[Click on the pictures to see larger versions with captions.]
Recently, a mother gorilla was shot and killed in the Parc National des Virungas in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). She had an infant between 2 and 3 months old. The park rangers, who work for the Institut Congolais pour la Conservation et la Nature (ICCN), found the baby still clinging to its dead mother. They brought it to the city of Goma to be hand-raised — meaning its chances of returning to the wild are remote and many years in the future. That is, if she survives, which is uncertain as of this writing.
We (MGVP) quickly helped set up a team and moved the infant to a house rented by the Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund International. Simon Childs, who works for that organization and coordinates our orphan facility in Rwanda, spent several days in Goma with the new orphan getting things organized; Andres, one of the ICCN park rangers, agreed to be the baby’s primary caretaker. As part of this cooperative effort, we took on the role of health care.
Everything went well at the start. The little gorilla immediately took to the bottle. But two days ago, she developed respiratory problems. By the next morning, she'd become too weak to drink her milk.
Ironically, Simon, along with most of the MGVP staff, was due in Kigali (Rwanda) for a long-planned meeting about creating homes for orphaned animals just like this infant. Instead of leaving for the meeting, one of our DRC-based vets, Dr. Eddy Kambale, stayed with the baby gorilla while the other, Dr. Jacques Iyanya, drove to our main office in Ruhengeri (an hour-and-a-half drive) to pick up medical supplies. He turned right around and headed back to Goma with our regional field vet, Dr. David Gardner-Roberts.
The gorilla was so small — only about 18 inches long and weighing five-and-a-half pounds. I didn't have much hope that she would survive, no matter what we did. If the infant had aspirated milk into her windpipe, she would die quickly of bacterial pneumonia.
The baby was given antibiotics and started on regular subcutaneous fluid therapy. Eddy also started her on a simple form of nebulization using a pot of steaming water infused with eucalyptus leaves. The vapor seemed to calm her. He planned to monitor her vital signs all night. Still in Ruhengeri, I searched the Internet for treatment options for infant pneumonia. The others went on to Kigali.
If she had a bacterial infection, I thought, she should have a fever by now. But she didn't. I began to think her problem was viral pneumonia, a severe respiratory infection not unlike the one that had killed Mugeni's baby (see Big Gorilla, Big Cough, Tracking a Patient).
Simon and David hurried back from Kigali, confessing that they'd been too concerned about the new orphan to get much out of the meeting. We left for Goma early the next morning, crossing the border from Rwanda to the DRC by 7:30 a.m. The tiny gorilla's condition was worse than I'd imagined. I could not hear any air moving through her lungs, only squeaks and pops in my stethoscope as she struggled to breathe. Her gums were pale gray, her mouth half-open, her body limp.
Curious about the nebulization, I watched as Andres, cuddling the gorilla, pulled a heavy blanket up and over his head to create a tent. I stuck my head underneath as well. The baby lay quietly in the darkness. The strong eucalyptus vapor indeed felt calming.
Before we left for Goma, I'd thought a lot about this tiny patient. Oxygen therapy might be her only chance. The first thing to do was check her blood-oxygen saturation. If it was low, we could try flowing fresh oxygen gas by her nose.
I attached an oxygen monitor using a sensor designed for human infants. It fit the baby's tiny thumb perfectly. At first, I couldn’t believe the numbers. Normal blood oxygen saturation is between 95 percent and 100 percent. The monitor read 40 percent to 50 percent. She shouldn't be alive. We opened up our emergency oxygen tank, placed the hose by her nose and turned the flow up to two liters per minute.
Within a few minutes, the monitor numbers increased: 75 percent, 80 percent and eventually 98 percent. The gorilla began to open her eyes and weakly move her head. She pursed her lips and yawned. Her gum color had turned from gray to pale pink. She made a tiny squeak. We discussed improvising an oxygen chamber for her, like the incubators used for human babies with breathing troubles. Maybe she could regain her strength enough to take in some milk and a few calories.
While David set up a second oxygen tank, Simon found a picnic-sized cooler and put a hot water bottle in the bottom and a foam pillow on top to make a bed for the gorilla. Andres placed the infant inside, laying her on her back. We ran the tubing from the oxygen tank into the cooler and made a cover using plastic wrap. We left the area over her head open to allow for fresh air.
Just as the monitor showed a stable set of readings, we realized that the second tank would soon run out and the third tank was empty, too. Evidently, the tank-filling machine in Kigali had broken down the last time someone tried to replenish the oxygen. David and Eddy grabbed the empty tanks and ran out the door. Maybe they could get them refilled in Goma.
We ran out of oxygen soon after they left. I watched the baby's numbers drop back down into the 50s. Her eyes rolled back into her head. A wave of horror hit me. Was I was going to sit here and watch this special creature die because we had no oxygen?
Twenty minutes later, David and Eddy returned — there was no oxygen in Goma, either. That didn't sound right to me. I told them to try again, somewhere else. The DRC is a big place; there are hospitals here. Back they went. When an animal's life is at stake, I don't take no for an answer.
Somehow the baby continued to hang on. Hypoxemia, a long period of time with low oxygen, can damage the internal organs and brain. Even if we saved her lungs, she might not be all there mentally or she could lose kidney function.
Then David called with exciting news. The DRC United Nations (MONUC) military doctors were offering their help: oxygen, an oxygen machine, a proper nebulizer and their own expertise.
Forty-five minutes later, two Indian doctors arrived with supplies — not only a tank of oxygen, but also an oxygenator machine. We set up the tank first. Within minutes on pure oxygen, the little gorilla's gums were pink once more. But the doctors explained that they receive only a dozen oxygen tanks every three months for the entire DRC; it would best if we could get the oxygenator machine running soon.
Just then, the power went off. David, Eddy and Simon dashed off again, this time to set up the generator. The generous doctors left, too, to find a special cable. While they were gone, the MONUC tank ran out of oxygen, though it had been in use for only about 20 minutes. I got back on the phone, calling and sending texts. Where was everyone? Was there another tank? An ambulance arrived with a new one minutes later. The gorilla pinked up again; she squeezed my fingers. Ugh — what a roller coaster of a day.
Was it wrong to be using a precious supply of oxygen on a mountain gorilla? I didn't know. I only knew we'd found a way to give this little one a chance to live, and I wasn't going to lose it.
To be continued . . .
[Rwanda, June 22, 2007. Pictures: Lucy Spelman/MGVP]
I read your story and have followed it in Gorilla Protection on the blogs of Wildlife Direct -- I want her to make it --
it has gotten US attention and world attention -- I hope if she makes it the world will know what it took!!!!!!!!
You are wonderful to do this!!!!!
Posted by: Wanda Harris | July 02, 2007 at 08:33 AM