NYT Mag article about goldfish vets

In the New York Times Sunday Magazine today (5/2) was an article
called "Fixing Nemo" about fish vets. The online version is at=20
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/05/02/magazine/02VETS.html
but you must register (free, but long form to fill) to access it.
It caught my eye at the *$ (Starbucks) today because the
cover come-on was something like "What do you do if your goldfish=20
has Swim Bladder Disorder."=20

Because I'm a Nice Guy=AE I've pasted the text below. =20
Probably illegal. So sue me. You'll get squat. :-)

Gunther

May 2, 2004
Fixing Nemo
By REBECCA SKLOOT

Dr. Helen Roberts was about to make the first incision in what should=20
have been a standard surgery -- a quick in-and-out procedure -- when she=20
froze. ''Bonnie,'' she said, turning to her anesthesiologist, ''is she=20
breathing? I don't see her breathing.'' Roberts's eyes darted around the=20
room. ''Grab the Doppler,'' she told her other assistant. ''I want to=20
hear her heart. Bonnie, how's she doing?'' Bonnie pushed up her purple=20
glasses, leaned over the surgery table and lowered her face inches from=20
the patient to watch for any signs of breath: nothing. ''She's too=20
deep,'' Roberts said, ''go ahead and give her 30 c.c.'s of fresh=20
water.'' Bonnie picked up an old plastic jug filled with pond water and=20
poured two glugs into the anesthesia machine. Seconds later, a whisper=20
of a heart rate came through the Doppler. Bonnie wasn't happy: ''We have=20
gill movement -- but not much.'' Then the Doppler went silent and she=20
reached for the jug. ''Wait,'' Roberts said. ''We have fin movement . .=20
.. damn, she's waking up -- 30 c.c.'s of anesthetic.'' Roberts sighed.=20
''She was holding her breath,'' she said, shaking her head. ''Fish are a=20
lot smarter than people give them credit for.''

Yes, Roberts and Bonita (Bonnie) Wulf were doing surgery on a goldfish.=20
Not the fancy kind that people buy for thousands of dollars and keep in=20
decorative ponds (though they do surgery on those too), but on a county-
fair goldfish named the Golden One, which Roberts adopted when its=20
previous owners brought it into her clinic outside Buffalo, saying they=20
didn't have time to take care of it. Which is to say, it's a regular=20
fish that could belong to anybody. Just like Lucky, the one-and-a-half-
pound koi with a two-and-a-half-pound tumor; Sunshine, who was impaled=20
on a branch during rough sex; Betta, with a fluid-filled abdomen; and=20
countless goldfish with so-called buoyancy disorders, like the=20
perpetually upside-down Belly Bob, or Raven, who was stuck floating nose=20
down and tail to the sky. All those fish went under the knife.

Ten years ago, the chances of finding a fish vet were slim. But true to=20
its history, veterinary medicine is steadily evolving to meet the=20
demands of pet owners. Through the early 1900's, vets treated livestock=20
mostly. You didn't treat cats and dogs -- you usually shot those. But by=20
the mid-50's, the world was in love with Rin Tin Tin and Lassie, and=20
people started thinking, I shouldn't have to shoot my dog. By the 70's,=20
dogs and cats could get human-quality medical care -- but treating=20
birds? That was insane. Instead, bird advice came from pet stores (and=20
birds died of a ''draft,'' a diagnosis akin to the vapors). Yet by the=20
80's, avian medicine had its own academic programs, a professional=20
society, at least one monthly magazine and a large clientele. Today we=20
have surgery for parakeets, organ transplantation for dogs and cats,=20
chemotherapy for gerbils. But people who want to take fish to the vet --=20
those people are still crazy. At least for the time being.

