Yes! I’m very fortunate to know several members of Kimalu’s team (which included 17 veterinarians in addition to their invaluable support staff*) and Kimalu herself! She’s a very sweet, very personable girl, and it was heartbreaking to hear she wasn’t doing well. For those unfamiliar with the case, Kimalu developed subcutaneous cysts around her blowhole that were causing her noticeable discomfort. It was determined that surgery was the best option for providing her relief.

The surgery itself was groundbreaking, but what’s even more miraculous is the anesthesia. General anesthesia was once considered impossible in cetaceans, due to their size and incredibly unique anatomy and physiology. For example, just intubating them requires manually dislocating the “goosebeak” (modified larynx that transects the esophagus) to allow for access to the trachea. That’s also why they can’t breathe through their mouth! Furthermore, they are voluntary breathers, and must be ventilated until conscious enough to breathe on their own again.

While general anesthesia has now been performed successfully a handful of times in smaller cetaceans, it had never been done in a beluga. In fact, Kimalu was only the second beluga in which anesthesia had even been attempted—and now, she is the first ever beluga to have woken up!

This is a gamechanger for belugas in human care (and maybe, somewhere down the road, in the wild). Now that we know surgery and anesthesia can be performed successfully, the scope of care we can provide them just got a whole lot wider. This is only the first step, but it’s a monumental one. And it goes to show the remarkable care zoos and aquariums provide their animals, as well as the contributions they make to scientific advancement.

You can read the full press release here:

Here are some pictures provided by Shedd, including Kimalu’s CT images:

*The veterinary team at Shedd Aquarium was joined by experts from Colorado State University, Innovative Veterinary Medicine, the Veterinary Specialty Center, Brookfield Zoo Chicago, SeaWorld, North Carolina State University, ZooRadOne, Indianapolis Zoo, University of Illinois College of Veterinary Medicine and Zoological Pathology Program, and Arthrex Vet Systems.

Thank you to these heroes!

My lovely Sleepy-Pet....

Huckleabbot and post-wisdom teeth removal anesthesia anyone? 🦷💤

Dennis didn’t really… go to the dentist growing up. His parents were serial about brushing every morning and night, flossing every day, and using mouthwash. He grew up with fine teeth—one of the few of his brothers to not have a wicked crossbite. He just never went to the dentist.

Dennis’ wisdom teeth came in when he was eighteen, and his teeth stopped being fine. They grew cramped, his bottom teeth in particular getting snug enough that he could barely get a string of flows through. But as a freshman in college he still didn’t have dentist money. Twenty, twenty-one, and twenty-two passed without any serious issues related to his wisdom teeth, and he got used to working around them. He did medical school and started his residency, used to his teeth.

And then his teeth started hurting. It was subtle, at first. A little tightness in his jaw when he woke up. A mild ache when he’d spoken a lot in one day. A sudden increase in liquid spilling from his mouth whenever he drank without a straw.

Abbot noticed, because Abbot noticed everything.

Dennis didn’t know exactly what was happening between him and Jack. There was no label to it, so far. Dennis got switched over to night shift the last two months of Robby’s sabbatical, and between the craziness of the hospital in the evening, and the gnawing loneliness of being on the opposite schedule of Trinity, Dennis found some level of socialization in Jack.

It started with talking during the shifts, and moved on to breakfast at Waffle House afterwards, and Jack driving him home. It was the eighth time in two weeks that they were together, and when Jack dropped Dennis off at his apartment, he leaned across the seat of his truck to press a kiss to his lips. Dennis froze, then, one hand on the door handle and the other on his bag, before he surged back to meet Jack again, practically falling over the console. Something twinged painfully in his jaw when he did it, but he didn’t care, his focus entirely on the way Jack’s arms wound around him, holding him close, wanting.

And then he started sleeping at Jack’s, among other things he also did at the older man’s home.

