I was in lab with my box of mice. We each receive four and they are either males or females. I chose males. We are encouraged to check on them each day and bring them treats or toys or something to enrich their existence. It also serves as a reward for them. They get handled and then they get treats and fun things to play with. When we first got them, they were wild little rascals, but now merely four weeks later they are much sweeter and used to being handled. We do scary things to them. Scary for us and a little scary for them. We had to put them under anesthesia last week and let me tell you my hands have never shaken more. I was so nervous. He was napping happily while I collected blood and (he) never felt a thing.
To recover them we roll them gently in bubble wrap (with their little noses sticking out) and set them on a warming pad. Sounds weird, but animals under anesthesia can't regulate their body heat and it's up to us to keep them warm. Once they are aware and are capable of righting themselves when you turn them on their side, they can go back to their cage mates. I was nervous about my little guy climbing out of the warming container so I put him in my lab coat pocket for awhile until he tried to climb out of it – then I knew he was ready to go back.
Let me tell you I was terrified while that animal was under anesthesia. This limp little guy you are responsible for: he can't move himself out of danger, he can't keep himself warm, and he can't blink and wet his eyes. You have to do all that for him. It was something else.
Our colony is sick. They have a debilitating disease that can cause hereditary bone issues. There have been losses associated with that disease. It also causes breathing trouble. My smallest mouse, the second week, went into a respiratory fit and I was sure I'd lost him. Panicked, I called over my teacher who took the mouse from me.
My teacher is a very tall man with blunt, wide fingers. He handled that tiny, tiny mouse with such care and he talked to me in such a soothing voice. He asked me what I'd done, gently. I told him the truth: I'd given the mouse an injection of sub-q fluids and nothing more. I was just restraining him when he went limp. My teacher, holding that limp mouse in the palm of his hands, gave the tiniest chest compressions I'll ever see.
I strive to be as compassionate and gentle as that man was every day.
Just when I'd given up hope, the little guy sat right up, a little wobbly, but just fine. He still is fine, healthy and thriving!
Photo used under the creative commons license on Flickr.
Until next time,
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