''I have no doubt fish medicine will become mainstream much like bird=20
medicine did in the 80's,'' said Dr. David Scarfe, assistant director of=20
scientific activities at the American Veterinary Medical Association.=20
''It's actually happening far more rapidly than I'd imagined.''=20
According to the A.V.M.A., almost 2,000 vets currently practice fish=20
medicine. That number is steadily growing, and the market seems solid:=20
13.9 million households have fish and spend several billions of dollars=20
annually on fish supplies alone -- tanks, water conditioners, food --=20
not including veterinary care or the fish themselves, which can cost as=20
much as $100,000, sometimes more.

Fish diagnostics range from a basic exam ($40), blood work ($60) and X-
rays ($55) to the advanced: ultrasound ($175), CAT scans ($250).=20
Veterinarians tube-feed fish. They give fish enemas, fix broken bones=20
with plates and screws, remove impacted eggs, treat scoliosis and even=20
do fish plastic surgery -- anything from glass-eye implantation to=20
''surgical pattern improvement,'' with scale transplantation, scale=20
tattooing or unsightly-scale removal.

But some of the most common and vexing fish ailments are buoyancy=20
disorders. They involve the swim bladder, an organ in the digestive=20
tract prone to infections, obstructions and defects that destroy a=20
fish's ability to regulate air, leaving it ''improperly buoyant,'' to=20
the point of floating or sinking in odd positions -- usually upside=20
down. Surgically inserting a tiny stone in the fish's abdomen to weigh=20
it down is the best option, but since that costs anywhere from $150 to=20
$1,500, depending on where and how it's done, many vets first recommend=20
green-pea treatment: ''Feeding affected goldfish a single green pea=20
(canned or cooked and lightly crushed) once daily might cure the=20
problem,'' Dr. Greg Lewbart wrote in a paper titled ''Green Peas for=20
Buoyancy Disorders.'' Lewbart is a top fish veterinarian, but even he=20
isn't sure how pea treatment works.

hen I tell people I'm writing about fish medicine, their reaction is=20
almost always the same: why not flush the sick fish and get a new one?=20
Actually, for several reasons. First, there are the money fish. ''I've=20
worked on several fish worth $30,000 to $50,000,'' Lewbart once told me.=20
These are the fancy koi that work fish shows for big prizes, then retire=20
to a life of reproduction. ''I examined one in Japan an owner turned=20
down $200,000 for,'' Lewbart says. That's what he calls a big fish.=20
''People will spend thousands to fix them.'' But not all koi are show=20
koi; many are what Lewbart calls U.P.F.'s: ugly pond fish.

Which brings us to the human-fish bond, and people who gasp if you=20
mention flushing because they swear their fish have personalities so big=20
they win hearts. I heard stories of Zeus, who weighed two pounds but=20
dominated the house cat by biting onto the cat's paw and yanking it=20
headfirst into the tank when it swatted the water. There was Sushi, the=20
''gregariously affectionate'' koi with recurring bacterial infections.=20
And Zoomer, the ''koi with a vendetta,'' who shot out of the water at=20
her owner, David Smothers, and broke his nose -- something his pet=20
Ladyfish never would have done. She'd just cuddle with him in the pond=20
and wiggle when he kissed her. David spent thousands trying to save=20
Ladyfish when lightning struck near his pond, creating a shock wave that=20
broke her back. He got X-rays, CAT scans, chiropractic adjustments and=20
spinal surgery, then spent weeks in the pond, gently holding Ladyfish's=20
tail during physical therapy. Nothing worked, and he still tears up when=20
he talks about it.

The human-fish-bond people don't understand the money-fish people.=20
''They don't even name their fish,'' Bonita Wulf says, sounding shocked.=20
The organizers of the Singapore International Fish Show just announced a=20
fish-adoption initiative, declaring that ''fish have their lives, and=20
they have feelings, too,'' so if fish don't win shows, it's ''more=20
humane to bring the fish up for adoption,'' rather than flushing them=20
down the toilet. Others train fish to fetch and dunk basketballs. ''Some=20
of fish personality might be a feeding response,'' says Dr. Julius=20
Tepper of the Long Island Fish Hospital, ''but so is a lot of what we=20
interpret as affection from cats.'' Sushi's owner doesn't buy that.=20
''You have to meet Sushi to understand,'' she told me. So I went with=20
Dr. Roberts to Marsha Chapman's house thinking, O.K., Sushi, show me=20
this personality of yours.