One mid-afternoon, Dennis and Jack didn’t have work, and had woken up late. Dennis meandered into the bathroom while Jack went to make them food. Dennis borrowed Jack’s toothbrush, running the bristles under the water before adding a dollop of toothpaste, and began to scrub at his teeth. A searing strike of pain so obtrusive and shocking keeled him over, his hand gripping his jaw tightly, eyes squeezed shut as it emanated through him. Jack found him swishing his mouth, grimacing, eyes brimming with tears.

So, he and Jack weren’t dating. They were just fucking, getting food together, and working at the same establishment. But Dennis was on Jack’s insurance, and Jack was paying to get Dennis’ wisdom teeth removed. None of it made any sense—regardless, that’s how he ended up here, gauze packed thickly into his mouth as the orthodontic surgery nurses helped him into Jack’s truck.

“He’s been very brave,” one of the nurses nodded emphatically as Jack leaned over the seat to buckle a gooey, droopy Dennis into the passenger seat. “Lots of our older patients get pretty emotional after. I think he just needs a nice nap!”

The nurses and Jack chuckled, and Dennis deflated into the seat, tired eyes slipping shut.

“Yeah, he’s a good kid,” Jack smiled at them, “thanks for all your help.”

The door shut, and Dennis was alone with Jack, about to be staying at the older man’s place for the first while of recovery before he’d get carted back to his and Trinity’s apartment. Jack’s hand came down on Dennis’ thigh, gently squeezing, as he began the drive home.

Dennis was delirious. The words flowed from his mouth before he could stop them.

“‘Dey thought ya were my dad, Jack.”

“Did they?” Jack laughed, and drummed his fingers against Dennis’ knee. “Maybe it’s cause of my grey hair.”

“Y’could be,” Dennis breathed, and slouched further, knees spreading further apart haphazardly, “if you’d had m’when you were, uhm,” Dennis’ jaw ticked, the gauze soaking up the blood, “twenty two?”

Jack’s hand slid away from Dennis’ thigh, moving instead to curl around the back of his neck. Dennis sighed, leaning into the touch.

“I could be, yeah. I don’t mind that, though.”

There was something smug in Jack’s voice. A little pleased. It flew over Dennis’ head, the warmth of Jack’s hand perfectly distracting. A laugh tumbled from Dennis’ mouth, garbled, muffled.

“I like it.” Dennis admitted, free, easy. Jack’s hand massaged his neck more firmly, thumb rubbing at the side with the perfect sort of pressure.

“Y’know what?” Jack hummed, and turned the music up with a button on the steering wheel, “I think I like it too, baby.” He glanced over to Dennis. “And I like you.”

“Y’do?” Dennis glanced over. “For real?”

“For real,” Jack grinned softly. “I’ll ask you out when you’re coherent, sweetheart.”

“Awesome,” Dennis nodded, “boyf’rend.”

“Boyfriends,” Jack confirmed.

The first sense that come to you is sound. As you become aware the soft sounds lulling you into a peaceful bliss, as if the sound of wheels over tile floor was the calm of ocean waves. With time the sound develops more clarity, the clanks of the moment of the gurney feeling sharper. You can hear people speaking, although still unaware of how many or what they are saying. Not bothered to try to decipher any of it. You could feel you were moving, the gurney slowing or rounding corners here and there. It seems your mind is beginning to come back to you at the same time as your sight does. As you squint to open your eyes you’re greeted by the aggressive brightness of fluorescent lights flashing above as you pass beneath them. You resort to closing your eyes again but the damage is already done.

