrapped a lead-filled collar around my neck to protect my thyroid gland and snugged up all of the necessary straps.

As the device shot X-rays at Roxy and me, two things came to mind. First, why was I protecting virtually all bits of me except
my head? After all, my brain is one of my favourite organs. Then I wondered just how much radiation Mike was using. Surely it takes a lot of zapping to get through the massive shell of a sea turtle. After we were done, I asked. “About the same as a chest X-ray,” he replied. When I said that I was surprised that the shell wasn’t more opaque to X-rays, he explained that a turtle’s shell is more similar to cartilage than bone, and that this sort of radiation doesn’t have much trouble penetrating it.

Without further study of the images and a comparison to photographs taken earlier, we couldn’t be sure how many of the tumours on the X-ray images, if any, were internal. Before we left the clinic, Mike said in a low voice that Roxy’s prognosis for a long and happy life was not promising. I hoped that Ellen hadn’t heard him.

Ellen and I carried Roxy back to her enclosure, and after carefully unwrapping her, I lifted her back into her tank. She seemed to be floating a little higher than she had before, and Ellen explained that Roxy would have gulped a bit of air into her stomach and would float a bit strangely until she expelled it. I looked back at the laboratory apron that we had used to secure Roxy. It was littered with small chunks of tumour that had broken off in handling. Even though there is no way for the FPTHV to affect me, I was extra diligent in washing my hands.

M
EMBERS OF SOME ABORIGINAL COMMUNITIES
are entitled, by heritage, to capture and consume sea turtles. Some traditional custodians of the land have also become involved with the monitoring of sea turtle populations. Because of this constant involvement with the comings and goings of turtles, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that the sea turtle tumours we see today in Australia were not present much before 1990. Where had the virus come from and how had it arrived on Australia’s far-flung shores? I would be fibbing if I said that anyone knew with absolute certainty. We are not even certain yet how the virus is communicated from one turtle to another. Perhaps the virus has always been present, but it is only
now expressing itself in tumours. Given the global pattern of distribution of FPTHV, it is possible that the disease was introduced to Australia by accident by humans. Maybe it arrived along with the dreaded cane toad.

Australia has a long history of plant and animal introductions, both intentional and accidental. Dingoes didn’t evolve in Australia, and they certainly didn’t swim there. Mediterranean rabbits and Central American cane toads didn’t come to Australia on their accumulated frequent-flier points. Early in the European history of Australia, naturalization societies were formed with the express goal of making Oz look more like home by introducing plants and animals. If the turtle virus was introduced by humans, it wouldn’t be the first. Both calicivirus and myxomatosis were brought to Australia in hopes of knocking back rabbits.

But now a hatred of alien invaders by Australians has become almost cliché. Dedication to preventing the introduction of any new creatures borders on mania. I can prove it. On January 29, 2011, my local newspaper ran a story about a former Qantas flight attendant who had avoided a prison term, despite being involved in the importation of 165 kilograms of cocaine, ecstasy, and ice, worth almost $100 million. The same issue of the newspaper reported on a woman who tried to illegally import to Australia live crystal red shrimps, worth about $1,000 each. She was sentenced to fifteen months in prison.

A
FEW WEEKS HAD PASSED
since Roxy had been X-rayed, and her condition hadn’t changed. Ellen was asked to make a presentation on sea turtles in the community of Bowen and offered to take me along. Two hours south of Townsville, Bowen is a regional centre for the fruit-growing industry and boasts magnificent beaches that are ideal for fun and sun. The Queens Beach Action Group, the organization with the third-worst acronym in Australia, was going to help with a large-scale capture of sea turtles a month later. A presentation on sea turtles was seen as a good way to help ensure local interest and support.

The group met at the Bowen Surf Life Saving Club headquarters, just off the beach. The small building was decorated with notices reminding people to swim where lifeguards could see them, and making suggestions about avoiding dangerous jellyfishes. While we waited for the appointed hour, one of QBAG’s organizers took us to proudly show off some newly installed plaques, close to the beach, describing the two species of sea turtles most likely to be seen in the area. The hope was that more people would become sensitive to the needs of turtles.

Ellen began her talk by explaining that FPTHV was first described from sea turtles in the Florida Keys in 1930. The first cases in Australia were noticed in Moreton Bay in 1990. Tumours on turtles on this part of the Queensland coast had first been found in 2004. Although the disease had been seen in all sea turtle species, it was mainly a condition of green turtles, most commonly those in their middle years.

As with herpes virus in humans, the appearance of the condition seems to be stress-related. Curiously, in this area, almost all of the sick turtles had been captured in a small region known as Brisk Bay. Ellen reviewed several possible explanations. Perhaps noxious chemicals from earlier mining or military operations were leaching into the bay, causing stress. Brisk Bay might be a focus for infection, or perhaps sick, weakened turtles got washed to the spot by some trick of tide and topography. Like so many aspects of the virus-induced illness, no one knew with certainty.

Ellen elaborated on the impacts of FPTHV. She explained that sea turtles are beautifully hydrodynamic, slipping through the oceans. Large growths on the body’s surface probably require more swimming effort. She showed pictures of large growths in the lungs of a turtle that had died near Townsville; it was hard for me to believe that it had been able to breathe at all. Ellen explained that individuals like Roxy had difficulty finding food when growths on eyelids hindered their vision.