''Sushi's in here,'' Marsha said, leading me to the 6-foot-long, 150-
gallon tank in her family room. Marsha is a warm and motherly special-
education teacher in her 50's who looks you in the eye and sounds as if=20
she's talking to a room of second graders. ''Hi, baby,'' she cooed.=20
''How's Mama's girl?'' Sushi darted to the surface of the tank and=20
started splashing frantically. ''That's right, show us how you wag your=20
tail.'' And Sushi did (though a wagging fish tail looks just like a=20
swimming fish tail to me). ''She's just like a dog that way,'' Marsha=20
said. ''If I could hug her, I would.''

Aside from Sushi's size (two feet long), her looks are unimpressive.=20
Mostly white, a few orange spots, short nonflowing fins, trademark carp=20
whiskers. Lewbart would call her a U.P.F., though not around Marsha, who=20
reached in the tank and patted Sushi's head. ''Look who's here,=20
Sweetie,'' she said, ''Say hi to Rebecca.''

Sushi ignored me. But she did the ''basketball dance'' for Marsha,=20
swimming in place, face against the glass, jerking back and forth and up=20
and down. And Marsha did it right back. She put her red-lipstick-covered=20
lips an inch from the tank opposite Sushi's. She clenched her fists,=20
bent her elbows and knees, stuck out her butt and wiggled her body=20
violently while making loud kissing noises. The more Marsha danced, the=20
more Sushi danced. Then Roberts walked in the room saying, ''Isn't he=20
cute?'' and Sushi hid. ''Dr. Roberts thinks she might be a boy, but=20
Sushi is a girl's name.'' Marsha tapped the tank. ''Don't be afraid, Dr.=20
Roberts makes you better.''

Roberts is a petite ''warm fuzzy fish vet'' whose no-nonsense appearance=20
-- no makeup, a thick black plastic sports watch -- almost clashes with=20
the turquoise contacts that make her eyes beautifully inhuman. She=20
surrounds herself with pewter fish and glass fish; papier-mache, metal,=20
wood and stone fish; and of course, her pet fish: Splotch, Carrot,=20
Harrison, Ford and about 32 others, including B.O. (Big Orange), her=20
favorite. He's ''the dog of the pond'' in the many fish pictures in her=20
living room and office, or on her computer desktop. ''Come on, Sush,''=20
Roberts said. ''I'm your friend.''

I stared into Sushi's tank for hours. Marsha put the ''Twin Peaks''=20
theme song on repeat, and I thought, Fun fish. She was active and=20
sparkly, she swam back and forth, her muscles moving with the music in=20
slow melodic waves. It was mesmerizing. But to me she was more like a=20
Lava lamp than a pet. Then again, to her I was more like a piece of=20
furniture than a human. I didn't feel Sushi's personality -- I felt Dr.=20
Roberts's and Marsha's. When Sushi swam by, their eyes widened, they=20
smiled, touched the glass, said hello. When she turned, they said things=20
like ''Isn't he amazing?'' and ''She's so funny.''

They know people might say they're crazy. ''I don't care what people=20
think,'' Marsha said. ''I use my relationship with Sushi as a=20
springboard for teaching special-education students about affection for=20
unconventional people, like themselves.'' She stared into the tank, her=20
voice suddenly serious. ''It enlarges the world when you see how much=20
possibility there is for loving people and animals who aren't usually=20
given a chance.''