“Subject 42 has awoken.” Someone announces as you feel a hand briefly squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. You can feel the glove sticking slightly to your clammy skin as it pulls away. This is when you realize your lack of a shirt, or gown. With what feels like extraordinary effort you open your eyes again and manage to tilt your head slightly to look each way. You can see at least four or five people surrounding you, walking your gurney down a long corridor before the gloved hands of someone at the head of the bed firmly moves your head back to center, shining a light in each eye. It’s hard to gather your thoughts but you think back, can you remember being in any accident? I must be in the hospital obviously, you think. You become aware of the rising beeping of what you can only assume is a heart rate monitor. The hands above you lightly tapping one of your cheeks trying to rouse your full attention. “Take some deep breaths for me. We are almost there.” At this point you finally find the focus to make eye contact with the stranger above you, whose face was mostly obscured by a surgical mask. You do your best to suck in a shakey breath as you burst through a set of double doors. Before you can comprehend what’s happening you’re being lifted and positioned on an operating table by 4 or so masked figures in scrubs. Each arm is stretched out and secured in place before you can begin to think of resisting, the table moves some, and your legs are secured too, albeit in a much more compromising position. Looking down you see your naked body, adorned by a multitude of wires and sensors across your chest and abdomen, you’re not normally shaved bare like this either. You feel movement on one side and look to the left where you see someone pulsing a large syringe into an IV port already in place.

You don’t get to watch for long before your head is being tilted up and back as a mask comes down over your mouth and nose, held firmly in place by strong hands. “You need to calm down, 42, you’ve been through this before. Slow deep breaths. Just let the medicine do its job.” The man spoke in a reassuring tone but nothing he said did anything to ease your rising panic, if anything he added to it. But you didn’t have long to let your thoughts snowball, forseeing your panic the anesthetist had already begun squeezing the rebreather bag, slowly and steadily filling you with whatever plasticly smelling gas was coming through the mask. Just a couple breaths in you’re feeling light and detached. You’re still confused, sure, but no longer feeling the rush to act. You are just a passive passenger in your body, you didn’t know what the many hands touching you were doing but it was none of your concern. You were just along for the ride.

You lost your sense of time long before gaining consciousness in the hallway, unsure and unbothered by how long you’d been breathing in the sweet gas, until now you’re feeling something new, the heavy detached feeling had transformed into something different, you felt very present. Hyper aware of every sensation. You could feel the pull of the sticky pads on your chest and stomach, the wires brushing against your skin with each breath. The air felt so much colder against your exposed genitals, was that wetness?…Oh god, what is that heat building! A groan escapes your lips that I’m not even sure you were aware of as you try to arch your back and wither in your restraints, unable to get far. It all builds so fast! You had no knowledge of how desperately you needed to be touched until you felt the researcher’s gloved hand graze your labia, causing a visible shudder. You started to wonder again what was happening but before your thoughts could progress you were seeing stars…

The lead researcher, sat between your legs fully inserted two fingers into your aching hole. Clenching down, back arching, a moan more animal than human erupted from behind the mask held to your face. You try to comprehend the white hot sensation stemming from your groin as the fingers curl to massage your G-spot momentarily before withdrawing. Leaving you with an aching need you’ve never known before. “Yup, the subject is ready to proceed”

Hospital Boy

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Just relax, think about something nice...

Always A Willing Volunteer part 1

Mid-afternoon was my appointment time at the clinic, and I arrived promptly. As requested in the invitation letter, I’d fasted for 24hrs and was feeling somewhat light-headed, adding to the feeling of anticipation at receiving the invitation 2 days before. The questionnaire for the clinic, filled out a couple of weeks before, had been long and some questions were difficult to answer truthfully, but I’d been honest and clear about my reasons for volunteering, revealing thoughts no one else knew. My secret medfet fantasies had been laid bare.

Reception is a clean clear area, and the receptionist took my name and me asked to wait.

