Hen Surgery
My Mother was trained at Peter Bent Brigham hospital in Boston Massachusetts as a nurse. That was back when there were no LPNs, and RNs did the bedside nursing. Mother never got to practice her skills.
She had only dated one boy in high school and that was just for the senior prom. She went right from high school. a straight A student, only child of an over-protective mother, to the student nurse's dormitory. She had weekends free to go home and there was this boy she knew, the handsome guy who was an engineering student at Northeastern U, who rode an Indian motorcycle. He also lived in her home town and offered her a ride on the bike home on weekends. They married. I arrived a year and a half into their marriage. Dad was "old school". The wives did not work outside the home.
Mother would probably have become a surgical nurse had she stayed with her career. She loved surgery.
As it turned out, it was lucky for many crop-bound hens that Mother was who she was and where she was at the time. Otherwise those hens would most likely have found themselves simmering in the stew pot
instead of running around pecking at bugs and laying the occasional egg.
I think I was about 8 years old when my mother, perhaps hoping to instill her love of surgery in her eldest
daughter, took me with her to the barn where she performed her operations. She carried a stainless steel cooking bowl filled with a carpet needle, carpet sewing thread, a razor blade, manicure scissors 3 small stones, and a soup spoon, all covered by a couple of linen dish towels. I was given a can of ether--you could buy it in the drugstore then---a large ball of cotton, a small jar of Vick's Vapor Rub and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. In the garage there was a large wooden chest which my father had built to hold the feed for the animals. It had a flat wooden surface about waist high to Mother. After laying the items on the chest top which she had already washed and dried, the two of us went to the hen house. All the hens were busy doing hen things- a couple were in the nest box working on laying the daily egg. One hen sat alone in the corner. Her head was down on her chest, which had a huge lump where her crop would be. Mother gently lifted the biddy who just lay limply in her arms, carrying her back to the garage. Once in the garage, Mother plucked the feathers from over the bump in the hen's chest. The bare tan skin looked kind of pimply. The hen squirmed a bit when this was being done. Mother was quick about it. Then she soaked the cotton ball with some ether from the can. The ether smelled very sweet and for a moment I felt a bit dizzy. She placed the ball over the hen's beak where her nasal openings were. Rapidly the hen relaxed and fell over onto the chest top.
Mother handed me the wet cotton. "Hold it away from your face - when the hen begins to wiggle, give
her a few quick sniffs again", she said. My first stint at being an anesthesiologist! Mother swabbed the bare area on the hen with the alcohol. Then taking up the razor blade, she slit through the pale skin to
reveal a sac lined with a tough white skin and filled to the stretching point with undigested corn and
other coarse material. Now she took up the spoon with which she carefully scraped out the contenst of the sac. OOPS--hen is kicking one foot a bit. Give her another sniff. And I did. Removing the cotton ball the instant the foot went limp. Now Mother placed three small stones which she had cleaned and boiled into the sac. Threading the coarse black thread through the curved carpet needle, Mother began to stitch up the hen. When she was finished she dabbed some iodine over the stitched area. Then she drew a line of Vicks around the wound and all over the bare area on the hen's chest. The hen was now waking up. Maybe the smell of the Vick's helped to rouse her. Mother kept her in a small cage overnight. The next day she released her back to the flock. The other hens looked at her briefly; however, they left her alone. That was the purpose of the Vicks. The odor would keep the other hens from attacking her, which is what hens do when a fellow hen is ailing. She recovered well and after a time, began laying her daily egg.
Mother did many of these little surgeries over the years, likely saving many hens from an early demise.
I had had my first taste of surgery. I fell in love with it instantly. From that day forward I knew I wanted to be a veterinarian. (Of course that was not quite what Mother intended by this lesson. She naturally wanted to see this daughter become a nurse!)
She had only dated one boy in high school and that was just for the senior prom. She went right from high school. a straight A student, only child of an over-protective mother, to the student nurse's dormitory. She had weekends free to go home and there was this boy she knew, the handsome guy who was an engineering student at Northeastern U, who rode an Indian motorcycle. He also lived in her home town and offered her a ride on the bike home on weekends. They married. I arrived a year and a half into their marriage. Dad was "old school". The wives did not work outside the home.
Mother would probably have become a surgical nurse had she stayed with her career. She loved surgery.
As it turned out, it was lucky for many crop-bound hens that Mother was who she was and where she was at the time. Otherwise those hens would most likely have found themselves simmering in the stew pot
instead of running around pecking at bugs and laying the occasional egg.
I think I was about 8 years old when my mother, perhaps hoping to instill her love of surgery in her eldest
daughter, took me with her to the barn where she performed her operations. She carried a stainless steel cooking bowl filled with a carpet needle, carpet sewing thread, a razor blade, manicure scissors 3 small stones, and a soup spoon, all covered by a couple of linen dish towels. I was given a can of ether--you could buy it in the drugstore then---a large ball of cotton, a small jar of Vick's Vapor Rub and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. In the garage there was a large wooden chest which my father had built to hold the feed for the animals. It had a flat wooden surface about waist high to Mother. After laying the items on the chest top which she had already washed and dried, the two of us went to the hen house. All the hens were busy doing hen things- a couple were in the nest box working on laying the daily egg. One hen sat alone in the corner. Her head was down on her chest, which had a huge lump where her crop would be. Mother gently lifted the biddy who just lay limply in her arms, carrying her back to the garage. Once in the garage, Mother plucked the feathers from over the bump in the hen's chest. The bare tan skin looked kind of pimply. The hen squirmed a bit when this was being done. Mother was quick about it. Then she soaked the cotton ball with some ether from the can. The ether smelled very sweet and for a moment I felt a bit dizzy. She placed the ball over the hen's beak where her nasal openings were. Rapidly the hen relaxed and fell over onto the chest top.
Mother handed me the wet cotton. "Hold it away from your face - when the hen begins to wiggle, give
her a few quick sniffs again", she said. My first stint at being an anesthesiologist! Mother swabbed the bare area on the hen with the alcohol. Then taking up the razor blade, she slit through the pale skin to
reveal a sac lined with a tough white skin and filled to the stretching point with undigested corn and
other coarse material. Now she took up the spoon with which she carefully scraped out the contenst of the sac. OOPS--hen is kicking one foot a bit. Give her another sniff. And I did. Removing the cotton ball the instant the foot went limp. Now Mother placed three small stones which she had cleaned and boiled into the sac. Threading the coarse black thread through the curved carpet needle, Mother began to stitch up the hen. When she was finished she dabbed some iodine over the stitched area. Then she drew a line of Vicks around the wound and all over the bare area on the hen's chest. The hen was now waking up. Maybe the smell of the Vick's helped to rouse her. Mother kept her in a small cage overnight. The next day she released her back to the flock. The other hens looked at her briefly; however, they left her alone. That was the purpose of the Vicks. The odor would keep the other hens from attacking her, which is what hens do when a fellow hen is ailing. She recovered well and after a time, began laying her daily egg.
Mother did many of these little surgeries over the years, likely saving many hens from an early demise.
I had had my first taste of surgery. I fell in love with it instantly. From that day forward I knew I wanted to be a veterinarian. (Of course that was not quite what Mother intended by this lesson. She naturally wanted to see this daughter become a nurse!)
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