The Golden One finally stopped holding her breath, which meant Dr.=20
Roberts could actually spay her. Well, at least that was the plan. ''I'm=20
pretty sure she's a female,'' Roberts said, ''but it's always hard to=20
tell with fish. If she turns out to be a boy, it's no big deal. We'll=20
just neuter her.'' Roberts was born in England, raised in Italy and=20
Georgia; her accent is soft, slightly rural and completely=20
unidentifiable. ''Goldfish are the rabbits of the fish world,'' she said=20
when I asked why she was spaying her fish. ''I don't want to face the=20
ethical decision of what to do with all those babies.''

Aside from the human-quality surgical instruments and monitors, the=20
setup was 100 percent garden-supply sto one Rubbermaid tub full of=20
pond water and anesthetic, clear plastic tubing attached to a=20
submersible pump with duct tape. The Golden One lay on a plastic grate=20
above the tub, yellow foam pad keeping her upright, tube in her mouth=20
pumping anesthetic water from the tub, through her gills, then back=20
again. Like a recirculating fountain.

It's the same setup used in the first account of pet fish surgery I=20
could find, which was performed in 1993 and written about two years=20
later by Dr. Greg Lewbart at the College of Veterinary Medicine at North=20
Carolina State University. Lewbart, a professor of aquatic medicine, has=20
short brown hair, graying sideburns and a soft blanket of freckles --=20
like someone misted him with tan paint. ''I don't tell my clients,'' he=20
told me, hesitantly, ''but I got into fish as a fisherman.'' He couldn't=20
help laughing when he said this. ''It's undeniably weird: I sometimes=20
spend my weekends at the coast fishing.'' Then he paused. ''I do mostly=20
catch and release, but not always, and either way, it's unpleasant for=20
the animal: I take the hook out, traumatize the fish, then throw it back=20
in the water with a huge wound on its face or toss it into a cooler=20
where it flops around for a few minutes. Then I go into work Monday,=20
somebody brings in a goldfish, I console them, take their fish to=20
surgery, then put it on postoperative pain medication.''

Lewbart loves fish medicine -- he flies around the world teaching and=20
practicing it; he publishes scholarly articles and books on it. But he's=20
not all fish. ''My real love is marine invertebrates,'' he told me, like=20
snails, worms, horseshoe crabs. ''It's still a little down the road when=20
people are going to start bringing those guys to the vet. But I think=20
it'll happen in the same way fish medicine happened.''

Fish medicine actually dates to the 1800's, but it didn't start to catch=20
on until the 1970's and 80's, when scientists started publishing=20
research articles on everything from fish hormones and nutrition to=20
pondside operating tables. But that had nothing to do with pets. Until=20
Lewbart published his surgery paper, references to fish medicine came=20
from fisheries, marine biology and wildlife.

In the late 70's, a few obscure papers mentioned the burgeoning field of=20
pet fish; some even said vets should make the transition from=20
aquaculture to pets. But that didn't happen for more than a decade,=20
until koi exploded into a multimillion-dollar industry, the Internet=20
appeared and owners started typing ''fish veterinarian'' into search=20
engines. When they found research papers by vets like Lewbart, owners=20
started calling and e-mailing. ''I never thought of being a fish vet,''=20
said Dr. Tepper of the Long Island Fish Hospital. ''Then I got a call=20
from a guy wondering if I treated fish or knew someone who did. I said,=20
'No, actually, I don't.' Then I was like, Why didn't I think of this=20
earlier?''

Pet-fish medicine isn't exactly mainstream: many owners don't know fish=20
vets exist; others look but can't find them. The A.V.M.A. and several=20
vets are working on databases for referring clients, but they're not=20
available yet. Until then, Lewbart will keep fielding 400 to 500 calls=20
and e-mail messages a year from people with fish questions, and many=20
owners will take matters into their own hands. Just like Bonita Wulf,=20
who isn't an actual fish anesthesiologist; she's a fish hobbyist with a=20
gravelly smoker's voice and a very large gun collection. (As Dr. Roberts=20
says, you don't joke about flushing fish with a woman like Bonnie.) Wulf=20
talks to her fish and carries pictures of them in her purse. ''I've got=20
grandkids too,'' she says with a grin, ''but I only carry fish=20
pictures.'' She has taken more courses in fish health and medicine than=20
most veterinarians, and she started by Googling the word ''koi.''=20
Inevitably, that leads to KoiVet.com, an all-you-need-to-know-about-fish=20
site, and Aquamaniacs.net. Between the two, thousands of fish hobbyists=20
join message boards for moral support and immediate do-it-yourself help=20
during fish crises. They're starting to refer one another to fish vets,=20
though traditionally fish medicine is one of the few areas where pet=20
owners, as a rule, know more than veterinarians. But things have=20
changed: veterinary schools are starting to teach fish medicine.