After some time, a nurse entered through a large swing door. After confirming my identity, she writes out an identity bracelet, which she snaps onto my wrist. “I’ll take you to your room and we’ll start the intake process, follow me”

She led me through the door and down a couple of corridors, past a number of rooms in which I can glimpse other patients lying in bed, most asleep or unconscious. She is moving at pace, and I couldn’t dawdle to look in properly. “People asleep in clinic, nothing unusual in that” I thought She stopped and opened a room door. “This is your room for tonight. You can put your bag in that cabinet beside the bed. Please undress fully and change into the gown and settle yourself on the bed. I’ll be back shortly”. The bed is comfortable, a large adjustable hospital bed. After she leaves and closes the door, I quickly undress and put on the gown, a standard open back one, which I’m unable to reach and do up. Laying down I tuck the gown under me as best I can and pull the cover up.

The nurse returns with another orderly. They are holding a small metal tray on which lay some meds.  “Now whilst you haven’t eaten for some time, we need to ensure you’re empty, please swallow this and in a little while you’ll need to use the toilet, it’s through that door”, she indicates to the left. “My colleague will stay with you”

She hands me a beaker, and I swallow the liquid; there wasn’t any real taste, but it was a little thicker than water. I lay back on the bed and tried to relax, chatting idly with the orderly about weather and the news. Sure enough, I soon have an overwhelming urge to use the toilet. I almost ran through, sphincter twitching, followed by the orderly, who stood at the door, and emptied my bowels in a most rapid fashion. Phew! The orderly helps me clean up, noting the toilet contents before flushing. The orderly did up the gown ties and gave me some disposable underwear. Soft yet crinkly, and odd combination.  

After the toilet episode, I felt very empty and tired, and sat heavily on the bed. The orderly says “Time to rest up for tomorrow. I’ll give you a little something to help you rest well”, reaching for a syringe form the tray, and swiftly injecting me before I could protest. I was helped to lie back down and the covers pulled up. Soon I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I was woken by a nurse and orderly with a wheelchair entering the room. “I trust you rested well. We have one or two prep steps, and then we can take you through, the doctor is ready for you”. She helped me pull on tight compression stockings and asked me to remove the underwear. A surgical cap is placed on your head.

“Would you like to walk, or ride? Its not far”. Choosing to walk I followed her, the orderly behind with the chair. She opens the door to a small room with double doors at the other end. In the middle of the room is a gurney, and a trolley sits to the side. Waiting at the head of the bed are two masked people, wearing surgical scrubs, one in blue and the other in green, both have blue gloves on.

“Ah, excellent, let’s get started, could you sit up in the middle of the bed.” The nurse helped me up and then left me with the 2 new people. The one in blue came and stood in front of me.

“I’m Doctor Hal, I’ll be your anaesthetist, this is Anita who will be assisting me”. Your heart skips a beat – anaesthesia!! That had been part of the questions you’d answered so truthfully.

“Thank you for being part of this process, the answers you gave on the questionnaire made you an ideal candidate for this trial, and you will help advance medical treatment for others”. Behind me, Anita loosened the gown ties.  

“We’re going to take you through anaesthesia in a way that takes some time, to allow us to measure your responses and record how much you can tolerate and when. I’ll be fully in control, and your total care is assured. Just relax, follow my instructions and let us do the process”

Reaching for a mouthpiece from the trolley, which has a cable hanging from it to a meter, he says “We’ll take some calibration measurements of your breathing, Open your mouth, I’ll put this in” The mouthpiece is like a scuba divers, as I close my mouth two pieces that keep my teeth slightly apart, and my lips close around the central tube, a shield against your teeth.

“Take some nice deep breaths, as deep as you can go, nice and slowly”. You do as asked, expanding your chest and diaphragm as far you comfortably can, 3 times. Doctor Hal watches the meter. “Be sure to fully exhale, couple more times please” and then there a beep from the machine. “Thank you, we have your numbers ready to calibrate the anaesthesia machine.” Removing the mouthpiece, he asks, “keep your mouth open wide” and suddenly sprayed something into my mouth and throat. It tastes metallic, and soon made my throat felt different, almost numb “This will help you tolerate a later step”

“Note no cough response” he says to the nurse, quietly

Whilst this was going on, Anita had put a blood pressure cuff on my left arm and taken a reading. She left the cuff on. “we’ll put some sensors on your chest and belly” she says, reaching into my gown from the side and top, her gloved fingers tracing and finding points across your chest and abdomen, placing stick pads.

