The Christmas Snake

I suspect that not many people can claim that they get a Christmas card from a snake every year. I never would have thought it would happen either.

It began with a phone call one Christmas Eve morning. Because of the nature of my veterinary practice, a call from a frantic snake owner was not uncommon. You see, my hospital in Southern California specialized in “non-traditional” pets, the kind that slither, creep, fly, scratch, hoot, burrow or any combination thereof.

So, when the caller claimed that her snake could not crawl normally it did not strike me as odd. The fact that she was calling on the morning before Christmas was not surprising either - pets never schedule a convenient time to get sick. But, what was a bit unusual, was that she was calling from Texas.

Work wasn't busy so I took the call. Obviously there was not a lot I could do for her over the phone, but I could at least talk to her and perhaps give her some advice that may help. Sometimes just letting a person talk makes all the difference in the world.

It turns out that her snake had been sick for several weeks. It had been to two veterinarians that had tried treating it with various antibiotics, to no avail. She was afraid that her snake was going to die. She did not have any other pets, and her seven-year-old daughter only wanted one thing for Christmas - for Santa to make her snake better.

The woman described the snake's symptoms - unable to crawl, rolling over on its back, lolling of its head from side to side, and to top it off, it had not eaten in three months!

The lack of appetite did not bother me. Large constrictors can go as long as a year between meals in some situations. However, the other symptoms were more worrisome, actually, omninous.

I explained this to the owner, and apologized that there really wasn't anything that I could do for her or her snake over the phone. “What if I could get the snake to you?” she asked, almost pleading for me to do something.

Of course I could take a look, but, even if I did see the snake, judging by the symptoms that she was describing, the prognosis sounded grave. I told her that I was very sorry, and wished her the best before I hung up the phone.

The snake had belonged to her husband, she told me the story before I said goodbye. He was a cross-country trucker and would keep the snake in his cab, much the same way most truckers kept dogs in their trucks for company during the long hauls. Apparently the husband had fallen asleep at the wheel on his way home for the holidays, on Christmas Eve, the year before. The truck went off the road, crashing and killing him instantly. The highway patrol officers found the snake - alive - in the cab.

The snake was the link to their loved one - the husband and father. I felt badly for them. I wish there was something that I could do to help.

On Christmas morning, while the hospital was closed, the day nurse was alone in the hospital performing treatments. An incessant pounding at the door interrupted the Christmas carols playing on the AM radio in the ward. He called me at home.

“Dr. Mader - you need to come to the hospital right away.” My wife, an ICU nurse at the local human hospital, was working the holiday shift. I was home alone with my dog, a jet-black Chow Chow named Wok, sitting in front of the fire, drinking hot cider and making my way through a back log of journals.

Called in to work on Christmas morning - what difference did it make? “Sure, I'll come in.”

“We drove all night.” The woman's skin was pale, dark circles under her eyes. Her daughter, red pig-tails in a puffy, lime green, down jacket, was asleep on the couch in the reception area when I arrived. “We only stopped for gas and something to eat.”

The little girl's head was resting on the edge of a large burlap sack. Filling the bag was a motionless hump.

To my surprise, coiled up inside, was a cold, seemingly lifeless, very thin Reticulated python - nearly 18 feet long! I examined the snake from the flicking tongue to tip of the tail - all six yards of it. After I was finished, I took a blood sample and some x-rays. Reviewing all the information with the owner, I gave her the bad news.

“It looks like your pet snake most likely has a viral encephalitis - an infection in the brain.” This is a very serious condition, one that usually ends up with the pet being humanely euthanized.

“You have to do something, doctor. I drove out all the way from Texas.This is my Christmas present for my daughter.” As tears moistened her eyes, “this snake is her only memory of her father.”

I took the snake to the treatment area. With the help of my nurse, we placed an intravenous catheter in the snake's neck, started it on warm IV fluids, gave it food and vitamins through the veins, initiated antibiotics and antiviral drugs and placed it in a large incubator in order to warm its unresponsive body.

A couple of hours later I went back to the reception area to find both mom and daughter sound asleep on the couch. I woke them to give them an update, then offered to take them to dinner. Being Christmas, there wasn't much to choose from - so we celebrated the holiday at a Jack in the Box.

Sixty-three days later the mother and daughter made the return trip back from Texas to Southern California to pick up their pet snake. It had been off all medications for two weeks, and in the meantime had eaten two large meals. I felt confident that it was going to be okay. Since snakes can live for 25 - 30 years, so the little girl would have memories of her father for years to come.

Just to remind me, every year I get a Christmas card from mom, the little girl, and one very large snake.