I recently went to North Carolina to visit a seminar at one of the only=20
aquatic-medicine departments in the world, which Lewbart oversees. He=20
and his colleagues also run a one-week intensive fish-medicine course,=20
as well as the world's only aquatic-medicine residency. Their courses=20
are always full. On the first day of the seminar, eight vet students=20
from around the country learned to catch, anesthetize and transport=20
fish. They drew blood, took fin and scale samples, looked under=20
microscopes for parasites. They saw an underwater frog with a fluid-
retention problem, a turtle filled with rocks it wasn't supposed to eat.=20
The seminar is about 25 percent aquatic reptiles and 75 percent fish,=20
but the first day, there were no sick fish. And it was sunny out, so=20
Lewbart took everyone to Ben & Jerry's for a fish-medicine lecture. As=20
he sat in the sun wearing black plastic sunglasses -- ice cream in one=20
hand, fish book in the other -- Lewbart talked about fish cancer and=20
carp herpes. ''Are there any questions?'' he asked eventually. A student=20
from Pennsylvania raised his hand: ''Can a person make a living as a=20
fish vet?''

The answer is yes and no: despite hourly rates up to $100 for ''tank=20
calls,'' business would be tight for a full-time pet-fish vet right now.=20
Some successful pet-fish vets work in fisheries, public aquariums, zoos=20
or the tropical-fish industry; others supplement their practices with=20
teaching and research. But most pet-fish vets must treat other animals=20
too. ''Dogs and cats are the meat and potatoes,'' Roberts says. ''Fish=20
are the spice.'' That's likely to be true for a while. ''Fish medicine=20
is still a hobby,'' Tepper says. ''It costs me thousands of dollars a=20
year.'' He blames this in part on seasonality -- koi are dormant in=20
winter -- so he and others are encouraging preventive fish medicine.=20
That's what's unusual about the Golden One's surgery: she's perfectly=20
healthy. Spaying means Roberts won't have to face the ethical baby-
placement issue, but it's also a business move. ''If I can master=20
this,'' says Roberts, ''I can offer it to owners who say, 'I really love=20
this goldfish, I just don't want a thousand more.' ''

Fifteen minutes before the Golden One would be up and darting around her=20
pond looking for food, Dr. Roberts poked around in the fish's abdomen.=20
She told Wulf about her new video game, then stopped suddenly. ''Look at=20
that, Bonnie.'' Roberts pulled a long yellow gelatinous strand from the=20
Golden One's belly. ''That looks male, doesn't it?'' Bonnie nodded.=20
''Yep, Helen, that's male.'' Roberts laughed. ''How could you be male?=20
You look so female!''

''Don't spay that one,'' Bonnie said.

''O.K.,'' Roberts shot back, chipper as always. ''We'll neuter him.''=20
Then she turned to me and whispered: ''Fish medicine isn't an exact=20
science yet. But we're working on it.''

Rebecca Skloot lives in New York and writes frequently about science.=20
Her first book, ''The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks,'' will be=20
published by Crown next year.


Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company=20

"Gunther" wrote in message
t...
In the New York Times Sunday Magazine today (5/2) was an article
called "Fixing Nemo" about fish vets.

snip

Thanks, Gunther. I enjoyed reading that and wouldn't have seen it
otherwise.


--
Janie
http://www.janie-thomson.co.uk