“Now could you lie back please, and we’ll go through to the OR”. The nurse helped me swing my legs up and lie back, its hard and somewhat unyielding. The nurse pressed a button and 2 people came in, taking the brakes off the gurney and pushing it through the double doors, into a brightly lit room. I tried to look around but can’t see much, except the table and the anaesthsia machine.  They stopped next to the table. “Scoot across please” and I slid across onto the table. A round pillow was put under my head, lifting my head and extending your neck a little uncomfortably. A cover was placed over my body, but my legs were left bare.

Anita is joined by another nurse. They reach under the gown with a bundle of wires and connect the pads. The beeping of my heart beat suddenly filled the room. My arms were stretched out to the side on boards, gently strapped into place by Velcro. The BP cuff was attached to some tubes and inflated automatically, tight and crinkly. A pulse ox was clipped to left index finger.

 “Your BP and heart rate are a little high, so we’ll wait a moment so you can adjust to the room, just relax and breath slowly and deeply” Through the journey down the corridor and into the OR ante room, I’d been feeling pleasure and excitement building, but now I’m here I am suddenly not so sure and the machine betrayed my heightened state. “I wanted to be here” I tell myself and try to relax and calm down.

A few moments later, the doctor loomed over me. “We’ll begin now” in his hand above my face, he held a mask, clear plastic with a blue rim. “I’m going to put this on to your face, just breath normally” he lowered the mask ever so slowly, settled it on my face, and then did up some straps of a harness I didn’t know was under my head. The tightening straps squeezed it onto my face, and I felt joyful at the sensation. Reaching for the anaesthesia machine, he adjusted something and cool gas wafts into the mask, and I hesitantly breath it in, trying mouth first then nose. The smell is faintly plastic, faintly rubber, and I really liked it. I settled on breathing through my nose. “Deeply and slowly”, Doctor Hal said “its oxygen only at the moment, we’ll let that saturate you for a couple of minutes. The team will continue to prepare you for the procedure”

I lay, staring up at the ceiling tiles, concentrating on my breathing and the smell. The beeping from the monitors had settled and I felt quite euphoric. Each breath made me want to settle, relax, further into the table, the oxygen making me feel lightheaded and dreamy.

Doctor Hal attaches 2 sticky sensor patches, one to your forehead and one to your temple. “This is to monitor the depth of your anaesthesia”

Gloved hands have been softly touching me as the rest of the team prepared, tucking the cover in, and lifting my legs into some stirrups, pulling the gown up as they did before draping some cloth over my now exposed groin. My heart rate jumped as I felt exposed and the sudden monitor noise made me feel scared that they’ll realise how you are feeling.

“Its okay to feel a little scared, this is all part of the process to prepare you for your stay. we’ll help you relax” Doctor Hal says, looking down at me. He reaches again for the machine, and a couple of seconds later the gas changes, more chemically but again not unpleasant. “This is some nitrous oxide, you won’t find it unpleasant.  It will help you relax and feel more at ease as we continue preparing you”

He moved around to my left side, and as the BP cuff inflates again, he taps my arm to find a vein. Once found, he swiftly inserts a canula. The nitrous is already having effect and I didn’t really notice a pain, just the pressure of the needle going in. Some tape strips are stuck around it, and the Velcro strap on that arm done up tight. “Some additional straps are required for your safety” he says, as the nurses pass straps over my abdomen and chest, doing them up firmly. “My safety?”  I thought, your heart rate again climbing.

The doctor attaches a multi-port device to the canula and starts a drip. You soon can feel the cool fluid entering your vein. “No turning back” I think to myself.

