Treating Lily – Our Sick Chicken: Out of My Comfort Zone

“Mom, something is wrong with Lily.”

I remember my daughter notifying me about Lily, one of our Easter Egger chickens, last week. Unfortunately, I had brushed it off at that moment.

Last fall we lost one of our friendly chickens, Jazzy, to some sort of illness. One day she was breathing funny – the next morning she had passed. The kids said they had noticed Jazzy acting funny for the past two-to-three days, but hadn’t told my husband or me, so we asked them to let us know as soon as they notice something amiss with any of the chickens.

The kids listened.

Since Jazzy’s death, the kids have notified me of many problems with the chickens. This is great, except many of these problems haven’t been problems at all. I would follow the kids outside just to see the ailing chicken pecking happily at the grass, or sunning herself next to coop. These moments led to a The Boy Who Cried Wolf frame-of-mind for me. This is why my daughter’s warning about Lily went in one ear and out the other last week.

I was watching the chickens peck at the ground under the sugar maple tree the day after my daughter had notified me of Lily’s condition, and I noticed one of the chickens standing very upright – it was Lily. Three other hens were foraging for grass, bugs, or anything else that looked appetizing while Lily stood upright and looked down at her lower abdomen as if she was trying to figure out what was going on. She looked exactly like a penguin looking down at an egg between her legs. Her abdomen was huge and swollen.

That evening I prepared a warm epsom salt bath to soak Lily in, as this is what helps egg-bound chickens, and I was very sure that Lily must be egg-bound as she has been laying the largest chicken eggs I have ever seen. Lily’s eggs have been the size of goose eggs – poor chicken!

After the bath had been drawn, my husband brought Lily in and gently set her in the water. My children came in and wanted to feel Lily’s abdomen, so I moved out of the way. Both of the kids announced that her belly felt like a water balloon. I proceeded to massage her belly for 20-30 minutes before my husband put her in a towel and dried her off.

Lily spent the night in our dog’s crate lying on heat packs to hopefully relax her and help the egg through, but as morning dawned, nothing had changed. My husband and I frantically researched what our next steps should be, and we both determined that an internal check should be completed. If Lily was egg-bound, she would have 24-48 hours to live if the egg wasn’t removed. By gently inserting a gloved finger just an inch or two into the vent, we would be able to feel the egg if Lily was egg-bound.

I was moving outside of my comfort zone.

As the kids slept, my husband picked up Lily and held her like a football, and my heart started to race. I was nervous I would hurt Lily, but she didn’t move – Lily was an excellent patient. As I performed the check, I could feel no egg – Lily wasn’t egg-bound. I was relieved that she didn’t have a massive egg stuck inside of her, but now we had to find what else could be causing her condition.

My daughter had sleepily climbed out of bed to come check on Lily, and wanted to help bring her back outside. When my daughter set Lily down next to the flock, I noticed that her comb was a deep blue-purple color – cyanosis – a sign of circulatory problems. We didn’t have much time. I ran inside and continued researching. From the list of possible causes of a swollen abdomen, there was only one more treatment we could try at home – drain the abdomen using an 18-gauge needle and 60cc syringe.

Ascites (ah-side-eez) or water belly is a condition where fluid can fill the abdominal cavity as a result of heart disease or tumors, and is usually followed by cyanosis of the combs and wattles – a perfect description of what Lily had going on.

Thinking of sticking my little hen with the huge needle made me feel faint, but my husband, not-so-gently, reminded me that if I want to own these animals, that I was going to have to step up and treat them when they are sick – he was right. Thankfully, there are many YouTube videos that demonstrate how to drain a water belly.

Going even further out of my comfort zone.

I called multiple stores until I found a local equine veterinarian who said I could come and pick up the the needle and syringe we needed to drain Lily’s abdomen.

Within an hour, I was sitting with Lily on my lap as I sanitized a spot on her lower right abdomen – just behind where her leg attaches to her body. This time I had Lily in a football hold while my husband gently inserted the gigantic needle. I tried not to squirm as my heart raced – I swear I could feel the needle going in. As Lily reacted to the puncture of the needle, I tried to soothe her by petting her gently and talking to her in a calm voice. Lily closed her eyes – I’m guessing it was more from being in shock than anything. Either way, she was coping better than I was. After my initial anxiety, I calmed down and honed in on what was going on. I was able to instruct my husband on where to insert the needle, the depth of insertion, and what he should expect as he extracted the liquid. The substance should have been a clear yellowish liquid that is easily extracted. Unfortunately, this was not the case.

Instead of an easy-to-extract liquid, my husband forced out a tiny bit of thick, opaque, yellow substance tinged with blood – Lily did not have ascites. We felt that same kind of hopelessness we felt when we found our chicken, Dahlia, with hypothermia. Whether Lily had an infection, tumor, or something else going on inside of her – there was nothing we could do. From everything we read, there was little a veterinarian could do for Lily – there was little hope.

I cleaned Lily up, and set her down on the grass. She slowly waddled over to the fence where she propped her chest up against the green wire and laid down. I can only imagine that she did this to keep the swelling away from all of her vital organs. She was trying to breathe easier. Lily stayed there for the next 48 hours.

That night, my family added an extra prayer for Lily at the end of our nightly prayers (which continue to grow in length as we add animals to our family). It goes something like this:

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. God bless mommy, God bless daddy, God bless [my son], and [my daughter], and Brook [our old dog], and Ayla [our new rescue dog], and chickens, and especially Lily. And God bless everyone we love. Amen.”

In my head I was praying that God would either take Lily quickly to minimize her suffering, or heal her.

Here we are exactly one week after I noticed Lily standing like a penguin, and she is still with us. Lily hopped out of the coop yesterday morning and began pecking at the tips of the grass next to the coop. Her stance is still a little penguin-like, but she is improving. Lily’s comb color is nice and red, and she continues to eat and drink well.

My family and I are still not sure what has caused Lily’s illness, but we will continue praying, and hopefully she’ll continue to improve.

Our chickens teach us important lessons in responsibility, empathy, love, loss, sadness, happiness, humor, giving, and anatomy – many more anatomy lessons than we thought possible. Every day is a new adventure – adventures that lead to greater appreciation, respect, and love for our feathered friends. The least that we can do is ensure their lives are as healthy and happy as possible – even if it pushes us outside of my comfort zone.

 

*Update – For the past week, Lily has been sleeping on the floor of the coop as she has been unable to fly up to the roost. Last night Lily not only flew up to the roost, she flew up to the high roost to sleep. Progress!