The Wilderness Clinic

My final outdoor clinic was preformed in a remote wilderness area near North Lankinpur of Northeast Assam, India. This was over two hundred miles from my official headquarters at Assam Veterinary College.

The clinic site was located at an India government outback veterinary station. The station was manned by local veterinarians hired as government employees. The small rustic building had a rusty corrugated iron roof. The walls were made of bamboo stalks supported by local Sal tree hardwood poles. The floor was packed dirt covered with local rice straw. Wooden shelves held the sparse supply of medicines. Only a few operating tools existed. Water supply consisted of six filled three-gallon metal water pails. An outside fireplace was used to boil the water. Nearly all the veterinary work had to be done outside the crude building.

This roadside veterinary station was in a tranquil setting. The native hardwood trees and a colorful flame tree made a picturesque setting. Langur monkeys posed in their natural lookout on the tree limbs. The monkeys' saffron red buttocks made the trees appear as if decorated for a festive celebration. Their constant chatter was annoying. They seemed happy with their antics and curious watchful eyes, and noisy chatter!

The first two hours of clinic procedure were spent caring for a variety of animals and their ailments. Water buffaloes with sore feet required hoof trimming, medication, and foot bandages. Hump sores caused by ill-fitted work harness and fly infestation was a common ailment of oxen. Some cattle were infested with cattle ticks. For these animals medication was prescribed. Goats with udder mastitis and digestive problems were presented. Pigs with internal and external parasites came for treatments. Horses needed dentistry and foot injury treatment. "No foot--no horse," was my college professor's saying. "You must learn to make their feet well," was his admonition.

Now came the big one. A huge elephant with a left front leg wound. I remembered seeing that elephant in a logging camp six months before. That camp was thirty miles from this clinic site! He had been gored by a wild elephant. His owners told us he had been crippled two years. I observed the beeswax-yellow colored purulent discharge spurting upward then draining down his massive leg each time he stepped forward. This huge animal, which I estimated would tip the scales at 7,000 pounds, seemed sleepy and sedate. I was told that the local veterinarians had given the wounded animal their potion of anesthetic drug, but would not offer further assistance. I took no chance with my four-inch long steel needle and big metal syringe. I instilled local anesthesia around the wound after the affected area had been cleaned and coated with iodine.

The government employed veterinarians watched my every move, but declared, "We won't touch that mess. That's work for untouchables; not us! He is sacred to us but we are frightened of him." The mahout handled the big animal with ease. The elephant's front legs were tied together with string jute ropes. His trunk was limp for which I was grateful. He could have thrown me twenty feet in the air and crushed me to death!

My missionary friend was busy with my movie camera. He was careful to record photos at the correct times.

The two surgery knives that I brought from Assam Veterinary Clinic were useless. Their edges curled to a non-cutting fold when the two-inch thick giant animal's skin resisted their cutting edges. It was fortunate that I had brought my big red handled skin divers shark knife! It's sharp point and fine saw-toothed blade penetrated the abscess pocket. My patient swished his tail, but stood still as a tree. He seemed to realize that the drainage of that purulent fluid would bring relief to him.

After flushing the wound with antiseptic, a drainage seton was inserted to allow drainage during the healing process. I left a gallon of my famous green lotion with instructions for its use. This was my last animal clinic procedure in India. Two weeks after I had returned home to the U.S.A., I received a message that the injured elephant had healed and was rolling logs for his owners once more!

This page is maintained by Dr. Wood's son, Harold W. Wood, Jr., of Visalia, California.
My E-mail address is: harold@planetaryexploration.net

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