Coming back to the head of the table, Doctor Hal looked down at me, put both hands on my cheeks. “Now we start the real fun part of the process! I’m going to take over breathing for you over the next few minutes. This will be gradual and I’ll be in complete control. Relax, let me do my job, and you will be just fine. We know this is something you will enjoy, your questionnaire betrayed your medfet tendencies, and we love people like that as you’re so easy to control” I swallowed hard, embarrassed at this being said out loud to everyone in the theatre, but I knew the Doctor was right – medfet was the only reason I was there.

Anita came round to my left side, standing by the canula port. “Anita will give you some meds, and I will be increasing the gases I give you. Concentrate on slow deep breathing”

The first injection is pushed, calming my mind quickly, defocusing me form what was happening around me. I tried to concentrate on my breathing, feeling unsure how to feel about the sense of detachment. Doctor Hal took a gentle grip of the mask stem, and released the straps, before gripping the mask more firmly, wrapping his fingers round mask and under the chin line, pulling my head back so I feel I’m looking at his chest.

“The next injection will start the process to transition you to breathing on the machine, a key part of the tolerance test. Please don’t worry I have complete control and will manage you fully. As the injection takes effect, I will use this bag to ventilate you before intubation.”

I tried to digest that, to think about how this could feel, as the nurse pushed the med. A warm feeling disperses through my body, as the drug works it way through, and my body felt very heavy. After a few seconds I realised my breathing was getting shallow, that my diaphragm was ineffective. I try not to panic, the first med doing its job of keeping me calm, as Doctor Hal squeezes his bag a couple of times, pushing gases into your lungs, gently but strongly “breathing” for me, to his rhythm. He promised me his control - and now he has it.

He released the grip on the mask and took something from a tray I did not even know was on my chest. “Now, I’m going to insert this LMA, try to swallow if you can” The nurse’s fingers pull my mouth open, pulling on my chin, and the Doctor’s fingers are in my mouth, moving my tongue to the side, then passing the LMA into you mouth and upper throat, squeaking as it goes in. Attaching a syringe of air, he inflates the cuff, a very odd feeling inside my body.

Swiftly the hoses are taken from the mask, attached to the LMA and the anaesthesia machine switched on to ventilate. A breath is pushed in, and another. I truly had no feeling of helping this at all, now totally dependent on the machine.

Doctor Hal looked at the machine, taking in the monitoring, then looked down at me, saying “Well done, you tolerated that with almost no gag response. We can see your tidal volume and CO2 are good, the tube is well placed, and the machine is now ventilating you”. He secured the tube with some tape.

“We will continue our preparations for the next stage. The muscle relaxing will ease in a while, but you will be unconscious by then”

I should feel scared, but I don’t. The Doctor’s easy manner, and trust in my reaction to the process, along with my long wish to experience this, make it all feel normal and acceptable. I mentally “settle in” to being fully managed. At the end of the table, catheters are being inserted into my urethra and anus, to manage your waste products. Like the canula, I was numb to any pain from this but felt the push as each lubricated tube is inserted and secured.

“Looks like someone enjoyed that”, is the embarrassing call from the nurse doing the catheters. My body betrayed me at the last! I blush, instinctively trying to move my hands to cover my face, but of course they are not doing anything – the meds and the straps double deny me.

The rhythm of the ventilator, causing my chest to rise and fall, expand and contract, is metronomic and relaxing. I ponder this state, how long it can go on for. As my mind wanders, my legs are moved from the stirrups and place gently together back on the table, slightly apart to protect the catheters.

“Ok, we’re ready to put you under now, for the duration of your stay” and he again reaches for the anaesthesia machine, introducing a strong dose of sevoflurane to the gases.

Duration of my stay? I thought this was a single process! This thought races though my head as I start to feel a blackness come over me and I sink even further into the table. Some lube is squirted into my eyes and they are taped shut.

“Move them to stage 2 please” is the last thing I heard, before nothingness fully took over