“You do not see the river of mourning because it lacks one tear of your own.”
(Antonio Porchia)
Wildlife rehabilitation is rather seasonal work, and when its pace picks up, combined with an average, oft-intense 60-hour week day job, the days and nights begin to fly by so fast my head spins. This was one of those weeks. Though the day job work week was allegedly shorter due to the Labor Day holiday, nonetheless this morning I feel rather like a turtle poking its head out of its shell.
The list of closed-head injuries in residence increased on Tuesday morning when my subpermittee brought over a spring-born fox squirrel who was first taken in about a month ago, found after she’d been hit by a car. Though initial prognosis was guarded, she had been doing quite well in care, but now the young girl had suddenly crashed; the healing of her badly-injured brain appearing to have taken a very wrong turn.
There is nothing to do for these things except to supply supportive measures, unless the situation is so bad that euthanasia becomes the only kindness left. Try to get any seizures under control, provide intense nutritional therapy the body can utilize easily. And wait. Hoping that whatever is going on is able to resolve properly, hoping that if not, if quality of life disappears for good, the little patient is able to make her own choice about taking her leave without our help but making preparations for the worst nonetheless.
It is critical care. And it is intense. It is what we, as wildlife rehabilitators, do best. ‘Round-the-clock, 24/7 when necessary. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. But the wins or losses are not entirely of our own making. In truth, the element of partnership with the animal in our care holds larger sway over the outcome. We are but their opportunity, so to speak, and in the end it is entirely up to them whether or not they choose to embrace it.
At least that is how I see it.
On this cool, bright morning, the little girl squirrel is now relatively stable. Prognosis remains guarded, but at least I feel as if I have a chance to breathe, to look up and to think again. The other two closed-head injuries in residence have been coming along without issue; the little grey squirrel has made the most recovery and if she keeps it up, she’ll be spending the winter in a pre-release pen and find her Self climbing trees again next spring. Donny’s progress has not been as remarkable, but it is still too early to make any kind of call and he’s stable and actually happy enough so there is nothing to do except give him time.
But really, these three are not enough to have caused a whole week to seem to go missing. While certainly time-consuming, unfortunately and perhaps because when it rains, it really does pour, to our utter chagrin one of the youngsters in the second litter of flying squirrels died. And yesterday, without warning, just as they were about to go into a pre-release pen, the last male opossum of the litter of 5 died, too.
All together, it is more than enough to reduce anyone to tears, and there are many who would throw up their hands and quit. For it is all evidence of the skewing effects of human behaviors. Not just an article in a newspaper or magazine, not just a television documentary, but in-your-face, up-close-and-personal, unignorable, obvious evidence. The kind that makes me, at least, wonder just how we’re all going to be able to survive, let alone move towards regaining some semblance of balance?
And so dark thoughts on such a beautiful morning….