Questions from the audience showed that they were paying close attention. “Do the growths have a blood supply?” Ellen was
asked. “Do sick turtles ever get well again?” “Is it something that could make us sick?” The answers were “Yes,” “Sometimes,” and “Not as far as we know.”

R
OXY’S X-RAYS HAD SHOWN HER LUNGS
to be clear of tumours; if they had been infiltrated, her chances of long-term survival would have been virtually nil. But in the weeks following the imaging, her weight had continued to decline, now down to 12.1 kilograms. It had become increasingly apparent that the growths around her eyes were seriously impeding her vision, making it difficult for her to find food in her tank. She could smell food but had difficulty seeing it, although this likely wasn’t the only source of her weight loss. Surgery always involves risk, but in trying to balance Roxy’s quality of life against the potential hazards of treatment, the time had come to attempt to remove the ocular growths. Ellen called on Dr. Vaughan Seed, a specialist in veterinary comparative anatomy.

The Internet can be a wonderful source of information. It doesn’t take much searching to find instructions on How To Jump Out Of A Moving Car, How To Steal Someone’s Boyfriend, How To Hunt For Magic Mushrooms, or How To Land A Boeing 747-400. However, the Internet is strangely silent when it comes to How To Surgically Remove Conjunctival Tumours From A Green Sea Turtle. Vaughan was going to have to combine what he knew about general principles of analgesia and anaesthesia with his skill as a veterinary surgeon, mix in a bit of conjecture about marine reptile physiology, and then wing it.

Joining Vaughan, Ellen, and me around the operating table were Bronwyn Orr and Krissy Bell, students of veterinary science. Bronwyn would take photographs to document the progress of the operation. Krissy was to keep track of Roxy’s reflexes and general condition. I would stick my oar in when Vaughan needed me to cradle Roxy’s head or hand him a surgical instrument.

As Vaughan surveyed the situation in and around Roxy’s eyes, Ellen explained that some of the external tumours were regressing,
blackening, and sloughing off. It seemed to me that fresh pink growths had formed in Roxy’s flipperpits since I had last seen her.

Vaughan started off with an intramuscular injection of a synthetic opioid to relax Roxy. He emphasized that this was a matter of analgesia, not a general anaesthetic. Like a dental patient breathing nitrous oxide, Roxy would be aware of what was going on but wouldn’t much care. He then applied an ophthalmic anaesthetic to both eyes. From there, it was a matter of carefully assessing each growth, using fine surgical silk to ligate it close to its point of origin, and then slicing it off with a scalpel. In some cases, Vaughan injected additional anaesthetic directly into the tumour before cutting it off. Most of the growths came from the conjunctiva, the delicate moist membrane that lines the interior surface of the eyelid. Others grew directly out of the corneal surface.

Assess, ligate, cut, reassess. Vaughan worked carefully and methodically for ninety minutes. In the end, Roxy still had significant tumours on the remainder of her body, but her head looked distinctly turtle-like. It would be some time before the operation’s success could be gauged, but things were looking good. Vaughan applied an additional ointment to Roxy’s eyes to lubricate and soothe them, then gave her an injection of a general anti-inflammatory, which would ease the pain in the following twenty-four hours.

Vaughan then performed a bit of veterinary magic. He injected into a vein an “antidote” to the opioid he had given Roxy at the start. Within ten seconds, she went from dull and lethargic to active and alert. After a general peek and poke to ensure that there was nothing more to be done, Vaughan released Roxy back into our care, promising to come by the following day to give her another injection of the anti-inflammatory. We carried Roxy back to her room to rest. Ellen was needed off-campus but left the patient in the capable care of Bronwyn. It all looked very promising.

Forty minutes later, Roxy lost consciousness. Bronwyn rushed her to the emergency veterinary clinic, and staff stabilized her.

Twenty-four hours later, I got to visit Roxy again. It was time for Vaughan and Ellen to assess her progress. She was back in her
pool, which had been drained of most of its salt water to keep her from drowning if she lost consciousness again. She was out of her element and did not look happy. But as Ellen began to refill the pool, it was as though all of Roxy’s switches had been flipped to the “on” position. She began to swim, cautiously and slowly, but with a sense of purpose. She extended her head further out of her shell than I had seen before, as though keen to spy on the world that had been earlier shrouded by the growths on her face. Vaughan checked Roxy’s reflexes and noted that she was able to close her eyelids completely.

It was really too much to expect so soon after her surgery, but we all wanted to see if Roxy had any desire to eat. Ellen thawed a package of squid and tossed a small piece into the pool. Roxy immediately swivelled her head, grabbed the chunk of food, and swallowed it. The relief in the room was tactile. Ellen threw in a larger piece of squid, and I was overjoyed that Roxy not only saw it, but was able to track it as it moved in the current created by the tank’s water pumps. She stuffed down one chunk of squid after another until the whole 600-gram package was gone.

I
SAS PLEASED NOT TO BE IN CHARGE
of the turtle rodeo. Ninety people were to be involved, including representatives of two aboriginal groups, researchers from James Cook University, the World Wildlife Fund, the Sea Turtle Foundation, the Queens Bay Action Group, first-aid providers, and members of the media. Boats would be plying the waters of Mount Gordon Bay the following day, all attempting to capture sea turtles. As we prepared to leave Townsville, Ellen was so consumed with myriad details that she was able to speak only in sentence fragments. At one point she wanted me to stand watch over equipment while she retrieved paperwork from her office. She put her hand out with the palm facing me, and said, “Stay here.” I have used that same command on dogs.